Instead he pulled her to his side, keeping her away from the side Damon had covered, with more than just yogurt, he might add.
"Where's the bathroom?" he asked.
She gestured, with a weak wave of her hand toward the hallway. Maksim walked her in that direction, supporting most of her slight weight. His instinct was to carry her, but he suspected she'd really be irritated by that, and not just because she'd be unavoidably covered in what he was.
When he reached the hallway, he looked both ways, then spotted the door labeled GIRLS. He headed toward it, expecting to find the large woman in there with the little puke machine. But instead, the gray-tiled room was empty. He led Jo to the sink and held her until she seemed to have herself braced against the edge.
She stood there for a moment, her fingers gripping the white porcelain so tightly, they were nearly the same color.
"Can I get you anything?"
She shook her head, then winced as if the gesture caused her pain. If possible, her skin drained even further of color until she seemed to blend in with the gray and white of the lavatory.
"I just need a minute." For a brief moment, her dark eyes met his in the mirror. He saw embarrassment there, but also a flash of something else. Something that looked remarkably like despair. Then they dropped again, her focus returning to the sink that seemed to be the only thing holding her upright.
Maksim watched her for a second longer, making sure she was truly steady on her feet. Then he began unbuttoning his shirt, easing the ruined mess away from himself.
"What are you doing?"
Maksim paused, the garment off one shoulder, meeting her eyes again. "I'm getting out of this thing." He finished slipping out of the shirt and dropped it in the trash can near the sink.
When he looked back to Jo, she was still staring at him in the mirror. He considered pretending not to notice, but he couldn't pass up seeing her expression.
But he didn't see in her eyes what he thought he would. Instead of surprise, or interest, or even disapproval, her gaze was flat, emotionless.
"You're not planning to take off your pants too, are you?"
"Not unless you want me to," he said, wagging his eyebrows, then added once she didn't react—yet again, "No, my pants aren't too bad. My shoes, however…"
That gained him a pained wince. "Sorry."
He shrugged. "Vomit happens." Had he really said that? Normally he'd be very, very unhappy about something like this, and an unhappy Maksim was a bad thing. But right now, all the could seem to care about was Jo.
Her eyes lingered on him a moment longer, then she realized he was watching her watching him. A slight flush of pink tinged her pale cheeks and she looked down.
Again, moving her head seemed to disorient her and her knuckles whitened as she held fast to the sink. He stepped closer, just in case.
She lifted one of her hands to the faucet, her fingers pausing there as if the act of just turning on the water was too much for her at the moment.
Maksim leaned forward, his bare chest brushing against her shoulder and arm as he placed a hand over hers and twisted the water on. The rush of water echoed through the stark room.
Her eyes moved back up to find his in the mirror. They locked for several moments, and he began to wonder if the loud rush reverberating through the room wasn't the swell of his own longing coursing through him like churning white water. His yearning and the look in her eyes, finally a spark of something, some response, left him coiled and breathless. And filled with a need to…
Immediately he dropped his hand from hers and backed away as if she'd scalded him.
"I'll let you freshen up," he mumbled and continued to walk backward away from her. Her dark eyes followed him, that despair there again. Calling to him. Pulling at an emotion in him he didn't understand, but he knew he didn't like.
He turned and left the room.
Maksim didn't stop until he was outside the community center, standing on the cracked, uneven sidewalk, his breathing irregular, his thoughts jumbled. He'd finally gotten a reaction from her, but it wasn't the lust he wanted. It had been heartbreak, desperation, fear—and maybe lost somewhere in those emotions was a hint of attraction. So why in the world had that reached out to him, made him want to protect her? To make those feelings disappear? Help her?
A man in a dirty sleeveless undershirt and denim shorts tottered down the street. He grimaced at Maksim as he passed, revealing missing teeth and grime accenting his frown lines.
Maksim narrowed a look back, the vagrant's disdainful reaction snapping him back into his normal frame of mind. When was he ever the object of someone else's derision? He knew he was a superior species to these lowly mortals, and most mortals instinctively knew it too. How dare some filthy transient look at him as if he was beneath him?
Then he glanced down at himself. No shirt, vomit-spattered pants and shoes, and a look of complete bewilderment in his eyes.
What the hell? He was standing here, on the sidewalk, covered in stench, musing over a mortal woman like some uncertain teenage boy. And, damn, he was never uncertain—not when it came to his wants. Not about anything. And he'd sure as hell never been a teenager. So what the hell was wrong with him?
He made a disgusted noise deep in his throat as he glanced down at himself again. No piece of ass in Hell or on Earth was worth this.
He should just leave. But instead, he found himself striding to the side of the building and ducking into an alley that ran the length of the community center and the building next door.
He stopped and glanced over his shoulder. No one was around. Remaining very still, he closed his eyes and concentrated. He knew if anyone were to watch him, he'd look like an image in a camera going in and out of focus. An effect they'd most likely blame on their own vision. But there was no point in taking unnecessary risks.
When he opened his eyes again, his soiled clothes were gone, replaced by a new tailored shirt and designer trousers. His shoes were Roberto Cavalli. The defiled garments were on the ground around him. He carefully stepped over them as if they were a heap of vermin liable to jump up and cling to him. He'd loved that outfit, but it was replaceable. Most things were.
Being able to materialize things was one of his favorite demon tricks, although damned irritating at times, because he could only materialize things he actually had somewhere. Because, frankly, if he could materialize a stiff drink, he would.
He stepped back out onto the street, smoothing down his shirt, then adjusting the cuffs. Now, he'd go back in, remember why he came here. And it wasn't to help a wounded mortal.
It was to get laid.
Jo splashed another handful of water on her face, relishing the way the cold stung her skin, taking her mind off the events of the past few moments. She cupped water in her hand and lifted it to her lipes, rinsing her mouth again, swishing the cold water for several seconds. Then she splashed her face again. And again. She had to gather herself and get back out there to work, but she couldn't make herself leave the bathroom.
She just wanted to hide. To not deal with anything.
No, she had to get back to work. That would help. It always did.
One more splash, then she fumbled around for the paper towel dispenser, finding the lever and pumping it several times. She pressed the crumpled paper to her face, even appreciating the roughness of it on her cheeks and forehead. The discomfort of icy water and scratchy paper towels was something tangible to focus on, a welcome distraction from what had just happened. And she wished she was referring only to the vomiting. Because ridding her stomach of its contents on a man's ridiculously expensive footwear wasn't bad enough. No, she'd actually stood there doe-eyed as he'd taken his shirt off, wanting the man with every fiber in her being.