“Your ship?” She placed her hand over her heart. “You’d be that far away?” She didn’t like the idea of staying in the apartment if someone wouldn’t be close by, but she could hardly ask him to spend his nights in the garage on the first floor.
“Yes, unfortunately. Though, my sons all live within a ten-minute drive from here.”
A lot could happen in ten minutes. Wynter knew that fact all too well.
“Ten minutes? That far?” A knot formed in her stomach. As much as sharing an apartment with a strange man frightened her, she feared to be too far away from help more. “Maybe...” She took a shaky breath. “Maybe it would be okay if you stayed here with us.” Her face burned at the thought of him sleeping so close to her.
Her nipples tightened, and Wynter crossed her arms to cover them. The look on Geno’s face told her she’d been too late to avoid his seeing the telltale points beneath her blouse.
His scent grew stronger. It was an odd mixture of mint and cedar with a dash of citrus. Her stomach growled. Maybe it wasn’t Geno, after all. The cedar was probably some cologne he wore, but the mint and the orange smell was most likely produce sitting on the kitchen counter.
“Did whoever it was who did the shopping, pick up oranges?”
“Why do you ask that?” Deno asked, his eyes wide. “Do you smell oranges?”
“Yes. Why?”
“No reason.” Deno strode through the room and into the adjoining room. “No oranges. “He opened the refrigerator door and bent to look inside. “Other than some lettuce, tomatoes, and cucumbers, there’s one package of apple slices. I don’t see much fruit at all.” He shook his head with a sigh. “We should have known better than to send adolescents to do the grocery shopping.”
“Adolescents?”
“Yeah, our younger brothers, Ronin and Rowen. They’re nearly twenty-nine of your years old, but on Zolon, that’s about the equivalent of being seventeen here.”
“So you guys really are Geno’s sons?”
“Of course, they’re my sons, and stop talking about me as though I’m not here.” He glowered at his son. “Why does everyone always talk about me as though I’m in another room?”
“Well, if your story were even half believable, maybe I wouldn’t be asking so many questions.” Wynter scowled up at him, her hands on her hips, forgetting her trepidation. Just before his death, she’d taken enough mental and verbal abuse from her husband to last two lifetimes. She wasn’t about to start taking it from a stranger.
That thought brought her up short. Wait a minute. Had Ben really mentally and verbally abused her along with the physical abuse? Had she been so needy for a man in her life that she’d overlooked it?
Wynter thought of all the arguments they’d had, and how many times he’d alluded to the fact that he thought her less intelligent than the dog he’d had before they met. Or the times he’d refused to tell her he loved her when she said it first, just because he was angry with her.
Her chest ached as she thought about the late nights he’d come home reeking of alcohol and cheap perfume. Why had she forgotten all of that? Why had she put him up on some pedestal when he’d been nothing more than a bully? Hell, the night of his accident, he’d even gone so far as to tell her he liked big women because they rarely strayed.
“Big girls don’t cheat, do they? You wouldn’t step out on me, would you, Wynter?” He laughed, the sound coming from deep in his chest. “Of course, you wouldn’t. Who else would have you?”
“Get out! She cried. Get out and don’t come back. I never want to see you again. Go back out and drink with your friends and leave me alone.”
Four hours after her outburst, the police knocked on her door. A drunk driver had hit Ben. It was ironic since he’d been on his way out to another bar to get hammered himself.
For some reason, she’d chosen to forget about all of that until today. Wynter swallowed, her stomach slowly turning over. It was guilt. Guilt had made her forget she’d cried when he left. Guilt made her fail to remember that she’d hated him for a while—enough to wish she’d never met him, or that he would die and she would never have to put up with his abuse ever again.
It’s your fault. If you wouldn’t have told Ben to get out that night, he’d still be alive. It couldn’t have been more your fault if you’d killed him yourself.
