by J. R. Ward
“You can’t smoke in here.”
Peyton glanced across to the hospital bed. “Do you not like the smell?”
“I don’t care. But there’s an oxygen tank over there, and I’m pretty sure the docs won’t appreciate it even if you don’t blow us sky high.”
With a groan, he got up and went to the metal cylinder. There was a valve on the top and he thought, Rightie-tightie. The Brothers had taught him that. And yup, the thing was closed.
He flicked the lighter open on the way back to the chair and had his first draw as he sat down. Holding the hissing inhale deep, he waited impatiently for the buzz to come and froth up his frontal lobe until the piece of shit took a chill.
“Please,” he said on the exhale. “Just…tell me something, anything. I need to talk.”
Maybe it was the drugs, Novo thought. Maybe it was the reminder the night before that she was mortal. Maybe it was all the text messages and voicemails that had come in about her sister from her mother, her sister, her sister’s friends. Maybe it was the fact that Peyton wasn’t looking like his regular, James Spader circa Pretty in Pink self.
But something made her open her mouth.
“My sister is not like me,” she blurted into the silence. “At all.”
“So she’s dumb?” Peyton exhaled more smoke and loosened his black bow tie. “Ugly? Uncoordinated? Wait, she throws a baseball like a—”
“Stop.” She shook her head at him. “I can’t be real with you if you’re going to do the Peyton dog-and-pony show.”
He put the joint between his teeth and shrugged out of his tuxedo jacket. Then he unbuttoned the top quarter of his dress shirt. As he resettled, he exhaled again and spoke through the smoke.
“I’m serious about all of that. I think you’re smart, beautiful, and a great fighter.”
There was no twinkle in his eye. No lift to his lips. No har-har-har in his tone. And then he just stared at her as if he were daring her to refute his opinion.
Well, crap, she thought. He was dangerous like this…all sexy as he sprawled in that chair, his arms draped over the sides, his legs now crossed at the knee. In that pose, with that loose bow tie and the V of golden skin at his throat, he looked like he could please a female any way he liked—and the impression was probably correct.
He sure had the anatomy for it. She knew that firsthand.
But more than all that physical stuff? He was focused on her as if what she might tell him, whatever it was, was the only thing that he cared to hear in all the world. He seemed to really see her, no distractions, no side glances somewhere else, no tapping feet or drumming fingers.
To a female who had always been second fiddle to a loud, pink, gardenia-smelling lace-and-bows nightmare? It was just as addicting as the taste of his blood.
How far did she go, though.
She had told no one, not even the Brotherhood during her psych eval, what had happened to her. The first was true because she hated pity. The second? Well, duh, she didn’t want to get kicked out of the program for being mentally unstable.
Which she was not.
But they might think she had reason to be.
“So tell me about your family problems,” he prompted.
“It’s nothing, really,” she muttered. “Sibling stuff, you know.”
As her hand moved over to rest on her stomach, she caught herself even though he couldn’t possibly guess at why she would feel protective.
“Come on.” He took another inhale. “You have to do better than that.”
As if on cue, her phone rang on the table that she’d pulled over her knees. Tilting the cell up, she cursed when she saw who it was.
“And here it is.” She rolled her eyes. “My sister, again. She’s getting mated, and she picked me to be her little bitch through the whole thing. I am soooo touched, you can’t imagine.”
“When is the ceremony?”
“Wedding,” she corrected. “And very soon.”
“What about you being injured.”
She shook her head as the phone went silent. But it didn’t stay quiet for long. The text that binged was from Sophy as well.
Novo read it out loud because why the hell not. “Fine. I guess I will have to take care of my bachelorette party. Miss Emily’s doesn’t have a reservation for us on Friday. Clearly, you never called them. Thanks so much for all your help.”
Letting the cell fall back down onto the tray, she took a deep breath—and could swear she was catching a contact high from the weed.
“You’re in a hospital bed,” Peyton said.
“Really?” She looked down at herself. “And here I thought this was a hot tub.”
“Be serious.”
“This coming from you?”
He slashed his hand through the air. “You’re recovering. Why are they bothering you with anything?”
She made a show of folding the top of the blanket down and smoothing it across her chest. “Well, to be fair, they didn’t know I got hurt.”
When there was just silence, she glanced over at him. And as if he had been waiting for the eye contact, he shook his head.
“That’s just like I am with my father. I don’t tell the male anything, either.” He frowned. “What would they have done if you’d…”
“Died out there? Or on the table?” She shrugged. “Probably just put our first cousin in as the head bridesmaid and moved right along.”
“Wait, bridesmaid? What the hell?”
“Oh, yeah. She’s adopting the full human routine and expecting my parents to pay for it, me to go along with it, and all her friends to put it out on Insta. I think she believes she will set a trend, and who knows. Maybe she will.”
“Who’s she mating?”
Novo cleared her throat. “No one special. Just another civilian—well, he comes from a little more money than we have, so it’s a step up for her. And listen, my issues aside, Sophy is beautiful, so it’s a good exchange on the mating market. I’m sure they’ll be very happy together, him buying her the things she wants, her giving him the young he…”
Novo couldn’t go on.
