slide against his mouth, the way his throat worked as he swallowed, and she couldn't help noticing those same horrific scars on his neck and, lower still, reaching under the shirt. Where else did they go?
She let him put the glass to her lips, astonished at how good water could taste. She hadn't realized she was so thirsty. All the while she drank, she had to force her mind from straying to Ken. She tasted him on the glass, felt him through the thin material of the T-shirt-or maybe it was his T-shirt. Maybe that was why she felt him imprinted deep in her bones.
She held the glass to her forehead, fighting for air. With every breath she drew into her lungs, a sharp pain stabbed through her chest.
'You're lucky to be alive,' Ken said, taking the glass and setting it on a table beside the bed. 'If you hadn't been wearing two vests, you'd be dead right now.'
Cami had insisted she wear two vests. She'd have to remember to thank her friend for that. She touched the painful spot. 'Was it you?'
'I was aiming for your eye. You moved as I pulled the trigger.'
'I figured you would fire as soon as you knew where I was. I kept rolling, but you hit me with both shots.'
'I didn't kill you.' he pointed out, his voice mild. 'And that's a rare thing.'
She blinked up at him, seeing the beauty of his face when he wanted her to see his mask. She knew he hid behind that mask of complete indifference. He hid himself away where no one could get to him-and why it mattered, she had no idea. She had obligations and she had to escape as quickly as possible. She just knew she didn't want to add to this man's scars.
'Lucky me. I didn't kill you, and that might be even rarer.'
He quirked an eyebrow at her, the one without a scar slashing white through the black hairs. 'Actually, it was Jack you nearly hit. Do you need a painkiller?'
Mari shook her head. 'You've given me something. I'm already floating. How bad is the leg?'
'Let's just say. you're going to have to put off your escape plans for a little while.'
Was he reading her mind? It was possible. She was a strong telepath; maybe he was too. Maybe touching her allowed him entrance to her mind. Panic swirled in her belly, her stomach churning. Dr. Whitney had experimented on the soldiers with the idea of creating a unique black ops team capable of slipping in and out of situations, and handling any problem that might crop up, including interrogation. With the right psychic ability, just touching another might be all that was necessary to extract the information wanted.
'I'm not.'
'Not what?'
'I'm not reading your mind.'
She blinked up at him. 'If you're not, how did you know what I was thinking?'
'You don't have a poker face and I know your sister very well.' His gaze locked on hers-held hers. 'She has a lot of the same expressions.'
The punch took her breath away, robbed her of every bit of air left in her lungs. How did he know she had a sister? Who was he? She felt sick, bile rising so fast she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. Had she talked when she was unconscious? She would not be used to capture her sister.
She stayed very still, making herself smaller in the bed. She might be at their mercy right this moment, but they would underestimate her, especially with the way she was acting around Ken. There would be one moment when they would grow complacent, when they would forget she was a trained soldier, and she would be able to escape.
She reached out telepathically, calling on the other members of her unit, hoping someone was in range. Sometimes, when they were all connected, they could reach far, miles even, but most of the time they had to be fairly close.
Ken pressed several fingers to his temples, rubbing them as if they ached. 'Stop it. When you're reaching out to your friends, it sounds like bees buzzing in my head. Not only is it distracting, but it can be painful.'
She flushed, unable to keep the color from rising in her cheeks. 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you.' She glanced at Jack. He was watching his brother, his expression wary-why, she couldn't tell. 'I was checking in.'
'I'll bet you were,' Jack said. 'Ken, why don't you take a break and I'll have a little chat with our guest?'
The tension in the room shot up perceptibly. Ken turned slowly, hands out away from his sides. There was nothing overtly threatening in his manner, but Marigold's heart began to pound in alarm. She reached out without thinking, her fingers sliding down Ken's arm. She felt his muscles rippling beneath the thin material of his shirt and then the pads of her fingers slid over warm skin and settled there. She could feel his scars against her smooth palm. Once again heightened awareness of him as a man and her as a woman shot through her.
Ken stopped moving, leaving her fingers wrapped halfway around his wrist, but he didn't turn around. He faced his brother, and Mari glanced at the window, trying to see his expression. In the glass, his scars didn't show and she could see the same masculine beauty that was carved so exquisitely in his brother's face. Her heart gave off a curious melting sensation. She had a strange desire to frame that face with her hands, to kiss every single scar and tell him none of them mattered. But she knew they did. Something deadly lay beneath that surface of destruction, and somehow it was tied up in each of those terrible slices made into his flesh and bone.
Jack spread his hands out in front of him. held his right palm up. 'It was just a suggestion.'
'I can handle things here, no problem.' Ken said.
Jack shrugged and stepped out of the room.
'What was that?' Mari asked.
Ken turned back to her, his face as expressionless as ever. 'You don't know?'
Did she? Mari was so confused with her reaction to him, with her behavior and the fact that she wasn't in terrible pain as long as she was close to him that she couldn't seem to think with a clear head. He had admitted he'd given her painkillers: maybe they were making her thinking fuzzy, because nothing was making sense.
Unless… It couldn't be. She would know, wouldn't she? Her mouth went dry at the thought that Whitney had somehow paired her with this man. Her fingers tightened around his wrist. 'Come closer to me.' Whitney had many, many experiments, and his worst was combining couples-his breeding program. It was why she had convinced the others in her unit to allow her to join them one more time so she could personally speak to the senator.
Violet knew her. Violet would vouch for her. Speaking to the senator and asking-begging-him to intervene was the only way she and the other women could continue to do their duty as soldiers. And if she didn't get back to the compound fast, too many people were going to get hurt.
'You know,' he said, his voice soft.
She closed her eyes and looked away from him. She'd been trained as a soldier almost since the day she was born, and she was proud of her abilities. But suddenly, Whitney had pulled the women off the units and brought them to a new location, a new training center, and they'd become virtual prisoners. Whitney had paired some of the men with the women using some kind of scent compatibility. It was more complicated than that, but she had seen the results and they weren't very nice. The men were obsessed, whether or not the women responded to them. And it didn't seem to matter to most of them one way or the other. She and the other women had conspired to get one of them out of the compound to approach Senator Freeman and Violet in the hopes that he would shut down Whitney's operation and return them to their units.
Mari had never been attracted to any of the men she knew and respected, yet she was fascinated by a total stranger, her enemy, a man who would have killed her. She was not just attracted; the feeling was all- encompassing. She wanted to soothe away his hurts. She needed to find a way to take away the stark loneliness she saw in him.
Somehow Whitney had paired her with this man. He didn't act as if he reciprocated, and Mari was ashamed of herself. She detested the men in the breeding program for their lack of discipline and control, and yet she was acting nearly as bad. This was a horrible situation and one that wasn't going to be easily overcome.
What did she want anyway? To sleep with him, just as the men did with her? Did she think he was going to fall madly in love with her? There was no such thing. Love was an illusion. According to Whitney, it was their duty to sleep with their partner in order to have a child. So far, she had resisted, and she'd been punished numerous times, but the idea of intimacy with Brett, of all men-a vicious brute of a man who enjoyed inflicting punishments-was a