As much as she’d grown to dislike her husband over their two years of marriage, she hadn’t truly hated him. He’d wounded her with his hurtful words, and she’d verbally struck back until he’d added physical abuse to their broken relationship. It had taken her the last six months of their marriage to realize she was better off alone than married to a man who tore her down or beat her every chance he got.
Why couldn’t he have been the man he pretended to be for the first year and a half of our marriage?
Ben had been the model husband until after her father died. It wasn’t until then that he’d become verbally abusive and increasingly so until Wynter could barely stand the sight of him.
It was the memory of the perfect husband he’d been at the beginning, and it was that loss Wynter mourned.
Chapter Ten
GENO STEPPED FROM THE shower and toweled himself dry. He didn’t think he would ever get used to bathing in such a way every day. Water baths or showers were rare on Zolon. Water was scarce, and to waste it in such a frivolous manner was criminal—literally.
It didn’t stop him from liking the time he spent in what his sons had dubbed the rain locker, though. He loved the sensation of the hot water sluicing over his skin as he scrubbed the day’s dirt from his pores. There was just something about the warm caress of clean water flowing over his body that relaxed him.
“I’m not married.”
The memory of Wynter’s words echoed through his mind. They played over and over in his head, a litany reminding him that he couldn’t go to his Rowninda—that he shouldn’t go. Not now.
He’d made a promise to her years ago, and he’d kept it, hadn’t he? He’d stayed with his sons for nearly thirty long, lonely years, and he’d brought them all up to be strong, fair raiders and protective, chivalrous warriors. It was time he got what he wanted, wasn’t it? Except his problem was, he no longer knew what he wanted.
Tossing the towel on the bed with a sigh, he pulled on a pair of boxer briefs and looked at himself in the mirror with a critical eye.
He wasn’t bad to look at, was he? By human standards, he was considered a bit of a hunk, or was it hottie? Damn, why couldn’t he remember their fucking vernacular?
There had been so much to learn when he got here, and there wasn’t much time for lessons. Was the term beefcake, or cheesecake, or was it buff, ripped, or cut? Whatever he was to Earth women, he wasn’t a bad looking man.
His stomach was flat and ribbed, his arms were thick and muscular, and his face wasn’t a train wreck either. Except for the little crook in his nose when he’d broken it as a child, classically handsome could describe his face. He could tell that much, anyway. And if that was the case, why couldn’t he seem to turn Wynter’s head?
And why did he care that he couldn’t? He’d already vowed to return home to his Rowninda, and that was what he’d wanted—at least it was until he met a certain feisty woman who’d taken on the responsibility of two children who were not her own.
Tossing the towel onto the bed, he reached for the bag of clothing Reno had brought over to him. His sons had already worked it out that he would be staying with the lady Wynter. He would have called them conniving bastards, but they all had a father, and no one knew that better than he.
Geno closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He could still smell her delicious scent. It was on his clothes, even if it hadn’t been imprinted in his mind yet. His beast stretched at that thought. No. You cannot have her. We cannot have her. She has made it obvious that she wants nothing to do with us.
Unfortunately, Geno feared he was too late. His beast knew his mind better than he did. If his beast beg
an the imprinting process, it would take any choice he might have from him.
Reaching down, he unzipped the bag. A folded paper lay atop his clothing. Picking it up, Geno frowned down at the bold Zolonian script.
Papan, don’t refuse this gift from the goddess. You know better than any of us to do so is an insult to Her. You might as well spit in the face of divinity if you refuse a takana. You taught us well.
Your sons.
Geno closed his eyes and smiled at that. He had taught his sons that it was the most grievous insult to throw a goddess-given gift back in her face. How could he not follow his own advice?
He closed his eyes and asked first the goddess, then Rowninda, for their forgiveness. He was a fool. An old fool and he didn’t deserve any of them.
Pulling a pair of jeans from the bag, he yanked them on, buttoned the fly and ran from the room. He needed to rectify something, and he needed to do it fast.
