Lover Awakened

'Cop, I need you to stay while we do this.' Phury's voice was more like a growl.

Butch groaned, even though he knew damn well why the Brother wouldn't want to be alone with that female right now. He was throwing off erotic heat like a stallion.

'Butch?'

'Yeah, I'll stay.' Even though he wasn't going to watch. No way. For some reason that seemed like being on the fifty-yard line while Phury had sex.

With a curse, Butch leaned onto his knees, put his hand up to his forehead, and looked down at his Ferragamos.

There was the scratchy sound, as if the tissue paper on the exam table was shifting because someone was getting up on the thing. Then a whisper of cloth.

Silence.

Shit. He had to look.

Butch took a peek and then couldn't have peeled his eyes away to save his life. Bella was up on the table, her legs dangling over the side, her exposed inner wrist on her thigh. Phury was staring at her with hunger and an awful, cursed love on his face as he eased down onto his knees before her. With hands that shook, he took hold of her palm and her upper forearm and bared his fangs. The damn things were huge now, long enough to keep him from closing his mouth all the way.

With a hiss, he lowered his head to Bella's arm. She twitched all over as he struck, though her dull eyes just stared straight ahead at the wall. Then Phury jerked, released, and looked up at her.

That was quick.

'Why did you stop?' Bella asked.

'Because you're—'

Phury glanced over at Butch. Who flushed and looked down at his loafers again.

The Brother whispered, 'Have you bled yet?'

Butch winced. Oh, yeah. This was way awkward.

'Bella, do you think you're pregnant?'

Holy shit—this was awkward.

'Would you like me to leave?' Butch asked, hoping they would kick him out.

When they both said no, he went back to watching his shoes.

'I'm not,' Bella said. 'I'm really not… you know. I mean, I'm… cramping, okay? Next thing is bleeding and then it's all over.'

'Havers needs to check you out.'

'Do you want to drink or not?'

More silence. Then another hiss. Followed by a low moan.

Butch glanced over. Phury was crowding Bella's wrist, her slender arm buried in a cage of his body as he took greedy pulls. Bella was looking down at him. After a moment she took her hand and put it on his multicolored hair. Her touch was tender. Her eyes shimmered with tears.

Butch got up from the chair and slipped out the door, leaving them to their business. The sad intimacy of what was passing between them needed to be private.

Outside the room, he eased against the wall, somehow still caught up in the drama though he wasn't watching it anymore.

'Hello, Butch.'

He snapped his head around. Marissa was standing at the other end of the hall.

Good Lord.

As she walked over to him he could smell her, that clean ocean scent drilling into his nose, into his brain, into his blood. Her hair was up and she was wearing a yellow gown with an empire waist.

Jesus… Most blondes would have looked half dead in the color. She was radiant.

He cleared his throat. 'Hey, Marissa. What's doing?'

'You look well.'

'Thanks.' She looked fantastic, but he kept his mouth shut about that.

Man, it's just like getting stabbed, he thought. Yeah… Seeing this female and getting nailed with six inches of steel in the breastbone were just different faces of the same nasty coin.

Shit. All he could picture was her getting into that Bentley with that male.

'How have you been?' she asked.

How had he been? He'd been a mooning idiot for the past five months.

'Good. Real good.'

'Butch, I—'

He smiled at her and straightened. 'Listen, can you do me a favor? I'm going to go wait in the car. Will you let Phury know when he surfaces? Thanks.' He smoothed his tie down and buttoned his suit jacket, then pulled his overcoat together. 'Take care, Marissa.'

He made a beeline for the elevator.

'Butch, wait.'

God help him, his feet stopped.

'How… have you been?' she said.

He considered turning around, but refused to let himself get sucked in. 'Like I said, Jim Dandy, thanks for asking. Take care of yourself, Marissa.'

Shit. He'd just said that, hadn't he?

'I want to…' She stopped. 'Would you call on me? Sometime?'

That had him pivoting around. Oh, sweet Mary, mother of God… She was so beautiful. Grace Kelly beautiful. And with her Victorian speech and her genteel manner, she made him feel like a total loser, all babbles and shuffles in spite of his expensive clothes.

'Butch? Maybe you could… call on me.'

'Why would I do that?'

She flushed and seemed to wilt. 'I had hoped…'

'Hoped what?'

'That perhaps…'

'What?'

'You might call on me. If you had some time. Perhaps you could come… calling.'

Christ. He'd already done that and she'd refused to see him. No way he was volunteering for another crash course in ego bashing. This woman, female… whatever… was totally capable of whipping his ass, and he didn't need more of that kind of rash, thank you very much. Besides, Mr. Bentley was showing up at her back door.

At that thought, an evil, very male part of him wondered if she was still the untouched virgin she'd been when he'd met her over the summer. Probably not. Even if she was still shy, now that she was away from Wrath she must have taken a lover. Hell, Butch knew firsthand the kind of kiss she could lay on a man; there had been only that one time, but she'd had him tearing the arm off a chair, he got so cranked. So, yeah… she'd definitely found a man. Maybe a couple. And she'd show them a hell of a ride.

As she opened her perfect, pink, godforsaken rosebud of a mouth again, he cut her off. 'No, I'm not going to call on you. But I do mean what I said. I hope you… take care of yourself.'

Okay, that was three times with the little phrase. He needed to hit the road before he sported a fourth.

Butch strode over to the elevator. By some miracle the thing opened the moment he punched the up button. He stepped inside and kept his eyes from her.

As the doors closed, he thought she might have said his name one last time. But knowing him, he was just imagining it. Because he really wished she—

Oh, shut up, O'Neal. Just shut up and drop it.

When he strode out of the clinic, he was walking so fast, he was practically running.