Fury of Desire

inside, she’d lost her bearings. Most of her autonomy too. And her ability to trust? Long gone. Prison did that to a person. Everyone—good, bad, or indifferent—became suspect, another enemy in the struggle to stay alive in a place where hardened criminals called the shots. But as she lay in the dim light, under the welling warmth of Wick’s palm, she didn’t want to fight. She wanted to stay still, enjoy the echoing quiet along with the man, if only for a little while.

Which… ding-ding-ding, give the girl a prize… didn’t make any sense.

Her reaction to him bordered on stupidity. She should’ve hammered him by now. Wound up and let fly the moment she woke up with him all over her. Under normal circumstances, she would’ve made him pay for getting too close. But for some reason, the situation didn’t qualify as normal. Forget the dragon stuff. Her hesitation started and ended with Wick—the man, not the monster. Odd in more ways than one. Particularly since she never allowed men anywhere near her.

At least, not anymore.

She’d learned her lesson the hard way. Mistrust might not look nice on paper, but it kept a girl safe. Not to mention alive.

But with Wick, her defenses were shot. Down for the count and disengaged from the motherboard. Something about him rang true. Despite the man-to-dragon switch-up, she recognized safe when she saw it. Most women would’ve jumped for joy at the news flash. Gotten off on his trustworthiness and gone shopping for his and her towels or some crap. Not her. J.?J. didn’t like the imaginary juxtaposition.

The attraction she felt for him scared her too much.

Careful not to jostle him, she shifted on the mattress. Next she drew a fortifying breath, screwed up her courage, and glanced his way. Oh God. Unfair. He looked unbelievable lying there, like a fallen angel with his thick lashes and messed-up dark hair. Chewing on the inside of her lower lip, she ran her gaze over him again. Boy, he was big. Intriguing as well, all male with wide-set shoulders, hard-muscled arms, and a gorgeous face. Lingering on his mouth, she listened to him breathe, watched his back rise and fall—

“Good lord,” she whispered. “What should I do?”

She racked her brain and waited, hoping He might take pity and toss her a bone. An idea. An inkling. A certified escape plan. Anything at all to help her out of the mess. But as the clock’s hands walked around its face, tick-tick-tocking in the quiet, her mind went blank, refusing to cooperate. Annoying much? No question. Beyond frustrating too, particularly when temptation called, infecting her with curiosity, making her stare at the top of his head and wonder things like…

Would his hair be as soft as it looked? Would the day-old stubble along his jaw be as prickly as she thought? Would the heat he radiated warm her chilly fingertips within moments… or would it take longer?

Stupid questions. All of them. She knew it the moment each one drifted through her mind. Her reaction to him—the awful pull of attraction—bordered on ridiculous. Illogical and insane worked too, considering what she knew about him.

An image of him rose in her mind’s eye.

Horned head framing golden eyes. Black amber-tipped scales flashing in the moonlight. Razor-sharp claws crowning huge talons that had ripped other dragons apart.

Dragons. Oh dear God. The sky had been full of them last night and—

J.?J. swallowed as panic sent her sideways. Practicality stopped the psychological slide. Freaking out wouldn’t help. It never did. She’d seen what she’d seen. No going back or denying it. And yet as she stared at him, replaying the events, she fought to reconcile what she’d witnessed with the man asleep next to her. With the very human hands holding her and the realization that his touch brought her comfort. J.?J. wanted to deny it, but facts were tricky things. Uncompromising, each one got in her face, making her admit the truth. She wasn’t hurting anymore. The pain was gone, leaving nothing but a nagging ache along her rib cage where she’d been sliced wide open.

Oh, and a slight throb in her ankle too.

Wiggling her toes, she lifted her leg beneath the sheet. Propped on a pillow, the plaster cast rustled against cotton, but… huh. Some discomfort, but nothing like before, which prompted a realization. He’d done something to her. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what. Human beings didn’t heal that fast, so…

She owed her fast recovery to Wick.

