convince her not to go through with the merging. It left him in a blind panic. He had to convince her. He couldn't risk losing her the way he'd lost Liza.
She rested her head against the rim of the tub and closed her eyes. It gave him his chance to look his fill, something he never tired of. Long fiery hair was pulled into a high ponytail. She'd used some kind of goop to tame the curls but it was only half successful. If she spent much longer in the heated, muggy bathroom, she'd be bitching it was out of control. He didn't know why she tried so hard. He loved it best wild and untamed, a fiery red inferno that framed her face.
It was her face he was most interested in now. She looked like a delicate ethereal pixie. Man, could looks be deceiving. She was tough, strong, smart, beautiful. Today she was paler than usual, though, and had black circles under her eyes. He'd have to tell Winter to lay off. Kara had taken over Gia's duties and that was the job of two people. Nadia, their historian, was helping out a little, but she had a job of her own.
"You're working too hard," he said. He knew as soon as the words came out his voice was more harsh than wise.
She didn't lift her head, but opened her eyes and arched her brows. "Says who?"
"Me." He scowled, then softened his voice. "You look tired, darlin'."
"Thanks," she said dryly. "Every woman likes to hear she looks like shit."
"I didn't say that." The scowl was back, along with burning irritation. Why was she intentionally misunderstanding him? He used to be smooth with women. He used to know what to say. "Gia's job is too much for one person." Thank God he caught himself before he said too much for you.
Not that it mattered. She heard it anyway. How did a human woman with no telepathic ability always seem to know what he was thinking anyway? Her sigh was gusty and full of exasperation. She gripped the sides of the tub and stood. Water ran from her skin and he had to force himself not to lean forward and lick the drops off. Instead he stood, grabbed a towel from the shelf behind him and stepped forward to wrap it around her. He lifted her over the edge onto the thick bath mat, but she twisted away and didn't let him help as she stepped around him and limped into the bedroom.
If he had any sense he'd accept the cold shoulder for what it was and get the hell out of her room. Sense was apparently no longer part of his psychological make-up. The thing he wanted most, and denied himself always, was right in front of him. Practically naked. It would be so easy to stalk her across the room, slowly lean down so she saw the intent in his eyes, and claim her lips. It would have to be slow, controlled. Kissing her, tasting her, loving her. He couldn't trust himself any other way. He'd half made the decision to make his move when the phone clipped to his waist started beeping. Then hers, which she'd dropped on the nightstand, started up. He stared at them a second. Fuck it. Whatever it was could wait.
But she was picking hers up, sliding it open, talking to someone before he could act. He struggled with his demon, who didn't understand why the fuck they weren't taking the woman, while she turned her back on him and walked to her closet. Clean jeans were tossed out, followed by a T-shirt. Then she was at the dresser and pulling out undergarments. The surprise of seeing red lacy scraps of fabric in her hands was enough to shut up the demon. For a minute at least. She didn't drop the towel until she'd shimmied into her panties and jeans. Next came the bra and shirt. Then she opened the top drawer of her nightstand and pulled out the shoulder holster that held her gun.
His desire immediately dampened as he remembered why he'd sought her out in the first place. "Were you going to tell me about what happened at the law office?"
She gave him an arch look as she slid into the holster straps. "So you could freak out on me? Nope."
At least she didn't try to pretend like she didn't know what
She rested her head against the rim of the tub and closed her eyes. It gave him his chance to look his fill, something he never tired of. Long fiery hair was pulled into a high ponytail. She'd used some kind of goop to tame the curls but it was only half successful. If she spent much longer in the heated, muggy bathroom, she'd be bitching it was out of control. He didn't know why she tried so hard. He loved it best wild and untamed, a fiery red inferno that framed her face.
It was her face he was most interested in now. She looked like a delicate ethereal pixie. Man, could looks be deceiving. She was tough, strong, smart, beautiful. Today she was paler than usual, though, and had black circles under her eyes. He'd have to tell Winter to lay off. Kara had taken over Gia's duties and that was the job of two people. Nadia, their historian, was helping out a little, but she had a job of her own.
"You're working too hard," he said. He knew as soon as the words came out his voice was more harsh than wise.
She didn't lift her head, but opened her eyes and arched her brows. "Says who?"
"Me." He scowled, then softened his voice. "You look tired, darlin'."
"Thanks," she said dryly. "Every woman likes to hear she looks like shit."
"I didn't say that." The scowl was back, along with burning irritation. Why was she intentionally misunderstanding him? He used to be smooth with women. He used to know what to say. "Gia's job is too much for one person." Thank God he caught himself before he said too much for you.
Not that it mattered. She heard it anyway. How did a human woman with no telepathic ability always seem to know what he was thinking anyway? Her sigh was gusty and full of exasperation. She gripped the sides of the tub and stood. Water ran from her skin and he had to force himself not to lean forward and lick the drops off. Instead he stood, grabbed a towel from the shelf behind him and stepped forward to wrap it around her. He lifted her over the edge onto the thick bath mat, but she twisted away and didn't let him help as she stepped around him and limped into the bedroom.
If he had any sense he'd accept the cold shoulder for what it was and get the hell out of her room. Sense was apparently no longer part of his psychological make-up. The thing he wanted most, and denied himself always, was right in front of him. Practically naked. It would be so easy to stalk her across the room, slowly lean down so she saw the intent in his eyes, and claim her lips. It would have to be slow, controlled. Kissing her, tasting her, loving her. He couldn't trust himself any other way. He'd half made the decision to make his move when the phone clipped to his waist started beeping. Then hers, which she'd dropped on the nightstand, started up. He stared at them a second. Fuck it. Whatever it was could wait.
But she was picking hers up, sliding it open, talking to someone before he could act. He struggled with his demon, who didn't understand why the fuck they weren't taking the woman, while she turned her back on him and walked to her closet. Clean jeans were tossed out, followed by a T-shirt. Then she was at the dresser and pulling out undergarments. The surprise of seeing red lacy scraps of fabric in her hands was enough to shut up the demon. For a minute at least. She didn't drop the towel until she'd shimmied into her panties and jeans. Next came the bra and shirt. Then she opened the top drawer of her nightstand and pulled out the shoulder holster that held her gun.
His desire immediately dampened as he remembered why he'd sought her out in the first place. "Were you going to tell me about what happened at the law office?"
She gave him an arch look as she slid into the holster straps. "So you could freak out on me? Nope."
At least she didn't try to pretend like she didn't know what
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