“Papa?”
The sound of the high-pitched voice stopped him in his tracks, and he spun around. The boy stood staring up at him, his blue eyes wide. He stood in the doorway, his fingers fidgeting with the buttons on his pajama top.
“Where are you going? You’re not going to leave us and let the bad men get us again, are you?”
“Bad men?” Geno asked, sighing inwardly at the delay in his self-assigned mission. “What bad men?” He should have known better than to ask such a question after all they had been through the last few weeks.
“The bad men who wanted to kill Auntie Wynter.”
Something squeezed his heart at the boy’s words. No one would touch his takana with malice again and live to tell the tale.
“Which one are you?” Geno knelt in front of the boy, trying to look less threatening. Not that it would matter. The boy looked upon him with something akin to hero-worship. He had no idea why. He’d done nothing to deserve the boy’s trust or admiration.
“I’m Nicky.” He brought his thumb to his mouth as though he planned to suck it and then thought better of it and lowered his hand to his side.
“Hello, Nicky. I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.” He rested his hand on his chest. “I’m Geno.”
“No, you’re not.” Nicky shook his head. “I heard all the other guys call you Papa, and that’s what Noah and I are gonna call you,” he replied with the certainty of a child.
“They called me Papan. It is another word for father. They were calling me father. I am not your father.”
“But you could be.” Nicky looked up at him through the corner of his eye. “You could be our dad. Our real dad died.” His eyes filled with tears. “Our mom died, too.” A little sob escaped his throat. “We only have Auntie Wynter, and she isn’t really our aunt, but we’re not supposed to tell anyone that. Our mama said that people would take us away from her if they found out. We’re supposed to call her mama now.”
Geno felt as though an invisible fist had reached in and squeezed his heart. His throat tightened, and he swallowed thickly. Grasping Nicky under the arms, he stood and lifted him to his hip.
“It’s probably a good idea that you remember to call her mama or maman, and if you like, at least for now, you can call me papa, or papan, if it makes you feel better.”
He carried Nicky back to the bedroom he shared with his brother and set him on his bed.
“Where’d you go?” Noah rolled over and stared at his brother.
The two boys were so much alike, but also different if one knew how to see them. Already, he could tell them apart. It was most likely because he had two sets of twins of his own.
“I got scared. So I went to get Papa.”
“Oh. Okay.” Noah closed his eyes again, and almost immediately, his breathing steadied into sleep.
“Have sweet dreams, Nicky. We’ll talk again in the morning.” Geno tucked him into bed, then left the room, slowly closing the door behind him.
You have three sets of twins now, said a strange female voice. And possibly more to come, but I shall leave that as a surprise for another time.
Geno spun around, but there was no one there. The door to Wynter’s room appeared closed, her light out. Everyone was in their respective beds, and the quiet of the house soothed his frayed nerves.
Shaking his head with a smile, he headed back toward his room. Like it or not, he had just gained a new set of twins—at least temporarily.
The memory of Rowninda’s prediction came rushing back. They look up at you with their blue eyes so trusting, and they call you papa. Your sons will love you, and you will love them, and another. Promise me you will care for your sons, raise your sons, and be a true mate to your takana.
Rowninda had said they would call him papa, not the Zolonian papan. Even dying, she had known he would find another, and she had done the one thing she knew would stop him from performing the cal’tratu so that he might find happiness again.
Geno’s eyes burned, and his throat grew tight. He swallowed almost convulsively to keep control of his emotions. How could he still love Rowninda so much and yet be attracted to another?
Let me go. It’s been thirty years, my love. Release me and take this second chance at love.
How? How was she talking to him from beyond the grave? He knew her powers had been strong, but he didn’t think even someone as strong as his Rowninda could reach beyond the grave.
She is with me, warrior. She wishes to rest. Let her go, and she will be waiting for you when you come. They will both be with you in the afterworld someday, but this time is for you and Wynter. It is my gift to you both. Do not squander it.
