Frankie’s jaw dropped. “What the hell was that all about?”
“If you act like you’re important, they’ll treat you like you’re important.” He gave her a pointed look.
Shock flew through her, and she battled her jaw to keep it from dropping. “That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m referring to the fact that you just booked the penthouse at the Imperial. I mean...Jace, for lack of a better term, you live in a crash pad of an apartment.”
“And?”
“And how are you going to afford this?”
He picked up his duffel bag from the floor and tapped the bills on the counter. “You think I stole this, don’t you?” he asked, too soft for the clerk to hear.
She lost the battle with her jaw and gaped at him. “What? I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t need to say it. But for your information, my employer pays all their employees, all around the globe,
“But...”
He sighed. “I live in a shit-hole apartment because I choose to. I’d rather deal with shitty and realistic than fancy and fake anyday.”
The clerk cleared her throat to get their attention and held out the key.
Jace took it and looked at the clock. “You were nearly late. Don’t let it happen again.”
He turned on his heel, shot Frankie a grin and strolled toward the elevator. She hurried after him. Catching the closing elevator doors, he held them until she joined him inside. She hated elevators. The air closed around her and slowed her breathing just the slightest bit.
“If you don’t like fancy, then why are we here?” She closed her eyes and leaned onto the inside railing. The elevator hummed as it shot up to the top floor.
Jace reached inside his coat and pulled out a flask. He unscrewed the cap and chugged a swig. “If you’d put a bounty on my head or were looking to kill me, would you start here?”
Frankie thought of the other hunters searching every slummy motel in Rochester for a sign of him. “Point taken.”
When the elevator finally reached the penthouse level, the bell dinged as the doors opened into a small lobby. The floor was covered with fluffy white carpet, and she had a feeling that lying on it would be as comfortable as lying in her four-poster bed. A white double door faced the elevator, only the slight tan of the lobby walls adding any color.
Jace walked to the door, his dirt-covered boots leaving dark footprints all over the white carpet. She cringed at the sight. After unlocking the door, he stepped inside as if he’d been there a hundred times.
She followed him, and her breath caught at the sight of the penthouse. “This is absolutely gorgeous.”
He dropped his bag of weapons on the floor of the master bedroom. “It’s a little too gorgeous to be comfortable, in my opinion. Though I guess if you like gaudy, it’s all right.”
“Why does anything nice make you so uncomfortable?”
“What do you mean?”
She grinned, ready to throw his words back verbatim. “You said you’d ‘rather deal with shitty and realistic than fancy and fake anyday.’ I want to know why.”
Jace raised a single eyebrow.
She put her hands up. “Your words, not mine. I’m just trying to understand them.”
He unzipped the duffel and slipped one of his many handhelds underneath the pillows. “Shitty and realistic is what I’m used to, and I’m comfortable with that.”
“You’re a creature of habit.”
“No, I just don’t like change.” He tucked another handheld in the nightstand drawer.
“Change can be good.” She looked at him.
“Change can screw you six ways ’til Sunday.”
She dropped the subject and walked over to the bed. Sitting on the edge, she felt like she was invading someone else’s room, someone else’s space. She peeled her tennis shoes off her feet and wiggled her toes, then arched her spine. Her neck and back could really use a good straightening.
Jace strolled into the master bathroom and flicked on the light. He shrugged out of his coat and laid it across the counter, then leveled his face inches away from the mirror. He examined his eye, running his fingers over the bruises, which had already begun to heal. She watched as he stood up straight again and pulled his shirt over his head, then threw it on top of the coat.
Thick muscles defined his torso, and his back flexed every time he moved. Her stomach filled with evil, torturous butterflies. Every part of her body that he’d touched burned. A trail of heat washed through her, and she forced herself to look away.
She stared at the fluffy white carpet. A low grunt came from the bathroom, and she couldn’t help but look up again. Jace was attempting to pour whiskey down his back and over the scratches lining his shoulder blades from his fight with Damon, Mr. Ice-Blue Eyes.
She walked slowly into the bathroom. As soon as Jace saw her reflection in the mirror, he stopped making a mess with the whiskey
“Here.” She took the flask from his hand. “Let me help.”
“I can do it,” he said, though he dropped his hands to his sides and didn’t reach for the flask again.
“No, you can’t. You’re getting it all over the tile.” She unfolded one of the bathroom towels and stepped closer to him. “Can you kneel? I’m not tall enough.” Even though she was tall for a woman, standing next to him, she realized she barely reached his shoulders.
He got down on his knees, and she bunched the towel in her hand.
“This will sting.” Before he could protest, she poured the whiskey onto his wounds. He hissed as she patted the excess liquid off his skin.
She looked at his reflection in the mirror. A large purplish-yellow ring hung under one eye. His cheeks looked swollen from where he’d been punched in the face, and the cut on his lip was scabbed over with dried blood. But he was still ruggedly handsome and, in many ways, even beautiful. Part of her hated him for that.
“You should put ice on that. I’ll get some for you.”
He shook his head. “Don’t bother. You don’t need to take care of me.”
“Why not? You took care of me earlier.” She refolded the towel and set it on the counter.
“That was different.”
“How was it any different?” she asked as she exited the bathroom.
He followed her into the bedroom but didn’t answer.
“Sit on the bed.” She pointed to the king-size mattress before hurrying into the kitchen to retrieve some ice. She wrapped it in a towel and walked back out to the bedroom.
Jace’s shoulders slumped as he sat down. He placed his hands on his knees and hung his head. Frankie sighed. Just looking at his defeated posture drained all her energy.
She went to his side and knelt in front of him. “Close your eye.”
He did as he was told, and she pressed the makeshift compress onto his shiner. He groaned, and his grip on his knees tightened.
“From the way you act, I’d swear you’d never been punched before.” She smiled.
“Believe me, I’ve had my fair share of beatings throughout my lifetime.”
She shrugged. “Such is the life of a supernatural.”
He opened his one good eye and glared. “I’m not one of you.”
“You are—at least partially. You might have been able to fool those goons we took down back there, but you couldn’t fool me. I know an Alpha wolf when I see one.”
“I’m no wolf, and I’m no Alpha.”
She rolled her eyes and nodded to the compress. “Hold this in place while I get some more ice for the rest of your face.”
He held the compress as she went back to the kitchen. When she returned, she held an unwrapped cold cube against his lip. Despite the cold ice in her hand, her body filled with heat as she thought of his warm mouth running across her thigh. Her finger slipped, and the pad of her thumb rubbed against the smooth skin of his