It was as if she had been heading down a road, toolin’ along, moving at a reasonable pace while not paying much attention to the landscape or the weather conditions. And then BAM! Black ice, skidding, gripping the wheel…and slamming headfirst into a rock face.
“So yeah.” She took a couple of deep breaths. “You know, that weed is strong.”
“It is.”
“Only the best for you, huh.”
“Something like that.” He looked at the joint’s glowing tip. “Is she going to put you in a bad dress?”
“I’m sorry? Oh, Sophy—you mean at the ceremony? If she doesn’t kick me out first.”
“When is the mating—or is she calling it a wedding?”
“Let’s just call it circus, between you and me.” As he smiled a little, she said, “Why the grin.”
His eyes bored into hers. “I like the idea of you and me having a secret.”
And then he got serious. Fast.
Rising to his feet, Peyton headed for the bathroom to put the joint out—and along the way, he did absolutely nothing to camouflage the erection he was sporting.
It was so thick, so hard, she could see the outline of the head under the tuxedo’s slacks.
As a rush of lust hit Novo, she had to close her eyes. Also had to lick her lips—which made her glad he was in the little bathroom.
From behind the partially closed door, there was a trickle of water, and she imagined him bent over the sink, extinguishing the joint. Then he was standing in between the jambs, his handsome face grave.
With his eyes locked on hers, he tucked one of his hands down into the front of his pants and he not-discreetly-at-all rearranged himself so that the tent effect was gone.
After which he just continued to look at her.
She knew exactly what he was waiting for. And the interesting thing was…she got the sense he was
content to stay like that for the next hour. Or twelve.
It was another thing that was totally unlike him.
“Come here,” she said in a low voice.
Peyton did exactly as he was told, approaching the bedside so that he stood over her. His scent was incredible, and for once, the smell of weed, which usually she wasn’t that into, didn’t bother her in the slightest.
With an elegant hand, he rolled up one of his sleeves. And then the other. His forearms were heavily muscled and veined from the workouts, his body adapting to the rigorous exercise by growing stronger.
She focused on his throat.
As if he knew what she was looking at, he let out a pumping growl. “Let me lie down beside you.”
If he did that, they were probably going to have sex, she thought.
Take out the “probably”—
The door was thrown open, and, man, Dr. Manello was not a happy camper, the surgeon’s face in full glower mode.
He jabbed a finger at Peyton. “That shit in the alley might not get you tossed from the program, but I will guarantee you that smoking weed in one of my patient rooms will.” He looked around as if searching for a bong, a bowl, or a pipe. “And clearly, the two of you must have realized that and stopped, am I correct. You flushed the joint down the toilet because you thought, wow, in a room with an oxygen tank, around a patient on a complex regimen of drugs, using marijuana would be a really fucking stupid idea. Am I right?”
They both nodded.
“And am I also correct in assuming that this is a mistake that will never happen again, because you two fucking assholes recognize that at that point I would have no choice but to turn you in to the Brothers for a beating?” They nodded again. “Good. And your punishment”—he pointed that finger at Novo—“is you get to stay here all through tomorrow during the day.”
The instant she opened her mouth, he talked right over her. “And thank God you’re too smart to fucking argue with me right now, because my bad mood just went nuclear because of the smell in that corridor.”
With that, the surgeon marched out and yanked the door shut behind himself.
Except then he put his head back in. “Do you have any left?”
Peyton’s brows shot up. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Weed, you dumb-ass.”
“Ah…yeah. It’s old, though. I don’t wear this tux more than four or five times a year and I found ’em in my pocket.”
The surgeon put out his hand. “Gimme. And in lieu of payment, I’ll put a sign on the door that says PATIENT SLEEPING, DO NOT DISTURB.”
Novo spoke up. “We’re not doing anything in here.”
“Oh. Right. You’re just going to hold hands while he feeds you. Which is why I’ll put the sign up and you’ll lock the door on the inside.” He jogged his palm. “Why I am not holding any weed right now?”
Peyton took out the two remaining joints and handed them over. “You need a lighter?”
“Yes, I fucking do. And I’ll give it back to you. Because I don’t ever smoke. And especially not weed.”
“Okaaaaaay, I’m going to go out on a limb here and suggest there’s some empirical data happening at the moment to suggest the contrary, but that’s your issue, not mine. I gotta ask, though, what’s wrong? Can we help?”
“You don’t have enough time to listen to it all. But at the top of the list is a drug company, halfway down is UPS, and the bottom is I ate a burrito at Taco Hell at about five in the afternoon when I was trying to get more Cipro on the black market—and I’ve been shitting liquid ever since.”
Peyton’s gold lighter changed hands. “You deserve this.”
“No shit.” Dr. Manello rolled his eyes. “And FYI, I hate that word right now, I really do.”
The surgeon left on that note, and Peyton looked down at her.
It was hard to say who cracked up first. Maybe it was him, she wasn’t sure. But a split second later, the two of them were wiping their eyes and trying to breathe and laughing so hard, they were limp.
And then they heard a rustle at the door.