Geno fell to his knees. Never before, in his adult life, had tears ever streamed down his face unchecked. For the first time in a long time, he closed his eyes, bowed his head, and prayed.
“Thank you, Goddess. Thank you for this second chance. I will not squander it. I will do my best to convince Wynter that we belong with each other.”
If he had to, he would even bow so low as to ask the children to help him since, in their minds, he was already their father. Perhaps he should enlist their help in convincing Wynter that they could all make a happy family.
Standing, he walked the last several feet to his room and closed the door behind him. What he needed was a good night’s sleep, but he wouldn’t get one on the bed. Concentrating on his beast, he pictured his tiger and brought it forth. His bones stretched and popped, blue fur sprouted on his arms, legs, and torso before he fell to all four massive feet.
Stretching, he flexed his muscles and extended his claws. They dug into the short pile of the carpet before he retracted them and laid by the door, to better hear anything in the night. His beast would remain half-awake, while his human side would get a few short hours of sleep. Geno could hear better in his tiger form, and if anyone should walk down the hallway, he would also smell them.
He took a deep breath and let it out on a tiger’s chuff before he settled to the floor, the side of his head pressed against the crack under the door. Closing his eyes, he drifted off into the half-sleep of his kind.
Geno opened his eyes and blinked. Exhaustion beat at him. He hadn’t slept since he left Magic the day before. Losing a night’s sleep didn’t usually affect him, but this was night two. He lay still, his senses on full alert as he listened for suspicious noises coming from the other side of the door.
Light footsteps moved over the bare hardwood, with no shoes, the person moved stealthily through the apartment almost silent. The soles of their feet padded softly on the floor. Geno’s upper lip lifted in a silent snarl as he thought of someone coming to take his takana and the boys he would adopt from him.
They wouldn’t. Of this, he was certain. If anyone would manage to take any of them, he was sure Rowninda would have given him some type of a warning even from beyond the veil. Her visions had always been accurate and thorough.
Standing, Geno concentrated on shifting only his hand. The large tiger paw changed, shrinking a bit until he could see his fingers a
nd thumb. Reaching out, he twisted the knob and quietly opened the door a fraction of an inch, just enough to see out into the hallway.
The sight that greeted him was nearly enough to bring him to his knees—if the tiger had had knees.
Wynter tiptoed up the hall, a glass of water in one hand and a slice of bread in the other. Bringing the plain bread to her lips, she took a small bite and chewed before taking an equally tiny sip of water.
Geno concentrated on his human form so that he wouldn’t frighten her. She’d had too many things scaring her enough over the last weeks, months—however long she’d been held as an unwilling test subject in that fucking lab.
When he was sure he looked presentable, he opened the door, stepped into the hallway, and crossed his arms. “Are you feeling better?”
“Oh!” Wynter jumped, her glass slipping from her grip.
Geno acted fast, his movements not much more than a blur as he rushed forward and swept the glass out of the air.
Wynter flinched back, holding her hands out in front of her. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Wide, terror-filled eyes stared up into his. The color leeched from her face, and Geno felt both sorry and glad that he’d come from his room.
Remorse filled him when she stared up at him, obviously frightened. He didn’t want that. He never wanted that from her. His heart ached to see her looking at him with such fear filling her gaze.
Chapter Eleven
WYNTER STARED UP AT Geno, her throat closing around the small bite of bread she’d accidentally inhaled. She tried to cough but couldn't draw in a breath of air. Dropping the slice of bread, she brought her hands to her throat, clawing at it, as though she could dig the soggy ball of dough from her clogged airway.
Geno tossed the glass into a nearby planter, grabbed her, and spun her around. Strong arms wrapped around her waist as he drew her back tight against the front of his body before he lifted and squeezed. Three times, he jerked her against him as he performed the Heimlich maneuver.
Wooing Wynter Page 7