by Zoe Chant
Yes, purred his snow leopard. We are two of a kind.
Justin knew what his inner predator was implying, but he ignored it rather than arguing. Fiona had said she needed protection, so he’d protect her. If that required laying down his life for her, he’d do it gladly. But he could never be her mate.
“Justin?” It was Fiona’s voice, clear as crystal and pitched soft. “Are you awake?”
“Yeah.” His voice was hoarse, his mouth and throat dry. He coughed, then opened his eyes.
Fiona sat in a chair by the bed. She was so beautiful. His glimpse of her in the short time between when he’d been able to see beauty and when he’d passed out hadn’t been enough. He drank her in unashamedly, savoring every detail.
She had fine hair so blonde it was nearly white, braided and wrapped around her head like a crown. She’d put on a more casual outfit than the ninja-like clothes she’d worn before, black pants that showed off her long legs and a blue blouse that clung to her breasts and gave her eyes, her incredible eyes, the aquamarine shimmer of a tropical lagoon.
She examined him with concern. “How do you feel?”
“Fine,” he said automatically.
Embarrassed to be lying there in bed while she sat over him, he tried to sit up. Before he was even fully upright, his vision grayed out and the room spun around him
Fiona put her hand on his chest, pushing him back down. “Are you trying to make me pick you off the floor again? Stay where you are. I’ll get you something to drink.”
He lay still, breathing deeply, willing his dizziness to subside. The room came back into focus, and he watched her open a well-stocked minibar.
“Jack Daniels,” he called. “On the rocks.”
“First thing in the morning?” she called back. “No wonder you can’t sit up.”
“I was kidding.” In fact, he hadn’t had any alcohol in... years, he realized. Apex didn’t put minibars in their prisoners’ cells.
“I know.” Fiona pulled a small plastic bottle of orange juice from the back of the minibar and brought it to him. “I can hold it for—”
“No!” He wanted to protect her and be strong for her. It was bad enough that he’d passed out and made her pick him up; he was hardly going to make her hold the bottle to his lips like he was an invalid.
Then, realizing that she’d made him a kind offer and he’d responded by shouting at her, he added, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. But I only got dizzy because I sat up too fast. I should be fine if I take it slow.”
“Okay.” She sounded doubtful.
She probably had reason. Justin still felt light-headed. “You can give me a hand, if you like.”
“Since you ask so nicely...” She leaned over and wedged her arm under his back.
The action brought her so close that her breasts almost touched his chest. He could feel her body heat, and smell a faint scent of flowery soap and an even fainter one beneath that, a warm and living aroma that had to be her own natural scent. Justin inhaled deeply, taking it in. It gave him a strange feeling, partly like he was dreaming and partly like he was more awake than he’d been in his entire life.
A rush of heat went through his body, making him very aware that he had one. When he was invincible, his physical self was nothing more than a tool, something he was aware of but couldn’t feel himself, like a gun in his hand. Now he was suddenly alive within his body, experiencing scent and touch... and desire.
He wanted Fiona. Wanted her with an intensity he hadn’t felt in... years, it must be. He wanted to strip off her clothes, cup her breasts in his hands and feel her nipples hardening against his palms, press her nakedness against his own—
Sit up first, purred his snow leopard, sounding distinctly amused.
Jolted back to reality, Justin hurriedly helped Fiona raise him, bracing the heels of his hands on the mattress and pushing himself up. Once he was leaning against the headboard, she removed her arm and slid a pillow behind his back.
“Thanks,” he said, wishing he could ask her to put her arm back.
“No problem. Here you go.” She uncapped the orange juice and held it out.
He reached out, but his hands were shaking. He’d spill it all over the bed if she gave it to him.
“Sorry,” he muttered again. “I really did a number on myself this time. If I was my patient, I’d tell me off. And then put in an IV drip. Don’t worry, though, orange juice is lower tech but just as good. I’ll be fine once I get my blood sugar back up.”