Peyton went over and cracked the panel. “Nice work, Doc,” he murmured as he shut them in again.
And then his hand hovered right above the lock’s mechanism.
He could have turned the thing mentally. But he was obviously giving her a choice—and the control.
For some reason, she thought back to the very moment when that slayer had plunged her own dagger into her chest. “Surreal” did not begin to define what it had been like to know that she was going to die.
Funny…she hadn’t thought of it until now.
She focused on Peyton. “I’m sorry.”
As his eyes closed, he seemed resigned. “That’s okay. I’ll just let myself out—”
“For the way I acted in the PT suite. I was in…a really bad headspace and honestly, I was trying to get into the sex with you. My brain was all fucked up, though, and then I took that out on you. It was not fair. I apologize.”
He blinked. “You are…always a surprise.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
She fiddled with her blanket again, re-smoothing it. “Things have not improved much. In my head. I mean, with everything that…you know, landed me here.”
“I don’t want to force myself on you.”
“I wouldn’t let you do that.”
“I know. But I wanted to say that.” There was a pause. “Novo?”
“Hm?”
“Look at me.” He waited until she did. “I’ll be slow, okay? I’ll be…gentle. And if it’s not right, I’ll stop, no matter how far things have gone.”
She shook her head. “Come on, Peyton. I’m as far away from being a virgin as you are. I don’t need to be handled like some fainting flower—”
“You can trust me, Novo. I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.”
For no good goddamn reason, her eyes teared up. No—that was wrong. She knew the why of it. She had been strong for herself for so long…that she had forgotten what it was like to have someone else shoulder any of her burden.
She never would have called herself lonely or identified herself as alone.
But Peyton’s unbidden, unexpected, and totally unwarranted support of her—particularly around sex—made her feel the distance between her and everyone around her with an acute sensitivity.
“I’m not big into trust, Peyton,” she said roughly. “It has never proven to be a value add in my life.”
“That doesn’t change what I said. Not one word.”
“Why?” she whispered. “Why are you being like this?”
“The truth?”
“It fucking better be.”
“I don’t really know. That’s the truth. All I am certain about…is that I don’t want to ever see you hurt by anyone or anything ever again.”
Don’t believe him, she told herself. Don’t fall for one second of this bullshit. He wants to fuck you, and that’s why he’s saying it. You have been through the sweet-talking thing before, and remember where that got you?
Pregnant and alone.
Miscarrying alone.
Alone for evermore.
And yet even as she forced herself to remember what had happened in that cold house a lifetime ago? Even as she told herself it was safer to think she was getting played?
She looked into Peyton’s steady, grave eyes and found it hard not to take him at face value.
“I’ll stop at any time. You say the word,” he repeated softly.
A nervous panic vibrated through her, making her very bones feel unreliable. She had had a lot of sex since Oskar, since losing the young. Lots of her body parts meeting the body parts of others. But she had never really shared herself with anyone.
That was a bonus of not telling her story to a single soul. As long as the other person didn’t know, she could pretend it hadn’t happened for however long the hookup lasted.
Tonight, though—probably because it was a mere
twenty-four hours after she had died a couple of times—the veil of time between the tragedy and who and where she was now seemed to have dwindled from over two years…down to a matter of minutes.
Everything that she kept separate was in danger of merging.
Peyton, however, seemed similarly vulnerable. And though she didn’t know his details, that made it fair, did it not.
“Lock the door,” she said.
Peyton kept his eyes on Novo’s as he followed her instructions and flipped the lock into place. He was quite confident that the medical staff had a key to things. But with that sign on the door, and the fact that the training center was empty because Wrath had ordered everyone off rotation, privacy was a good bet.
Before he went over to her, he cut the lights so there was nothing but a glow coming from the little bathroom. In a way, he hated the dimness because the lower the illumination, the brighter the readouts on the monitors around the head of the hospital bed.
She still had two IVs in.
But she had been well enough for a shower, her damp hair once again braided, the end curling up tight. And she had eaten a little of that meal.
As he approached, she lowered the top half of the bed until it was all flat, and his heart beat faster as he realized he was actually going to lie down beside her.
“Let me just move…” She tried to rearrange the tubing that fed into her arm. “Damn it, this is ridiculous. Let’s just take it out—”
“Yeah, not going to happen. Here, let me help you.”
He ran the clear plastic lines up by the pillow so that they didn’t get pinched. And then he put down the rail, and sat on the very edge of the mattress.
As he took her hand, her skin was softer than he’d imagined. A warrior like her? Her palm should have been spiked. Still, he could recognize the tensile strength in her and feel the calluses from weight bars and rowing and fighting.
When she pulled him down, he went more than willingly, stretching out on top of the blankets that covered her.
“So are you going to kiss me or what?” she demanded.
“Yes, I am.”
He found her mouth and oh, fucking hell—his brain shorted out, all higher reasoning and rational thinking just packing their bags and leaving for someone else’s skull. Her lips were delicious and her tongue was a thrust of aggression in his mouth and her scent made him feel higher than the weed. And holy shit did things move fast, especially south of his waistband. He wanted in her so badly, he was panting and out of control already.