Without breaking the kiss, Zane turned to set me on the edge of the bathroom counter. The van keys, which had been balanced on the edge, fell into the sink behind me with a loud clatter. Then he moved to stand between my knees, a sensation that stole my breath.
I slipped my hands beneath his shirt, my courage returning in a hot rush of feeling. It felt so good to touch and be touched. He was the one who’d taught me that. And it seemed like the more I had, the more I craved.
His hands were gentle on my face, at the back of my head under my hair, and then tracing a line from my jaw down my neck, under the collar of my shirt and the T-shirt beneath it.
His fingertips skidded to a stop on the first button of my shirt, and I shivered in anticipation.
“Okay?” he whispered.
“Yes,” I whispered back, trying not to sound as breathless and desperate as I felt.
He released the button slowly and then moved to the next, again so slowly. Giving me time to think, to object.
But I didn’t want that. Didn’t need it.
I pushed his hands out of the way and he froze, an apology written across his face. I got my remaining buttons open in seconds, and I was struggling with my sleeves before he caught on enough to help me pull the cuffs free over my wrists.
I still had a thin T-shirt on—and he’d certainly seen me in less when he’d bandaged my arm—but the heat in his expression told me this was different. More, somehow.
I pulled at the front of his shirt and he needed no further encouragement, releasing the buttons as efficiently as I’d dispensed with my own.
Beneath, he was all lines and muscle where I had curves. (Okay, not many curves, but enough, evidently.) His skin was darker than mine, but not so much that I couldn’t see the faint blue of veins in his chest. The rapid moving of his ribs as he breathed at an increased rate fascinated me almost as much the precise alignment of the muscles beneath.
I knew I was staring, but I couldn’t help myself.
Then he touched the hem of my T-shirt, just at my waist, which set off a barrage of conflicting messages to my brain about where I wanted him to touch next.
“Okay?” he asked again, sounding hoarse.
This time, I reached up and pulled his head toward mine, kissing him fiercely as my answer, wrapping my arms around his neck as his hand slid under my T-shirt and up.
His thumb brushed over the front of my breast, and I wanted to curl into the caress like a cat, but my position on the edge of the counter, with the sink directly behind me, was already precarious.
He leaned in farther, bringing us almost chest to chest, and my head sang with the near-skin contact. Without thinking, I pulled him closer. He braced one hand behind me to keep his balance…and accidentally turned on the faucet.
I squeaked involuntarily in surprise at the sound of sputtering water and scooted forward directly into him. Which was a whole new sensation.
“Crap. Sorry!” he said, pulling his hand from under my shirt and fumbling for the knob behind me. Once the water was off, he let out a slow breath and rested his head on my shoulder. Then he gave a muffled but chagrined laugh against my neck. I shivered at the vibration of his voice against my skin.
“Can we try that ag—” he began.
The distant sounds of shouting outside caught our attention then. Zane’s head swiveled toward the window.
“It’s my dad,” he said after a second.
Zane stepped away to the window and shoved it open. Part of me wanted to kick my feet against the cabinet in frustration. But he was right. Whatever was happening with Mara—and by association, his father—had to take priority.
With a sigh, I tugged my shirt into place and slipped off the counter to follow Zane.
Ascending onto the toilet once more, I could see Mara’s yard fairly clearly, where it wasn’t blocked by the house in between us. Chief Bradshaw, out of uniform and looking a little disheveled, was in the middle of the grass, shouting up at his former wife in the doorway.
“You’re destroying his life, Mara. I hope you can live with that,” he spat at her. “You might as well pull the trigger yourself.”
Mara flinched but remained silent, looking a pale and hunched imitation of herself. She was ridiculously shrunken for someone of her height.
“He’s really upset,” I said, disconcerted to see that level of emotion from the chief, especially in regard to Zane. Chief Bradshaw had made it very clear to Zane on countless occasions that he considered his second son exactly that: secondary. Or worse. At GTX, when Zane had stepped in front of me to protect me from his father, there’d been a moment when I wasn’t sure whether his father would consider his presence sufficient enough reason not to shoot me. And yet, right now, the waves of desperation radiating off him had to be obvious even to those who weren’t telepathic.
Zane frowned. “Yeah.”
Zane’s dad gave one last inarticulate shout of disgust and hurtled something thin and flat at Mara. It landed on the small porch, narrowly missing her legs, but she didn’t move, either to avoid it or pick it up.
Then he turned and stalked off toward his SUV without looking back. A few seconds later, the engine revved and his tires screeched as he whipped around in an impressive 180-degree turn before accelerating down the street in clear defiance of the posted speed limit.
The chief’s car hadn’t even reached the corner before the unmarked black SUV, Laughlin’s spy vehicle, pulled smoothly away from the curb in pursuit.
Great. Although the absence of surveillance was a benefit for now, I wondered what it meant. I reached over and pulled the window closed. How much of that fight had Laughlin’s guy overheard and/or understood? If Laughlin learned we were here and in contact with Mara, that would not be good. Clearly, they were now following the chief for a reason. I didn’t know what it was, but I kind of doubted it was general curiosity. Maybe they were hoping he’d lead them to us.
Already buttoning his shirt, Zane looked over at me. “If you’re determined to talk to her, this is probably our best chance, right?” he asked, his forehead wrinkled with concern.
He was right about this being our best chance…except what we were walking into? I didn’t know and couldn’t predict it, which made me very uncomfortable. Mara had no way of reaching us, so she didn’t know where we were. We could have fled town, gone into hiding, or, heck, been killed by Laughlin’s hybrids, for that matter. Would Mara insist on calling the chief once she realized we were here? I had no idea what kind of ties remained between them. They didn’t like each other—that much was obvious—but the joint goal of keeping their son safe and/or away from me might yet be a common bond.
I hesitated and then nodded, with a sigh. No matter what else was going on, Mara was our best and only source of information.
Zane reached over and touched the bottom of my lip. “Stop,” he said gently.
I knew he was talking about my biting my lip, but it felt like he was talking about everything. The whole situation. Everything from the moment since I’d exposed what I really was by lashing out at Rachel Jacobs at that party. It had been only a few days ago, but it seemed like years. And I really, really wished we could—stop, that is. Just end all of this and find some kind of peaceful space, preferably together, without worrying that someone would find us. But that was just not an option right now.
Maybe ever.
The trip across the backyards for the second time wasn’t nearly as perilous or adrenaline filled, but I felt strangely exposed. Watched.
I wasn’t picking up on anybody noticing our presence, no lonely older person or bored soccer mom staring out a window, so it was likely my own self-consciousness, but still. I didn’t care for it and pushed for a faster pace to reach the back door of Mara’s condo as swiftly as possible.