Storm's Heart er-2

by Thea Harrison

  She glowered as she remembered how he had helped her to the bathroom. He had shown no sign of unease or self-consciousness but instead had helped her with calm practicality. Still, she pulled the sheet up and tucked it under her arms. She was an earthy person. She wasn’t used to being embarrassed by her body. Why was this any different? All she knew was he was so damn big and overwhelming, and she had an extreme awareness of her own vulnerability around him.

  He strode over to her and sat on the edge of the bed, and she fought to keep from cringing from him. A couple of lines appeared between the dark slash of his brows. “How’re you feeling?” he asked.

  She ducked her head. “Tired and hungry. A little disoriented.”

  “Your wound?”

  “It hurts, but nothing like it did before. How long did I sleep?”

  “Almost twenty-four hours,” he told her.

  Her head came up. “You’re kidding.”

  “You got up that once to complain about the IV and go to the bathroom, but other than that, you slept a day away. No wonder you’re hungry. I don’t think you’ve had anything to eat for over two days except for vodka and Cheetos.” His frown deepened. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she said.

  Those sharp dark eyes dissected her defensive, hunched figure. “I don’t believe you. What’s wrong?”

  “Don’t start poking at me until I’ve at least had a cup of coffee and a hot shower,” she said on a spurt of irritation.

  For a moment she thought he was going to keep digging at her, but then he smiled a little. “Fair enough. Do you think you can shower by yourself, or are you too shaky?”

  “I’ll manage,” she growled as she clutched the sheet tighter to her chest.

  “Okay,” he said in a mild enough tone. “I’ll make fresh coffee and order some food. Call if you need anything.”

  “I won’t,” she said. “Need anything, that is.”

  “Right.” He contemplated her for another moment, as if she was a piece of museum art he didn’t comprehend. Then he stood and walked out. He left the bedroom door ajar again.

  She wobbled to her feet and steadied herself with one hand against the wall until she was sure she wouldn’t pass out. When she felt steady enough she went to shut the bedroom door. She took a complimentary hotel bathrobe into the bathroom, shut and locked the door and showered. The doctor had covered her wound with a waterproof dressing. Her side gave a twinge if she didn’t remember to move carefully, but otherwise it gave her little trouble.

  Afterward she considered herself in the mirror as she brushed her teeth. The dramatic purple circles under her eyes had faded to dark smudges. After a cursory examination she ignored her depressed face. There wasn’t anything she could do about her appearance anyway. She finger-combed her damp glistening hair, shrugged on the bathrobe and walked into the living room.

  She hadn’t been able to retain many details when they had arrived, so she took a moment to appreciate the understated decor before curling up at one end of the sofa. With a simple color scheme of blues and tans, the suite was plain but well-appointed with sturdy comfortable furniture that had good lines, along with dark wood tables and lamps that provided indirect lighting.

  They were in a business suite suitable for someone staying for several days or weeks. It was complete with a small kitchen, or so she surmised from what Scott had said earlier and from what she could see from where she sat. The suite seemed very small compared to the $30,000-a-night rooftop penthouse where she had been staying with the Dark Fae delegation. That sixbedroom penthouse took up the entire top floor of the hotel and came complete with its own kitchen and staff, rooftop garden patio, indoor pool, library, an original Tiffany stained-glass window and a grand piano in the crystal-chandelier-lit foyer. It was very grand and luxurious, but she liked this one’s coziness and functionality.

  The living room had a disarranged appearance. A table with a laptop and chair was near the bedroom door. Shopping bags were piled against one wall. Weapon parts were laid out neatly on the coffee table. It looked like she had interrupted Tiago at cleaning his guns.

  Headline News was playing on the television. The logo at the bottom of the flat-screen said it was 5:00 A.M. “Five o’clock,” she muttered. “No wonder my body is still whimpering. I’m allergic to early mornings, but I couldn’t stay in bed any longer.”

  Tiago approached with two steaming coffee mugs. “What a crabby little monkey you are,” he said as he handed her a mug. “Are you always this way when you wake up?”

  “I am when I wake up at 5:00 A.M.,” she told him. She buried her nose in her mug and inhaled the rich aroma, using her coffee as a way to avoid looking at him as he settled on the sofa beside her. “Have you slept at all?”

  “No, I’ve been too busy,” he said.

