Black and Blue

furnace-like intensity, enveloping him. It was exquisite, better than exquisite, and he was suddenly as hard as a steel pipe.

“I hate yammering to comatose Arcadians, I really do. I’m giving you a few more days to wake up, and then I’m dumping you right out the window, just see if I don’t. Because you, Mr. He-slut, are a freaking cover hog, and I’m tired of it.”

He-slut . . .

The word reverberated in his head, irritating him. Who would call him—

In a split second, he remembered sneaking into a fancy two-story belonging to . . . Evangeline. Yes. Evangeline Black. Evie.

His caretaker’s identity stunned him. Angered him a little, too. Here he was, pussing up over the Black Plague and actually feeling affection for her. He’d even considered pleasuring her. Was still freaking hard for her! What kind of madness was that?

Maybe the explosion had fried the wires in his brain.

“When this is over,” she muttered, “I’m probably going to need a tetanus shot. The proverbial they say that inviting a man into your bed is the same as inviting all of his previous lovers. That would explain why I feel so freaking crowded right now.”

The anger sharpened and clawed at his chest. He was desperate to strike back at her. But though his muscles twitched—finally, movement!—he remained in place.

He wasn’t worried about his inability to act. His body was in the process of re-creating itself, and was now in the final stages of the healing. Sometime soon, an electrical current would rush through him, bringing new nerves and cells to vibrant life. He would be back to his . . . old self and . . . he would make Evie . . .

Her insistent warmth drugged him, lulling him deeper and deeper into darkness. . . .

* * *

Evie sighed into her pillow. The past week had passed in a blur of activity. She worked at the hospital. She took care of Blue. One night, she finally scouted the military compound where she suspected her father was being kept, but didn’t break in. They’d beefed up security, and she was out of practice. She couldn’t risk getting caught while she had a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound manimal to feed.

What would happen when he woke up? How would he react? He couldn’t—

A massive burst of energy swept through the room, electrifying the air. Goose bumps broke out over her skin, and her adrenaline spiked, every cell in her body waking up to say hello. She gasped, startled.

“Smell good,” Blue muttered.

They were the first words he’d spoken since the night she’d found him, and his voice snapped her out of her shock. Excitement slithered through her. Was he finally coming around? Would she soon be rid of him and the annoying sense of awareness his mere presence elicited? Never had she been more conscious of her breasts, or the quiver in her stomach, or the ache between her legs than she had these past few days. And she didn’t like it!

Before she could turn over and check on him, he threw a heavy arm over her middle and tugged her into the hard curve of his body, spooning her. Warm breath tickled the back of her neck . . . and, blimey, she melted against him. So good.

“Uh, Blue,” she said, embarrassed by the tremor in her voice.

“Mmm, you feel even better.” As he rubbed his erection into the cleft of her bottom—no way was that thing as big as it seemed to be—his fingers reached around to slide under her T-shirt. Suddenly she was skin to heated skin with her greatest enemy. He cupped one of her breasts, purring, “Sweet little teacup. Can’t wait to put my mouth on it.”

Her nipple beaded, craving exactly what he promised. Mouth, with tongue and teeth.

More.

“Blue,” she gasped. “Stop.” Don’t you dare stop. “I’m not one of your women, and I’m not here to service your every whim. You’re engaged to another woman.” That’s right. Oi. Shame beat through her. “And while I know that doesn’t mean anything to you, it does to me.”

“My woman.” He tweaked her nipple and kissed her nape, his tongue flicking out to taste her. It was ecstasy. It was agony.

It was wrong.

Reaching back, Evie grabbed Blue by the hair and yanked. “I said stop.”

“Ow,” he yelped, his hold on her at last loosening.

Though it nearly killed her, she rolled from his heat, moving on top of him and pinning his shoulders to the mattress with her knees. “I think it’s time for us to chat, yeah?”

Four

BLUE SNAPPED OUT OF the most spectacular sensual daze of his life. Used to having to think and act fast, he took stock of the situation in an instant. Moonlight filled a spacious, femininely decorated bedroom.

Evie Black’s bedroom.

Every piece of furniture hovered over the floor, even the bed.

With a sharp mental command, every piece crashed into place. The bed shook, and Evie almost tumbled over the side. He grabbed her by the waist to steady her—such a slender, perfect waist. His palms flamed at the contact.

He’d noticed their fit before. Somehow, it was better now.

She slapped at his wrists with enough force to let him know she meant business, just not enough to actually break his hold. He released her of his own volition. But rather than reward him for good behavior, she glared at him.

“What’s going on?” he demanded. He’d been living with her, he recalled, and she’d been taking care of him. “Why are you on top of me?” Why was his body already aroused to a fever pitch?

“You made a pass at me,” she spat at him. “Put your hands right on my wee breasts.”

Horror filled him. Horror . . . and a more intense arousal. “No way.”

“Yes way. Want me to write up a review of your performance? Done. First line: Mr. Blue’s rendition of Grabby Hands did not earn a standing O.”

“O as in orgasm?” Annoying baggage. “You’re lying.”

“Are you suggesting you did give me an orgasm?”

“Filthy-minded girl. No.” But I’d like to. “I’m saying I didn’t grab you.”

“Let’s look at the evidence. You have a python between your legs, and it’s poking at me right this very second.”

He bit the side of his tongue. To keep from cursing or laughing, he wasn’t sure. A python? Thank you. “That’s not evidence I touched you. That’s evidence I’m a man. What disproves your grabby hands theory? You aren’t my type, and my fingers aren’t suffering from frostbite.”

For a moment he felt the sting of rejection and frowned. She hadn’t rejected him, so—

Her sting of rejection, he realized. He tried to turn off his empathic ability, but still the sense of rejection remained, hurting him. But . . . she was an emotionless harpy, concerned only with the destruction of all mankind. Nothing he said should bother her.

“Well,” she announced, her tone now flat. “I can honestly say that’s the first time I’ve ever been rejected for being too awesome. Because your type sucks. Blondes with breasts so big they can be used as flotation devices, and heads so filled with air they’re comparable to balloons. Cliche!”

Yes, he did prefer that type of woman. Even though one had never turned him on the way Evie did. And why the hell did he want to beg for her forgiveness? She’d dished worse to him.

And damn it, why was he now focusing on her perfect teacups, practically salivating, definitely desperate to draw her hard little nipples into his mouth? As if her “wee breasts” were the sweetest treats he’d ever had the