motorcycle behind her. She just hoped he wouldn’t notice her fingers curled so tightly around the handlebars that her knuckles had turned white.
The Triumph had been a gift from her grandfather, a project the two of them had worked together to restore before his death, and it was her most prized possession. For the first time in her life, she wished she hadn’t driven the damned thing. If she’d taken the van she used mostly for business and in driving rainstorms, she could have put some distance between the two of them.
Instead she found herself holding her breath and praying for strength while the most attractive man she’d met in at least a year pressed himself tight against her back and wrapped his thick, muscular arms around her waist. His thighs nestled along the back of hers, and she swore there wasn’t room between them for so much as an impure thought.
Which was fine, because every single one of those that had ever been invented had just taken up residence inside Fil’s head.
Oh, but she felt like a dirty, dirty girl.
“I have never ridden on a machine like this.” The saddle of the motorcycle might have been built for two passengers in theory, but apparently the Brits had never accounted for one of those two being the size of Spar, because it forced them closer than Siamese twins. “I believe I must hold on to you in order to maintain my seat, correct?”
“Correct.”
Resorting to cursing under her breath in Lithuanian— Pisam rugsti is cia! —was a sure sign Fil had reached the end of her rope, so she revved the engine and put actions to words.
It was so past time to get the fuck out of here.
* * *
Fil opened her eyes and blinked up at the ceiling above her bed. Bright sunlight reflected off the smooth white paint and bounced around the room in cheerful beams. Clearly, the sun had better sense than to spend the night sneaking into museums, getting attacked by mad cultists, and arguing with men whose skulls were literally hard as a rock.
Because that’s what Fil remembered doing before she crawled into bed, and her mood upon waking definitely did not count as cheerful.
“I have been thinking.”
Aaaanndd … there went any hope that her memories of last night had been nothing more than the remnant of a very bad dream. She recognized that voice, damn it, but what was it doing coming from inside her bedroom?
No. You know what? She didn’t care. Grabbing a spare pillow from the other side of the mattress, Fil thumped the feathery softness over her face to stifle her aggravated scream.
“Aaarrrrggghhh!”
“I cannot understand your words,” the voice continued. “Perhaps if you uncovered your face, we might speak more clearly.”
The pillow went flying toward the voice, making the second scream much more audible. Fil sat up in a tangle of sheets and blankets and glared at the man sitting in the corner chair.
“I wasn’t using words, stone face,” she snapped. “I was expressing my frustration using nonverbal articulation.”
Spar, still looking human and gorgeous and oh-so-annoying, caught the cushiony projectile in one hand and frowned at her. “What have you to be frustrated over, Felicity? You have only just awoken.”
“What are you doing in my bedroom, Spar?” she asked instead of even attempting an explanation that would adequately sum up her current state of mind. “Didn’t we have this conversation last night? I agreed you could stay to ‘protect’ me, but you were supposed to sleep on the sofa. In the living room.”
“I did. I am finished sleeping.” He shrugged and set the pillow aside. “Guardians need very little of it during our waking periods. I could have gone without easily, but I thought it best to try to adapt to human customs while we are working together. Did you have an adequate rest period?”
“Peachy, but if you’ve going to adapt to my customs while you’re here, you might want to remember that my ‘custom’ is not to wake
The Triumph had been a gift from her grandfather, a project the two of them had worked together to restore before his death, and it was her most prized possession. For the first time in her life, she wished she hadn’t driven the damned thing. If she’d taken the van she used mostly for business and in driving rainstorms, she could have put some distance between the two of them.
Instead she found herself holding her breath and praying for strength while the most attractive man she’d met in at least a year pressed himself tight against her back and wrapped his thick, muscular arms around her waist. His thighs nestled along the back of hers, and she swore there wasn’t room between them for so much as an impure thought.
Which was fine, because every single one of those that had ever been invented had just taken up residence inside Fil’s head.
Oh, but she felt like a dirty, dirty girl.
“I have never ridden on a machine like this.” The saddle of the motorcycle might have been built for two passengers in theory, but apparently the Brits had never accounted for one of those two being the size of Spar, because it forced them closer than Siamese twins. “I believe I must hold on to you in order to maintain my seat, correct?”
“Correct.”
Resorting to cursing under her breath in Lithuanian— Pisam rugsti is cia! —was a sure sign Fil had reached the end of her rope, so she revved the engine and put actions to words.
It was so past time to get the fuck out of here.
* * *
Fil opened her eyes and blinked up at the ceiling above her bed. Bright sunlight reflected off the smooth white paint and bounced around the room in cheerful beams. Clearly, the sun had better sense than to spend the night sneaking into museums, getting attacked by mad cultists, and arguing with men whose skulls were literally hard as a rock.
Because that’s what Fil remembered doing before she crawled into bed, and her mood upon waking definitely did not count as cheerful.
“I have been thinking.”
Aaaanndd … there went any hope that her memories of last night had been nothing more than the remnant of a very bad dream. She recognized that voice, damn it, but what was it doing coming from inside her bedroom?
No. You know what? She didn’t care. Grabbing a spare pillow from the other side of the mattress, Fil thumped the feathery softness over her face to stifle her aggravated scream.
“Aaarrrrggghhh!”
“I cannot understand your words,” the voice continued. “Perhaps if you uncovered your face, we might speak more clearly.”
The pillow went flying toward the voice, making the second scream much more audible. Fil sat up in a tangle of sheets and blankets and glared at the man sitting in the corner chair.
“I wasn’t using words, stone face,” she snapped. “I was expressing my frustration using nonverbal articulation.”
Spar, still looking human and gorgeous and oh-so-annoying, caught the cushiony projectile in one hand and frowned at her. “What have you to be frustrated over, Felicity? You have only just awoken.”
“What are you doing in my bedroom, Spar?” she asked instead of even attempting an explanation that would adequately sum up her current state of mind. “Didn’t we have this conversation last night? I agreed you could stay to ‘protect’ me, but you were supposed to sleep on the sofa. In the living room.”
“I did. I am finished sleeping.” He shrugged and set the pillow aside. “Guardians need very little of it during our waking periods. I could have gone without easily, but I thought it best to try to adapt to human customs while we are working together. Did you have an adequate rest period?”
“Peachy, but if you’ve going to adapt to my customs while you’re here, you might want to remember that my ‘custom’ is not to wake
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