  She looked at him sidelong as she sipped the hot coffee. Busy with what? He was sitting so close she could smell his clean masculine scent and feel the warmth of his muscled denim-clad thigh. He seemed well rested enough, even relaxed, whereas she had to fight to keep from fidgeting.

  She felt miserable, tied up in knots inside. She was affectionate by nature, a touchy-feely kind of chick who loved hugs and cuddling. She wanted to scoot closer and curl against his side, to soak up the comfort of his warmth and strength again, to lay her head on his shoulder and let him keep the world at bay.

  She swallowed hard. Last night all her guards had dropped with a shattering crash. She had said things to him in the dark and had cried in his arms. Apparently he was fine with what happened, but now she didn’t know how to act. A craven part of her wanted to keep leaning on him, even though she knew it couldn’t last.

  She bit her lips to keep them from trembling. They needed to talk. She needed to know when he would be leaving. She had to know how long she could rely on him and to brace herself for what came afterward. She opened her mouth to speak.

  He beat her to it. He set his mug on the table between the gun parts and stood up. He told her, “Breakfast is going to be here in just a few minutes, but in the meantime, I have some things for you.”

  She was caught with her mouth hanging open. “What?”

  He gathered up the shopping bags by the wall and brought them over to her. She glanced at them, for the first time registering the department store labels. Nordstrom and Neiman Marcus.

  He gave her a patient smile as he handed her a bag. “I said I have some things for you. The Dark Fae delegation isn’t being very cooperative.” He nodded to her. “Go ahead, have a look. If you don’t like any of it, it can always go back.”

  Feeling like she was moving in slow motion, she set her coffee mug on the end table and pulled out the contents. When she had emptied it, he handed her another bag, until she had gone through everything. There were clothes and lingerie in cool jeweled tones that would complement her pale skin and black hair. There were also cosmetics in exactly the right shades, and scented toiletries, a pair of soft slippers and another pair of simple flat-heeled shoes. There were even some new-release paperbacks and magazines. A couple of the packages were gift wrapped.

  She stared at him, big-eyed, the gift-wrapped packages in a pile on her lap. “You didn’t pick all this out,” she said. She didn’t say it as a question. He couldn’t have. She knew he would never leave her asleep, alone and defenseless. That would go against every protective Wyr instinct he had.

  “Of course not,” he told her. “If it doesn’t blow up, cut up, or shoot something, I wouldn’t know what to pick. I sent someone. We used your things in the SUV and the T-shirts as size guidelines. I like this. The color suits you.” He fingered the soft material of a sapphire blue tunic top then cocked an eyebrow at her as he nodded to the packages in her lap. “Aren’t you going to open those?”

  She looked down at the three packages she held in her hands, feeling as if he had sideswiped her. She took one and picked the taped ends apart. She pulled out a box of Neiman Marcus chocolates. She set it down, picked up
another package and opened it. It was a small perfume bottle of Joy. The third box contained dangly earrings. Each earring had a moon of silver and several stars in different shades of blue that dangled at varying lengths.

  Her mouth worked as she stared down at the presents in her lap. Long, hard brown fingers came under her chin and tilted her face up. Tiago’s expression had turned quizzical, searching. “If you don’t like anything, faerie, it can go back,” he repeated.

  “I love it, I love all of it,” she said unsteadily. She moved away from his touch on the pretext of opening the box of chocolates. She took a bite out of one. It was too rich for her overempty stomach, and she put the rest of it back in its place.

  His quizzical look deepened. “Then what’s wrong?”

  She held on to the candy box with both hands. “We should talk about when you’re going to leave.”

  Silence. Her senses were so attuned to his presence she felt when the relaxation left him and his body grew tense.

  “I’m not leaving,” he said in a calm voice.

  Her knuckles whitened. “Well, we both know you have to, at some point.”

  “I know nothing of the sort,” he said. He picked up his coffee and drank it. His Power flared and filled the room, turning smoky and menacing as it wrapped around her.

  She tried again. “Tiago, I need to make a plan in my head so I know w-what to expect and when.”

  “I am not leaving,” he said again. While he never raised his voice, his hawklike face turned into a blade. “Deal with it.”

  “That isn’t helping—” she said.

  He stood and stalked out of the room. She stared after him, disoriented. Then she heard someone start to knock on the suite door. Tiago opened it.

