case.
She hoped it hadn’t.
“Jane . . .”
In the dim quiet, she heard in the word all the sadness that V never would have let out in any other situation. And she felt the same way. The days without them talking much, the stress of Payne’s recovery, the distance . . . the goddamn distance . . . it was so damned sad.
Here in the candlelight, in their mated bed, though, all that faded some.
With a sigh, she turned into his warm, heavy body and the contact changed her: Without having to turn herself solid, she became corporeal, the heat flowing between them and magnifying and making her as real as he was. Looking up, she stared at his fierce, beautiful face with its tattoo at the temple and the black hair that he always shoved back and the slashing eyebrows and those icy pale eyes.
Over the past week, she’d played and replayed that night when things had gotten so rough. And though a lot of it was disappointing and anxious-making, there was one thing that just didn’t make sense.
When they’d met up in the tunnel, Vishous had been wearing a turtleneck. And he never wore turtlenecks. He hated them because he found them confining—which was ironic, given what sometimes got him off. Typically, he wore muscle shirts or went naked, and she wasn’t stupid. He might be a hard-core hard-ass, but his skin bruised as easily as anyone else’s did.
He’d said he’d gotten into a fight, but he was a master at hand-to-hand combat. So if he was pulling a head- to-toe black-and-blue it happened for only one reason: because he allowed it.
And she had to wonder who had done it to him.
“You all right?” V asked.
She reached up and put her palm on his cheek. “Are you?” Were they?
He didn’t blink. “What was the dream about?”
“We’re going to have to talk about things, V.”
His lips thinned out. And got even tighter as she waited. Finally, he said, “Payne is where she is. It’s only been a week and—”
“Not about her. About what happened that night you were out alone.”
Now he eased back, sinking into the pillows and linking his two hands over his tight abs. In the dim light, the tight bands of muscle and ropes of vein that ran up his neck threw sharp shadows.
“You accusing me of being with someone else? I thought we went through this.”
“Stop deflecting.” She stared at him steadily. “And if you want to pick a fight, go find some
In any other male, her hitting back like that might have guaranteed a flat-out argument, with all the attendant dramatics.
Instead, Vishous turned to her and smiled. “Listen to you.”
“I’d rather you talked to me.”
The sexual light that she was so familiar with, but hadn’t seen in a week, boiled up in his eyes as he rolled over toward her. Then his lids lowered and he looked at her breasts underneath the simple Hanes T-shirt she’d fallen asleep in.
She put her face in the way, but she was smiling, too. Things had been so stiff and strained between them. This felt normal. “I’m not going to be distracted.”
As heat poured out of his big body in waves, her mate took his fingertip and trailed it along her shoulder. And then he opened his mouth, the white tips of his fangs making an appearance and getting even longer as he licked his lips.
Somehow, the sheet that was covering him got tugged down his ribbed abdomen. Lower. Lower still. It was his gloved hand doing the duty, and with every inch exposed, her eyes had more trouble going anywhere else. He stopped right before his massive erection was revealed, but he gave her a show: The tattoos around his groin stretched and righted themselves as his hips curled and relaxed, curled and relaxed.
“Vishous . . .”
“What.”
His gloved hand dipped under the black satin, and she didn’t have to see where it went to be well aware he’d gripped himself: The fact that he arched back told her everything she needed to know. That and the way he bit down on his lower lip.
“Jane . . .”
“What.”
“Are you just going to watch, true?”
God, she remembered the first time she’d seen him like this, all laid out on a bed, erect, ready. She’d been giving him a sponge bath, and he’d read her like a book: As much as she hadn’t wanted to admit it, she’d been desperate to watch him get off.
And she’d made sure he had.
Feeling heated herself, she leaned over to him, dropping her mouth so that it almost touched his. “You’re still deflecting—”
In a flash, his free hand snapped up and clasped the back of her neck, trapping her. And didn’t that power in him go straight down between her thighs.
“Yes. I am.” His tongue came out and flicked across her lip. “But we can always talk after we’re through. You know I never lie.”
“I thought the line was more like . . . you’re never wrong.”
“Well, that’s true, too.” A pumping growl came out of him. “And right now . . . you and I need this.”
That last part was said with none of the passion and all of the seriousness she needed to hear. And what do you know, he was right. The pair of them had been circling for the last seven days, stepping carefully, avoiding the land mine in the center of their relationship. Connecting like this, skin-to-skin, was going to help them get through to the words that had to be spoken.
“So what do you say?” he murmured.
“What are you waiting for?”
The laugh he let out was low and satisfied, and his forearm tightened and released as he started to stroke himself. “Pull the sheet back, Jane.”
The command was husky, but clear, and it got to her. As it always did.
“Do it, Jane. Watch me.”
She put her hand on his pec and drifted it downward, feeling the ribs of his chest and the hard ridges of his abdominals, hearing the hiss as he drew a sharp breath in through his teeth. Lifting the sheet, she had to swallow hard as the head of him breached the top of his fist, breaking free and offering itself with a single, crystal tear.
When she reached out for him, he snapped a hold on her wrist and held her back.
“Look at me, Jane . . .” came the groan. “But don’t touch.”
Son of a bitch. She hated when he did this. Loved it, too.
Vishous didn’t let go of his hold on her as he worked his erection with his gloved hand, his body so beautiful as it found a rhythm with the pump of his palm. Candlelight turned the whole episode into something mysterious, but then . . . it was always like that with V. With him, she never knew what to expect, and not just because he was the son of a deity. He was sex on the edge all the time, hard-cornered and crafty, twisted and demanding.
And she knew that she merely got the watered-down version of him.
There were deeper caves in his underground maze, ones that she had never visited and could never go to.
“Jane,” he said roughly. “Whatever you’re thinking about, drop it. . . . Stay with me here and now and don’t go there.”
She closed her eyes. She’d known what she was mating and what she loved. Back when she’d committed to him for eternity, she’d been well aware of the men and the women and the way he’d had them. She’d just never have guessed that that past would come between them—
“I wasn’t with anyone else.” His voice was strong and sure. “That night. I swear to it.”
Her lids lifted. He’d stopped working himself out and was lying still.
Abruptly, the sight of him was obscured by tears. “I’m so sorry,” she croaked. “I just needed to hear that. I
