proclaiming in the Old Language that this was the home of the Brother Tohrment and his mated
Which explained why it pained John so much to be here. Wellesandra’s
The female had mattered to John. A helluva lot.
John walked down the hall and flicked on more lights as he went, his emotions a combination of bittersweet affection and roaring pain. When they came to a spectacular kitchen, Xhex went over to the table in the alcove.
He had sat here, she thought, putting her hands on the back of one of the chairs... on his first night in this house, he had sat here.
“Mexican food,” she murmured. “You were so afraid of offending them. But then... Wellesandra...”
Like a bloodhound following a fresh trail, Xhex tracked what she sensed of his memories. “Wellesandra served you ginger rice. And... pudding. You felt full for the first time and your stomach didn’t hurt and you... you were so gateful you didn’t know how to handle it.”
When she looked across the way at John, his face was pale and his eyes a bit too shiny and she knew he was back in his little body, sitting at the table, all curled into himself... becoming overwhelmed at the first kindness anyone had shown him in a very long time.
A footstep out in the hall brought her head up and she realized Qhuinn was still with them, the guy loitering about, his bad mood a tangible shadow around him.
Well, he didn’t have to tag along any longer. This was the end of the road, the final chapter in John’s story that pretty much caught her up-to-date. And unfortunately, it meant by all which was right and proper, they should go back to the mansion... where no doubt John would make her eat some more and try to get her to feed again.
She didn’t want to return there, though, not yet. In her mind, she’d decided to take one night off, so these were her last few hours before she got on the vengeance trail... and lost this soft connection between her and John, this profound understanding they now had of each other.
Because she wasn’t going to fool herself: The sad reality was the powerful tie that linked them was nonetheless so fragile, she didn’t doubt it was going to snap once the present came back into better focus than the past.
“Qhuinn, will you excuse us, please.”
The guy’s mismatched eyes shot over to John, and a series of hand motions got traded between them.
“Fuckin’ A,” Qhuinn spat before turning on his heel and marching out the front door.
After the slam finished echoing through the house, she stared at John. “Where did you sleep?”
When he swept his hand to a corridor, she went with him past many rooms that had modern fixtures and antique art. The combination made the place feel like an art museum you could live in and she explored a little, ducking her head into the open doors of parlors and bedrooms.
John’s crib was all the way at the other end of the house, and as she walked in to it, she could only imagine the culture shock. Squalor to splendor, all in the change of a zip code: Unlike the crappy studio apartment, this was a navy blue haven with sleek furniture, a marble bathroom, and a carpet that was as thick and full as a marine’s brush cut.
Plus it had a sliding glass door that led out onto a private terrace.
John went over and opened the closet, and she looked over his strong, heavy arm to the small clothes that hung on wooden hangers.
As he stared at the shirts and fleeces and pants, his shoulders were tight and one of his hands was curled into a fist. He was sorry about something he’d done or the way he’d acted and it didn’t have anything to do with her...
Tohr. It was about Tohr.
He was regretting the way things had been lately between them.
“Talk to him,” she said softly. “Tell him what’s doing. You’ll both feel better.”
John nodded and she could sense his resolve sharpening.
God, she wasn’t quite sure how it happened—well, the mechanics were pretty damn simple, but what was surprising was the fact that once again, she found herself going over and hugging him, her arms wrapping around his waist from behind. Laying her cheek between his shoulder blades, she was glad when she felt his hands covering hers.
He communicated in so many different ways, didn’t he. And sometimes touch was better than words for saying what you meant.
In the silence, she drew him back to the bed and they both sat down.
As she just stared at him, he mouthed,
“You sure you want me to go there?” When he nodded, she looked him right in the eye. “I know you left something out. I can sense it. There’s a gap between the orphanage and that apartment building.”
Not one facial muscle moved or even twitched on him and he didn’t blink, either. But the tells of a male who was good at covering up his reactions were irrelevant. She knew what she knew about him.
“It’s okay, I’m not going to ask. And I’m not going to press.”
His faint blush was something she would remember long after she was gone... and the thought of leaving him was what brought her fingertips to his lips. As he jerked in surprise, she focused on his mouth.
“I want to give you something of me,” she said in a low, deep voice. “It’s not about making the score even, though. It’s just because I want to.”
After all, it would have been great if she could have taken him to her places and walked him through her life, but his knowing more about her past was just going to make her suicide mission harder for him: however she felt about John, she was going after her captor and she wasn’t about to fool herself on the odds of her surviving that showdown.
Lash had tricks.
Bad tricks that he did bad things with.
Memories of the bastard came back to her, horrible ones that made her thighs tremble, ugly ones that nonetheless served to push her into something that she might not really be ready for. But she couldn’t go to her grave with Lash having been her last.
Not when she had the one male she’d ever love in front of her.
“I want to be with you,” she said hoarsely.
John’s shocked blue eyes traced her face like he was looking for signs that he might be reading her wrong. And then a hot, hard lust broke through all his emotions, shattering them and leaving nothing behind but a full- blooded male’s urge to mate.
To his credit, he did his best to beat back the instinct and hold on to some semblance of rationality. But all that meant was that she was the one who ended the battle between sense and sensibility—by putting her mouth against his.
Oh... God, his lips were soft.
In spite of the thundering she sensed in his blood, he kept himself in check. Even when she slid her tongue inside of him. And that restraint made it easier for her as her mind flickered back and forth between what she was doing now...
And what had been done to her mere days ago.
To help focus her, she sought out his chest and ran her palms down the pads of muscle over his heart. Easing him back onto the mattress, she breathed in his scent and smelled the bonding he felt for her. The dark spices were unique to him, and about as far as you could get from the sickening stench of a
Which helped her separate this experience from her most recent ones.
The kiss started out as an exploration, but it didn’t stay that way. John moved closer, rolling his massive body against hers, his heavy leg riding up until the weight of it pushed down on her own. At the same time, his arms wrapped around her, bringing her in tight to him.
He was moving slowly, as was she.
And she was fine until his hand slipped onto her breast.