Frowning, J.?J. dug deep, examining her conclusion, turning it over in her mind, looking for holes in the theory. Nothing but certainty surfaced. Proof positive lay in the strange current buzzing though her. She could feel the ebb and flow of sensation swirl. Closing her eyes, J.?J. pinpointed the epicenter. The heated rush radiated from the center of his palm, sizzled across her skin, spread out, sank deep, enfolding her body to embrace her from the inside out.

Between one heartbeat and the next, J.?J. made her decision. Waking him up had just become priority number one. She had questions. He possessed the answers. A conversation was in order. One problem, though. She didn’t know how he’d react. Experience told her men didn’t like to be shaken awake. So poking at Wick while he slept? Probably not the best idea. He might wake up swinging, and considering the size of the hand gripping her hipbone, avoiding a knuckle sandwich a la Wick seemed like an excellent strategy.

Apprehension cocked like a gun about to go off, J.?J. cleared her throat, hoping the sound would wake him. Nothing. No reaction. Not even an eyelash flutter.

“Wick?” She kept her tone soft, nonthreatening. “Time to wake up.”

Again, he didn’t move.

Out of options, J.?J. reached out. Her hand touched his shoulder. She nudged. He frowned. J.?J. added a jostle to the equation. He grumbled something. She blinked. Surprise folded into annoyance. Frigging guy. She wasn’t completely certain, but it sounded as though he’d just told her to fuck off.

Irritation strangled self-preservation. She jabbed him with her fingertip. “Hey!”

His hand flexed, tightening on her hip a second before he snarled. J.?J. squeaked in alarm as his head came off his forearm. Intense golden eyes met hers, then narrowed. The breath stalled in her throat. Memory grabbed hold, dragging her back five years to a time and place she didn’t want to go. Oh shit. Jesus help her. She should never have lost her patience. Now he would make her pay. Eat her alive. Hurt her for pissing him off. The lash of experience struck and left welts behind, forcing her to remember what she wanted to forget. She recognized the expression Wick wore… understood history often repeated itself and that hers had come to claim her. And even though being hit was nothing new, J.?J. screamed inside, howling at the unfairness.

Not again. Never again. She’d made herself a promise. Had shot and killed a man to keep it and herself safe. But here, in a strange room, under the dim light, the past came back to haunt her. And as fear stripped away reason, she froze under the threat of brutality, not knowing which way to turn or where to go.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, hating the plea and the weakness that drove it. She was broken. Beyond fragile. So pathetic the rasp of her voice made her cringe. But even after five years, habit—years of training meted out by an ex with a sadistic side—forced J.?J. into an awful pattern of surrender. A quick roll. A fast jerk, and she curled into a ball. With efficiency born of desperation, she brought her arms up to protect her face. “Please don’t h-hit me. Please don’t. I’m sorry… s-sorry.”

As the ugliness spilled out of her, Wick flinched. “Holy fuck.”

His curse banged around inside her skull. Her heartbeat took up the cause, ricocheting inside her chest, throbbing hard as J.?J. waited. For the violent rush of air. For the first punch to land. For the pain that always followed. Except…

She blinked. Nothing happened. The worse didn’t arrive.

And as quiet expanded in the wake of her outburst, J.?J. stopped reacting and started thinking. Drawing a lungful of air, she listened hard. No sound. No movement. Nothing at all. Just the warm, heavy weight of his hand on the outside of her thigh. His absolute stillness reassured her. His silence gave her courage.

Lifting her elbow, she peeked through the space between her forearms. A furrow between his brows, he stared at her, confusion and more in his eyes. A slight tremor in her hands, she lowered her guard halfway to test him. When he stayed perfectly still, J.?J. released a choppy breath. Thank God. He wasn’t going to retaliate. Had no intention of hitting her at all.

Tears gathered as the realization settled deep.

Her gaze locked on him, she exhaled and allowed her muscles to unlock. As the tension eased, she called herself a fool. Dumb-ass, though, worked even better. She’d shocked the hell out of him.