When he pushed her mug closer to her, reminding her the chocolate was starting to cool, she saw the ceramic had a picture of a cat on it, one with a comically disagreeable face, a fly sitting on its whisker. It made her lips twitch.
She looked up at him then. He was still stirring, so she had the pleasure of studying the aristocratic bone structure of his face, the set of his mouth. Though none of the Knights shared their women outside their own circle, Savannah stayed pretty exclusive to Matt and him to her, except for indulging some soft pleasures within the group—like the women had done tonight. She wanted to ask about that, and about a million other questions, but she figured she’d wait until another time. Or seek other sources for the information. Best not to poke the lead wolf with a stick.
“I used to go crazy, reading the society pages,” she admitted. “Whenever they hooked him up with someone for a charity event, or reported seeing him ‘with’ Miss So-n-So, I’d think—what will I do if someone gets him first? If one day I open up the paper and see his engagement notice?”
Matt arched a brow. “Did you have a plan to handle that eventuality?”
“Yes. It involved a shovel and a remote location.”
Matt chuckled, heaping marshmallows in the top of Savannah’s mug. “You and Ben may be a useful combination, if I ever need to be permanently rid of a competitor.”
It made her grin at him. Lifting the hot chocolate, he gave her a wink, moved into the other room. When she followed him, she saw his timing was as uncanny as usual. Savannah was sitting up, restless from the discomfort of being on one side too long. She gave him a cranky look.
“I am exactly where I was when you checked on me thirty minutes ago. Oh except I had the baby. She slid right out, and now she’s off somewhere playing with electrical sockets and curtain cords.”
“That’s a shame. I’ll lose my deposit on that birthing suite at the hospital. Maybe we can just go there for a vacation stay and cancel that private island resort we’ve reserved for the fall.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t reserved the entire wing so I’ll have the undivided attention of every obstetrician in New Orleans.”
“Who said I didn’t?” He gave her a lingering look, so full of warmth and gentle devotion that Savannah shook her head, a soft smile crossing her face. She glanced at Marcie.
“He’s hopeless.”
Hopelessly in love with his wife. It made Marcie ache and yearn…and hope.
* * * * *
Ben made sure he came into the office a bare few minutes before the nine o’clock staff meeting. He didn’t want to chat over coffee or any other bullshit. He’d given Peter the slip about thirty minutes after their heart-to-heart in the alley. Yeah, it had been a crappy thing to do, but Peter needed to get home to Dana, and Ben didn’t need a nursemaid. While the mushy moment hadn’t been faked, it had made it easier to fool Peter into thinking Ben accepted being followed. One of the few times he’d been able to outwit the shrewd former captain.
His head was pounding from whatever toxic brew he’d poured down his throat in some of New Orleans’ seedier dives throughout the weekend. He vaguely remembered getting into it in a pool hall with a trio of guys wearing a lot of biker leather. His ribs still hurt from being knocked down and kicked, but he didn’t really remember much other than that. Except the guys being pretty affable about it, propping him up in the alley and watching over him until he regained consciousness. The biggest guy had even spotted him another beer, making the laconic comment, “She fucked you up, pal. Women’ll do that. Go on home before you get yourself killed.”
Since he didn’t remember talking to anyone about Marcie, he supposed it was just an educated guess. Bikers could be pretty astute that way.
He barely nodded to Janet, went to his office, found the file he needed on his desk. Which either meant Janet had taken over Marcie’s duties, or Marcie herself had come in and set it out. He’d had her reassigned, but she could be in the building. The very thought of it made his head hurt worse.
When he was sitting in the alley with the biker, deciding whether he’d sleep there and let someone steal his wallet, or struggle to his feet and find his way to the nearest hotel to hide out for the weekend, his thoughts had gone back to earlier in the night. Before the limo. She’d embraced the CNC treatment, but ultimately what she’d been seeking was that intense connection, the emotional input that promised a soul had a match in this world. It was the way she’d been from the very beginning, the first time he’d met her, when she was sixteen and not even on his sphere as a lover.
Friday night he’d felt that desire from her, overriding everything else, even the physical. The problem was, he’d felt it right back, and the more he’d felt it, the more he’d felt like a tiger trapped in a cage he didn’t want opened. She just kept pushing and pushing. If he’d seen it through the way he should have, he would have sent her spinning through subspace, fucked her brains out.
He wouldn’t have left her aftercare to the staff though. He’d have wrapped a blanket around her, held her as her teeth chattered and she shook, the effect of getting so deep in that zone, a place he could have gone with her, totally into topspace. Instead he’d been unable to leave his own fucking headspace, his anger, his frustration, his lack of balance. He’d had
