she knew
she wouldn’t win. So she made for her lair, where at least nobody would witness
her downfall.
She heard his arrival, that uneven hop and clunk of crutches
approaching down the uncarpeted hallway. She’d left the door slightly ajar. He
didn’t knock.
He stared at her, ignoring the ankle bracelet that she’d
retrieved from the drawer and put on the desk in front of her. “Cara?” He
sounded cynical, jaded, no trace of the enthusiastic lover of last night remaining.
His shoulders slumped so that his tall figure bent in a slouch, necessitated by
the forearm crutches he used, and he seemed somehow smaller. But the eyes were
the same, the bright blue burning into her irises.
She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I planned to get the anklet
back to you, mail it or leave it at a drop and send you an email. I didn’t mean
to get you into trouble.” She met his gaze, trying to contact him, but he’d
locked down his psi completely. A pang of pain shot through her. She couldn’t
blame him for blocking her, but it hurt all the same.
She indicated his crutches with an embarrassed, brief
gesture. “Did they do that to you at STORM?”
He’d obviously had the customized items for a while, and
they’d been used well. Scratches and scuffs marred the matte black, and a few
of the motifs had come loose.
He glanced at the items with irritation. “No.” Before her astonished
eyes, he straightened and pulled off the forearm cuffs, holding the crutches in
one hand. He’d used them to deceive.
Anger sparked deep within her. “It’s despicable to use
disability as a means of getting to people.” She almost spat the words at him.
His lids drooped over his eyes, giving them a sultry,
shouldering appearance. “Not when you’re really disabled, it’s not. The
disabled need every advantage they can get. I forget about the crutches,
sometimes. God knows I spent enough years trying to do that.” He walked forward
and propped the crutches against her desk. He must be able to balance them
well, to do that with such a sure hand. That indicated he was familiar with using
them. Perhaps he’d broken his leg sometime, something like that.
He didn’t look at the crutches but at her. “The university
knows me as a cripple.” She winced when he used the word and she knew he’d done
it deliberately. To shock or provoke, to make her react. “It seemed like a good
idea to keep the image consistent. I didn’t know what I’d find here. The
university doesn’t know I’m Talented. Do they know about you?”
She shook her head. “I don’t see what that has to do with
the job I do here.” She frowned. “How come they know you as a—disabled person?”
She couldn’t use the epithet he just had to describe himself. It was too cruel.
His lip curled. “I hate those disguised words. It sounds
better, puts me in a category. I am—was—a cripple. Not blind, not deaf, just
unable to walk properly. Or use my limbs.” He clamped his lips together as if
denying his words egress through them. Then he spoke again. “STORM doesn’t
cripple its employees, ever. And no, I’m not an operative, but you know that
from the blue anklet, don’t you? I’m what I told you I was—a geek. I do
research. I told you that too. But you didn’t tell me what you did, did you?
You didn’t even tell me your real name.” The sneer returned. “I always knew my
character assessment wasn’t very good. You proved that spectacularly. You
didn’t need to fuck me to get the ankle bracelet, though. You could have just
drugged me. Are you a nympho, or is it the act of deception that makes you
cream your pants?”
The deliberate crudities made her flinch.
“What’s wrong? Can’t face the truth? That’s what you did,
after all.” Keeping her gaze snared in his, he moved around the table to stand
before her. She had to fight hard not to give way and take a step back. In a
low, intimate voice even more menacing than his usual tone, he added,
she wouldn’t win. So she made for her lair, where at least nobody would witness
her downfall.
She heard his arrival, that uneven hop and clunk of crutches
approaching down the uncarpeted hallway. She’d left the door slightly ajar. He
didn’t knock.
He stared at her, ignoring the ankle bracelet that she’d
retrieved from the drawer and put on the desk in front of her. “Cara?” He
sounded cynical, jaded, no trace of the enthusiastic lover of last night remaining.
His shoulders slumped so that his tall figure bent in a slouch, necessitated by
the forearm crutches he used, and he seemed somehow smaller. But the eyes were
the same, the bright blue burning into her irises.
She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I planned to get the anklet
back to you, mail it or leave it at a drop and send you an email. I didn’t mean
to get you into trouble.” She met his gaze, trying to contact him, but he’d
locked down his psi completely. A pang of pain shot through her. She couldn’t
blame him for blocking her, but it hurt all the same.
She indicated his crutches with an embarrassed, brief
gesture. “Did they do that to you at STORM?”
He’d obviously had the customized items for a while, and
they’d been used well. Scratches and scuffs marred the matte black, and a few
of the motifs had come loose.
He glanced at the items with irritation. “No.” Before her astonished
eyes, he straightened and pulled off the forearm cuffs, holding the crutches in
one hand. He’d used them to deceive.
Anger sparked deep within her. “It’s despicable to use
disability as a means of getting to people.” She almost spat the words at him.
His lids drooped over his eyes, giving them a sultry,
shouldering appearance. “Not when you’re really disabled, it’s not. The
disabled need every advantage they can get. I forget about the crutches,
sometimes. God knows I spent enough years trying to do that.” He walked forward
and propped the crutches against her desk. He must be able to balance them
well, to do that with such a sure hand. That indicated he was familiar with using
them. Perhaps he’d broken his leg sometime, something like that.
He didn’t look at the crutches but at her. “The university
knows me as a cripple.” She winced when he used the word and she knew he’d done
it deliberately. To shock or provoke, to make her react. “It seemed like a good
idea to keep the image consistent. I didn’t know what I’d find here. The
university doesn’t know I’m Talented. Do they know about you?”
She shook her head. “I don’t see what that has to do with
the job I do here.” She frowned. “How come they know you as a—disabled person?”
She couldn’t use the epithet he just had to describe himself. It was too cruel.
His lip curled. “I hate those disguised words. It sounds
better, puts me in a category. I am—was—a cripple. Not blind, not deaf, just
unable to walk properly. Or use my limbs.” He clamped his lips together as if
denying his words egress through them. Then he spoke again. “STORM doesn’t
cripple its employees, ever. And no, I’m not an operative, but you know that
from the blue anklet, don’t you? I’m what I told you I was—a geek. I do
research. I told you that too. But you didn’t tell me what you did, did you?
You didn’t even tell me your real name.” The sneer returned. “I always knew my
character assessment wasn’t very good. You proved that spectacularly. You
didn’t need to fuck me to get the ankle bracelet, though. You could have just
drugged me. Are you a nympho, or is it the act of deception that makes you
cream your pants?”
The deliberate crudities made her flinch.
“What’s wrong? Can’t face the truth? That’s what you did,
after all.” Keeping her gaze snared in his, he moved around the table to stand
before her. She had to fight hard not to give way and take a step back. In a
low, intimate voice even more menacing than his usual tone, he added,
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