He pictured her down the hall, and thought that it seemed too far away. “Don’t. Stay here.”
In the dim light, he could see she was frowning again. “Are you certain?”
He reached up and tucked away a blond escapee from her braid. “Yeah. I am.”
They stared at each other for the longest time, and somehow—maybe it was the vulnerable look in her eyes, maybe the line of her mouth; maybe he was reading her mind—he knew exactly what she was wondering.
“I knew it was you,” he said softly. “The entire time… I knew it was you.”
“And that was… okay, to use your expression?”
He thought back to his mate. “You’re nothing like Wellsie was.”
When he heard her clear her throat, he realized he’d spoken out loud. “No, what I mean is—”
“You don’t have to explain.” Her sad smile was so full of compassion. “You truly don’t.”
“No’One—”
She held up her hand. “There’s no need to explain—by the way, the flowers in here are gorgeous. I’ve never smelled such a bouquet.”
“They’re out in the hall, actually. Fritz changes them every two days. Listen, can I do something for you?”
“Have you not done enough,” she countered.
“I’d like to bring you some food.”
Her graceful brows peaked. “I wouldn’t wish for you to trouble yourself—”
“But you are hungry, right?”
“Well… yes…”
“So I’ll be back in a minute.”
He shifted off the mattress quick, and unconsciously braced himself for the world to tilt wildly. But there was no light-headedness, no need to reclaim his balance, no loopy shit. His body was raring to go as he walked around the foot of the bed—
No’One’s eyes fell upon him, and the expression on her face stopped him dead in his tracks.
That speculation was back in her eyes. Hunger, too.
He hadn’t considered whether there was ever going to be a repeat when it had been happening. But given the way she stared at him… the answer would appear to be a big “yes,” at least from her point of view.
“Do you like what you see,” he asked in a too-deep voice.
“Yes…”
Well, didn’t that get him hard: Below his waist, his cock shot right back to attention—and damned if her eyes didn’t lock on and watch the show.
“I have other things I want to do to you,” he growled. “That could be just the beginning. If you want.”
Her lips parted, her eyelids sinking low. “Do you want that?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Then I would say… yes, please.”
He nodded once at her, as if they had struck some kind of deal. Then he had to force himself away from the bed.
Going over to the closet, he pulled on a pair of jeans and went for the door.
“Anything in particular?” he asked before he left.
No’One slowly shook her head, her lids still low, her mouth still parted, her cheeks still flushed. Man… she had no idea how enticing she looked in that big, rumpled bed, her robe draping off the side of the mattress, her neat-as-a-pin hairdo feathered with blond wisps, her scent as strong and seductive as ever.
Maybe food could wait. Especially as he noticed that her bare legs were showing in the midst of the tangled duvet.
Yeah, he had plans for them. Over-the-shoulder kinds of plans—
Abruptly, she yanked the covers over her crippled one, hiding it from him.
Tohr marched right back over to her, and resolutely pulled the duvet back where it had been. Tracing the badly healed wounds with his fingertips, he met her squarely in the eye.
“You’re beautiful. Every inch of you. Don’t think for a moment there’s anything wrong with you. We clear?”
“But—”
“Nope. I’m not hearing that.” Bending down, he pressed his lips to her shin, her calf, her ankle, tracing the scars, caressing them. “Beautiful. All of you.”
“How can you say that,” she whispered, blinking back tears.
“Because it’s the truth.” Straightening, he gave her a final squeeze. “No hiding from me, okay. And after I feed you, I think I’m going to have to show you just how serious I am.”
That made her smile… and then laugh a little.
“That’s my girl,” he murmured. Except… shit, she wasn’t his. What the hell had come out of his mouth?
Forcing himself back to the door, he stepped out into the corridor, shut her in and—
“What the fuck?” Lifting his lower leg, he inspected the bottom of his bare foot. There was silver paint on it.
Glancing at the runner, he found a trail of… silver paint heading down the hallway toward the second-story balcony.
With a curse, he wondered which of the doggen was working on what part of the house. Good thing stains made the poor bastards cheerful; otherwise Fritz was going to be pissed.
Following the line of drops to the head of the great staircase, he descended to the foyer along with them.
The mess went right out into the vestibule.
“Sire, good day. Do you require anything?”
Tohr turned to Fritz, who was coming through the dining room with some floor polish. “Hey, yeah. I need to get some food. But what’s up with the paint? You guys doing something obscene to the fountain out there?”
The butler shuffled over and frowned. “There is no one painting anywhere in the compound.”
“Well, someone’s pulling a Michelangelo.” Tohr sank down on his haunches and dragged a finger through one of the little pools…
Wait a minute—not paint.
And the shit smelled like flowers.
Fresh flowers?
In fact, it was the scent that had been in his room.
As his eyes shot to the door to the vestibule, he thought of the shower of bullets he had walked into. And worried that a miracle hadn’t been the reason he wasn’t dead, after all.
“Get Doc Jane, stat,” he barked to the doggen.
Ah, yeahhhh, Lassiter thought as he rolled over on hot stone and started to sun his bare ass. That’s what’s up.…
All things considered, it had been a good day to get shot at.
Well, night, rather.
Make that season.
Thank the Maker it was summer: Lying on the front steps of the mansion, the brilliant July megawatts beat down on him, the rays healing his bullet-ridden body. Without it? He might well have died again—which was not the way he wanted to meet up with his boss. Indeed, the sunlight was to him what blood was to the vampires; a necessity that he really enjoyed. And as he bathed in the stuff, the pain faded, his strength returned… and he thought of Tohr.
What a dumb-ass, pulling a move like that in the alley. What in the name of all that was holy had the fucker been thinking?
Whatever. There had been no way he was going to let that bastard walk into all that gunfire without protection. The pair of them had come too far to crap out just as progress was being made.
And now, thanks to his having turned himself into a pincushion, Tohr and No’One were having sex.
So all had not been lost. He was, however, seriously thinking of punching that Brother in the balls as payback. For one, that shit had stung like a motherfucker. For another, if this had been December? He might not have made it—
The sound of the heavy front door swinging open brought his head up and around. Doc Jane, that fantastic healer of theirs, burst out like she’d planned on having to run some distance.
She skidded to a halt so she didn’t trip over him. “There you are!”
Oh, look, she’d brought her fun box with her, the little red cross denoting emergency supplies.
“Helluva time to get a tan,” she murmured.
He rested his head back down, his cheek lying flat on all that warm rock. “Just takin’ my medicine like a good little patient.”
“Mind if I examine you?”
“Will your mate kill me if you see me naked?”
“You are naked.”
“You’re not looking at my business side.” When she just loomed over him without further comment, he muttered, “Fine. Whatever—but don’t stand in my sun. I need it more than I need you.”