Fiona gave him a curious glance, then slid the bottle into his left hand. She cupped her own hands around his, holding it still.
“You remembered,” he said.
“Remembered...?”
“That I’m left-handed.” It touched him. She knew him, even in such a small way. There were so few people left who did.
“I never forget a person’s gun-hand,” she replied. “Now drink.”
The warmth of her hands steadied him deep down, as much as her grip steadied his tremor. With her support, he brought the bottle to his lips without spilling a drop.
The juice was sweet and tangy and cold, fresh with no chemical aftertaste. Justin couldn’t remember the last time he’d had real orange juice. Probably it had been before he’d been captured by Apex. Unexpectedly, a memory stole into his mind, of sitting at a kitchen table at dawn, drinking a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice and watching the sun rise. He didn’t remember why he’d been up so early or how long ago it had been. But he could recall the peaceful quiet and the gold-streaked sky as if it had been yesterday.
When he’d finished drinking, Fiona asked, “How do you feel now?”
“Better.” He’d felt strength flowing back into him with every sip. “I should eat something before I try to get out of bed, though.”
She gave him a sharp glance. “A week on that too, huh?”
He nodded, trying to think of a way to change the subject. He didn’t want to lie to her, but he didn’t want to talk about it either. Every aspect of his power was painful: what it was, how he’d acquired it...
“Why?” Her tone wasn’t demanding, but neither was it one that he could ignore. “What were you doing that was so important that you couldn’t stop to eat or sleep for an entire week?”
And then there was the part he least wanted to discuss: why he used his power.
Tell her, hissed his snow leopard. She is your mate. She needs to know.
“I...” Justin abruptly felt shaky again. His skin prickled as he broke out in a cold sweat. “Can we hold off on that for a bit? At least until after breakfast?”
Fiona touched his forehead. Her fingers were cool and comforting, and he couldn’t help wishing she’d leave them there. “You look like you need a doctor, not breakfast—”
“No!” The yell burst from his throat without his intention, loud enough to make his own ears ring. She jerked her hand away. Lowering his voice, he said, “No doctors. Seriously, I don’t need one. I’ve done this before and I recovered fine, with no help at all.”
“How’d you manage that?” she asked dubiously.
“Lay where I’d fallen until I managed to fish a few granola bars out of my emergency supplies,” he admitted. “I’m all out, though. I was going to buy more today, but...”
She shook her head, clearly unimpressed with his emergency planning. “I’ll call room service. I’m hungry too, actually.”
He didn’t like the idea of some stranger walking into the room when he couldn’t even get out of bed. But the alternative was Fiona going out alone to fetch something, and he liked that even less.
“I’ll give you the code to turn off the door alarm,” he said. “But can you pass me my bag first?”
She handed him his duffel bag, and he took out his gun. He gripped it, making sure his hand was steady enough to shoot.
“You’re fine,” Fiona said. “You could balance a dime on the barrel.”
He glanced at her, startled and a little alarmed. He’d
trained doing exactly that. “You’re not active-duty, are you? On some kind of mission...?”
To his immense relief, she shook her head. He wanted nothing to do with the military. There was no telling who might be passing info on to Apex. “I’ve never served. The people who taught me were vets, though. You?”
“Air Force.” He hesitated, wondering how to describe his current status. He was listed as killed in action, but saying so himself was a contradiction in terms. Finally, he said, “Not any more.”
“Were you a doctor?”
“No. I have paramedic training. But I was a PJ—that’s Special Operations pararescue. Parajumpers.”
Fiona was nodding. “I know. One of the guys who taught me was a PJ.”
For all that he thought he’d left that life behind, he felt the stirrings of pride. “No wonder you shoot so well.”
To forestall any further questions, he bent over to stash his gun under the covers, where he could feel its cold metal against his hip. It made him feel better to know it was there. He might not be able to leap up and punch anyone, but he could shoot from where he was. If he needed to, he could protect her. “Do you want my other gun?”
