Black and Blue

The next few days were packed with activities. Evie held a press conference to announce she was taking over Black Industries and that she’d set up an exhibition game for the Invaders and Strikers at the end of the week. She called Tyson Star and set up a tour of the Star Light Hotel, but he wasn’t the one to give her the tour. His personal assistant did the honors.

She almost threw a tantrum.

Also, Tiffany had yet to call Blue and ask him to meet her father.

But at least no one had tried to kill him. Or Evie. It was safe to assume his cover was solid, he wasn’t a target, and whoever had ordered the car chase had changed his—or her—mind.

Even so, Evie was a bit on edge. She and Blue had not had their chat about expectations and had not made out again. Was he done with her?

No. Impossible. Last time he’d been totally on fire for her. Flames that hot couldn’t have just died out.

Really? Reeeally? Have you ever witnessed a fire burning? Flames die out all the time, moron.

She could hear him puttering around in the kitchen, and shivered. He’d snuck over a few hours ago. He’d snuck over every night, actually, secretly staying in the guest room, just as he’d promised Michael.

Have I lost my appeal?

No, she thought again. She wasn’t a raving beauty like the women he was used to, and she had the wrong hair color . . . and the wrong boob size. . . . Hey. She frowned. What had he ever seen in her?

She didn’t know. But she had not fallen from the ugly tree and gotten hit by every branch, thank you. Blue had felt an attraction to her, and it had been strong enough that he’d forgotten his dislike of her.

Maybe . . . the stress was getting to him? He worked constantly, and rarely slept.

To be honest, she was having trouble keeping up with him.

“Dinner,” Blue called.

He’d offered to cook, and she hadn’t even given a token protest. Her culinary genius was limited to boiling soup and thawing the frozen dinners her father sometimes sent over.

“Be right down.” She had left him alone about half an hour ago; the sight of him preparing a meal, acting all domesticated, had nearly sent her into a euphoric state of shock.

Translation: she’d wanted to jump him.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket as she padded to the kitchen. She checked the screen, saw Michael’s name, and grinned. “Hey, you.”

“Hey, sunbeam,” he replied. He called her once a day to check in.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better.”

He offered nothing more, so she said, “Did something happen?”

“Nope. Just wondering if the exhibition game was set.”

A lie. He knew it was. He watched the news. “In two days, as planned. I’ve finalized all details for the after-party as well.” A party where Blue would probably have to seduce the pants right off Tiffany Star. Nothing else had worked.

He would always do anything necessary to get what he needed from a target, so maybe their aborted romance was for the best. Evie hadn’t changed her mind. She would never be okay with her man bagging other women, no matter the reason.

“Good,” Michael said. “That’s good.”

Blue stood behind the counter and, without moving a muscle, used his power to push a plate of spaghetti across the counter.

“Thanks,” she mouthed—and had to force herself to look away from him before she started drooling. Could the man never wear a shirt?

I’ve had that chest pressed against mine, but I failed to touch or taste it. Bad Evie!

It would be a lifelong regret.

“I wanted to ask . . . how things are going with Blue?” There was something odd about her father’s tone.

“Fine,” she said, grateful he couldn’t see the sudden color in her cheeks. “Why?”

“Are you two . . .”

She stifled a groan. “Fighting? No.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Too bad for you, because that’s the only question I’m willing to answer.”

“Sorry, sunbeam, but this is important. I love the man, I do, but he’s not right for you.”

“You think I don’t know that? And anyway, what brought this on?” she asked.

“I keep remembering the way you looked at him.”

How had she looked at him?

Blimey. Had Blue noticed?

Blue stepped around her, getting in her face, clearly concerned. He mouthed, “Something wrong?”

“My father is butting into something that is not his business,” she said, loud enough for both men to hear.

Blue straightened with a snap and paled, confusing her. Had he guessed what she meant? Was he offended—hurt by her father’s lack of trust?

The thought of Blue hurt . . . upset her.

Michael sighed. “All right. I’ll let it go. I just . . . I care about you, want the best for you.”

“Then why did you visit me only seven times while I was overseas?” The question left her before she could stop it, the neediness of her tone embarrassing her.

He heaved another sigh. “Your mom . . . are you sure you want to hear this?”

Mum had interfered? “Yes.”

“She threatened to hide you from me, and she was a good enough agent that I knew she could do it. I took whatever scraps she let me have, and pounced the moment you were legal.”

“Oh.” “Oh”? That’s all you have to say? Her entire outlook had just been turned inside out. Years of upset, for no reason. “Dad—” she croaked.

“No, it’s all right. It’s okay. I knew why you were holding me at a distance, and I couldn’t blame you. I’ve often thought I should have risked everything and just taken you away.”

She blinked away a prickle of tears. “Just knowing you wanted to . . . thank you,” she said.

“Yes, well.” He cleared his throat as if he were having a little problem with tears, too. “I trained you to be an agent so that I could have more time with you. And you far surpassed my expectations. You should come back to work for me.”

“No.” She hadn’t changed her mind. When this was over, she was going back to her old life, where the lives of strangers rested in her hands—not the lives of loved ones.

“Stubborn,” he muttered. “Look, I’ve been watching the video and listening to the feed you sent me. I found a clip of Star at the Lucky Horn the day before the explosion, but there’s no audio, so I can only guess that’s when the bombing was being planned. Then, in the live feed from his estate, I heard something interesting.”

“What?”

“I’ll text you the details. Tomorrow morning, you and Blue have a new mission.”

The line went dead.

She set down her phone, scooped up her plate, and settled in at the table where Blue waited. He hadn’t yet touched his food. Had waited for her like a proper gentleman. She would have thought him calm if not for the tendrils of power now falling over her.

They were strongest when he was upset . . . or aroused. Right now, they were very strong.

So which was he?

Trembling, she picked up her fork. He picked up his, and she was momentarily blinded to all but his long, blunt-tipped fingers. I’ve had those inside me.