She tugged at the collar of her blouse, exposing an exquisitely sculpted collarbone and the strap of the shoulder holster.
“I should’ve guessed,” Justin said. “Keep it, it suits you.”
“Thank you, don’t mind if I do.” She passed him the room service menu. Deadpan, she said, “Order anything. My treat.”
“That’s very gentlemanly—I mean ladylike—of you, but I’m an old-fashioned kind of guy. I insist on picking up the check.”
“See if you still want to when you read the prices,” Fiona remarked.
He thought of the million dollars he’d confiscated from Elson. Then he opened the menu and read the prices. “Whoa.”
Now she was openly laughing. “You should see your face! This is the Ritz.”
“Twenty-eight dollars for sausage and eggs!?” Justin exclaimed, indignant. “Twenty dollars for sliced fruit and a Danish?!”
“The Ritz,” she reminded him. “Seriously, I can cover it. I’m on the job. It’s a business expense.”
Justin couldn’t help asking, “What is your job, exactly? Are you FBI?”
She shook her head. “Private security. Very well-paid private security.”
“Well, I’m a very well-paid vigilante. So eat up. On me. But since you’re obviously an independent woman who likes to pay her share, you can buy me a cup of coffee.”
“I’ll buy you an entire pot of coffee. Which in this place is a substantial financial sacrifice, let me tell you. What do you want? I’ll call it in.”
He tossed the menu back to her. “Steak and eggs. And a side of bacon and hash browns. And the pastry basket, whatever that is.”
“That’s a lot,” she said doubtfully. “Especially when you haven’t eaten at all in a week. Won’t it make you sick?”
“No. I’ve done this before, remember?”
With a shrug, she picked up the phone and ordered. When she was done, she reminded him of the alarm code. He gave it to her and watched her deactivate the alarm, then stash it in his duffel bag. Then she went back to the minibar and rummaged until she found a bottle of apple juice.
“To tide you over till breakfast comes,” she said.
“Thanks.” Justin took it from her, half-regretting that he no longer needed any help holding it. Being able to drink a bottle of juice without assistance was a pretty low bar. But he missed having her fingers covering his.
“You look better,” Fiona said as he drank it. “I think you need another six nights’ sleep, though. At least.”
“Did you get any sleep last night?” He hoped she hadn’t stayed up all night to make sure he didn’t stop breathing.
“I did. I watched you for a while, but you just seemed to be very deeply asleep. So I went to sleep too.” A faint pink blush stained her cheeks. “On top of the covers.”
“You could’ve gotten under them,” he remarked. “It’s not like I was in any condition to try anything.”
“You wouldn’t have anyway,” she shot back. “You’re an old-fashioned gentleman.”
“Absolutely. So you’d have been doubly safe.” But the banter about the beds reminded him of something. “Hey, we need to get ready before the waiter comes in. We’re posing as a couple. And you asked for a tray table, so presumably we’re both having breakfast in bed. I’m fine, I’ve got my shirt off and the blankets over my pants. But you should be in pajamas or a nightgown or something.”
Her flush deepened, though her expression didn’t change. “I know. I’ll go change into something more breakfast-in-bed-like.”
She snatched a small suitcase from the closet and vanished into the bathroom with it, leaving him alone in a bed that suddenly seemed big and cold and empty.
My mate, he thought.
He’d been trying not to think about it. The whole thing was a cruel cosmic joke. But Fiona knew it too, so they’d have to discuss it sooner or later. Justin winced, thinking of everything he didn’t want to talk about and would soon have to. Maybe if he just gave her the absolute minimum she needed to know, it wouldn’t hurt too much. And once he told her, she’d know, and then it would be over. He’d never have to talk about it again.
Like pulling off a band-aid, he thought. One quick rip is the way to go.
She took her time in the bathroom. He wondered if she was avoiding getting into bed with him. He’d thought joking about it would make it less awkward and embarrassing, but maybe he’d only made it more so.
She emerged from the bathroom. Justin felt his jaw falling open, and closed it with a snap.
Don’t stare, he told himself.
It was hard not to. She stepped delicately across the floor, catlike in bare feet. He tried to just watch her feet, since that wasn’t one of the sexier parts of the body. Only on Fiona, they were. Hers were narrow and graceful, with high arches and slim ankles. The more Justin fixed his gaze on them, the more he felt like he was developing a foot fetish.
He raised his eyes. Fiona’s legs seemed to go on forever, slim but strong-looking, like a ballerina’s. Her light blue nightgown was short and silky, swirling around her knees and floating upward with every step she took. She’d taken off her bra to preserve her cover, as no one wears a bra under a nightgown. Her nipples were hard enough to make points against the thin fabric. Because the air was cool? Or...?
Justin forced his gaze upward from her breasts, reminding himself that he was trying not to embarrass her. The lace around the low-cut neckline clung to her chest, its creamy color only a little paler than her skin. She’d taken her hair out of its braids and brushed it out, so it fell down her back like a cascade of white water. It stirred and floated with static electricity, adding to the impression of flowing water.
It was going to be rough sitting in bed with her in that barely-there outfit, feeling her body heat just inches away, and not being able to touch her.
Then touch her, hissed his snow leopard impatiently.
Be quiet, Justin replied.
A faint pink flush colored Fiona’s chest and began creeping upward toward her face. He had obviously been staring at her much too long. To break the tension, he said lightly, “You’re much better prepared than me. I completely forgot to pack my pajamas.”
Her blush faded as she replied with apparent relief, “No pajamas. No granola bars. Did you at least remember your toothbrush?”
“‘Fraid not.”
“Well, I’m not sharing mine. You’ll have to hit the gift store.”
“At the Ritz? Bet it costs a hundred bucks.”
“That’s because it’s gold-plated,” she said promptly.
Justin chuckled.
A knock at the door made him start. His fingers closed over the gun over the covers.
Fiona went to the door, looked through the peephole, and gave him a nod. But he noticed that she stood behi
nd the door as she opened it, so as not to be in the line of fire if there was any. She opened the door and let in a maid with a push-cart.
“Good morning!” The maid pushed the cart to the bed. To Fiona, she said, “You can get back in bed. Snuggle up!”
Fiona smiled at the maid, and got in bed beside him. She snuggled in next to him as the maid began setting up a large tray table. He sucked in a deep breath at the feeling of her warm body pressed into his. He could feel her chest rise and fall as she breathed.
“Isn’t this nice, honey?” she said sweetly.
He leaned his head against hers. Her loose hair was just as silken as it looked. Strands lifted with static electricity, and clung to his cheek and throat. He had to swallow to make sure his voice would come out smooth before he could say, “It sure is. What a break from the office.”
“You two just relax and enjoy your breakfast,” said the maid as she set an array of dishes on the tray. Then she indicated a remote control on a small table within reach of the bed. “I don’t know if you noticed, but the door has an electronic lock with a remote control. So you don’t have to get up when I leave—you can lock the door from the bed.”
“Oh, thank you,” said Fiona. “No, I hadn’t noticed.”
Justin hadn’t, but he suspected that Fiona had. But she smiled and nodded as the maid demonstrated, then set it back on the table and went out with a wave. When the door closed behind the woman, Fiona raised the remote control and pushed the button. The door clicked as the lock engaged.
For a moment, neither of them spoke or moved. Justin could feel his pulse thundering in his ears. He was excruciatingly aware of every square inch of his skin that was touching hers. It was impossible to focus on anything but that, and on knowing that he should move away from her that instant, and being completely unable to bring himself to do so.
You have to, he told himself. You know her beast spoke to her too. Leading her on is cruel.
“About the mate thing...” he began.
Beside him, he felt her stiffen.
When you had something hard to say, you had to just say it. “I can’t. I’m sorry, but... I just can’t.”