  It was the hotel manager, Hughes. “I just wanted to let you know, the representative from the Elder tribunal has arrived and has taken over one of the floors between her highness and the Dark Fae delegation.” He wrung his hands.

  Tiago’s gaze narrowed on the nervous movement of Hughes’s hands. “Which Councillor did the tribunal send?” he demanded.

  Hughes said, “The one from San Francisco. The next floor up has been taken over by Vampyres.”

  SIX

  “ Is it true the Vampyre Councillor is a sorceress?” the hotel manager asked.

  Tiago rubbed his face as he briefly considered lying, but he was more interested in getting back to the interrupted conversation with Niniane. “Yeah, it’s true,” he said.

  The manager’s expression was a combination of dismay and fascination. If Tiago was a sympathetic type of person, he might have felt sorry for Hughes, whose entire fancy-ass hotel had been overrun by Elder politics in just a matter of days.

  He scowled. Why was Niniane so interested in getting rid of him? And why was he just as determined to stay?

  He started to close the door in Hughes’s face, but just then the door to the neighboring suite opened. A uniformed woman pushed a laden room service cart into the hall and angled it toward him. Only the thought of how little sustenance Niniane had taken in over the last few days kept him from slamming the door, throwing the chain and going back into the living room to pick a fight with her. He sighed and held the door open wide.

  The living room was empty of both Niniane and shopping bags, and her bedroom door was closed. He moved the laptop as Hughes asked for permission to set out their breakfast. The hotel manager helped the woman arrange the table. The humans glanced often at Tiago, the closed bedroom door and the disassembled weaponry on the coffee table.

  Tiago rubbed the back of his neck and resisted the urge to pace. The humans were fussing over the frickin’ table setting like it was some kind of religious ritual. They settled a white cloth into place and arranged a small vase of fresh-cut flowers just so, not precisely in the middle of the table but a little to one side. What was the big deal? All they had to do was throw down two plates, knives and forks and the food. Plus they were taking far too long. They were probably hoping to see her bloody mindedness. He gritted his teeth.

  The bedroom door opened. Niniane walked out. She was dressed in a pale peach lounge suit with a top that buttoned down the front, loose flared capri pants and the new slippers that had been selected for their sleek look and comfortable fit. The color brought richness to her delicate pale skin and emphasized the depth and hue of her dark gray eyes, while the cut of the suit flattered her small hourglass figure.

  Inclined to feel brutal, Tiago studied her with a critical eye. Actually, she looked ridiculous. Her nose tilted up at the end. Her face was too angular, her eyes too big, her mouth too full. She had freckles, and the tips of her long ears were pointed. How did all of those things combine to make her so mouthwateringly beautiful? What was that elusive quality she exuded until it seemed to dance in the air? It was like the twinkle of sunlight on water, impossible to capture or define; it was just Niniane.

  Both Hughes and the woman lit up when Niniane appeared. They gave her awkward but deeply felt bows.

  That was when Tiago witnessed firsthand the effect she had on people. He watched Niniane light up in response to the humans’ presence. She walked over to them, her hands outstretched. She greeted them like they were long-lost friends. She beamed at the fresh flowers and asked after Hughes’s children (who knew? Tiago sure as hell hadn’t, nor did he care). She learned that the other woman’s name was Esperanza, an avid gardener and lover of flowers. Hughes held out her chair, and Niniane thanked him as she sat.

  Every ounce of Niniane’s attitude was sincere. She was a bodyguard’s worse nightmare, a recognizable famous woman with charm who genuinely loved people, and they adored her in return.

  Tiago’s hands fisted. He didn’t love people. If people weren’t such a goddamn pain in the ass, he wouldn’t be at war all the time. He wanted to smash Hughes’s face for holding out her chair before he could think to do it. He wanted to knock these humans’ heads together and toss them out of the suite, preferably out the window. He wanted to rile Niniane up and watch her sputter, then pin that little sex kitten down, cover her with his body and show her who was boss. Breathing hard, he turned away.

  Silence fell. Then Niniane said, “Tiago? Are you going to come eat your breakfast?”

  His neck muscles tightened. She sounded like she was wary of him.

  Yeah, there was a reason for that.

  He forced his body to relax and to turn around in slow, controlled movements. Niniane looked at him with wide eyes, and the humans smelled nervous. No matter how polite he might try to act, some subliminal part of them would always recognize that he was a predator. So he didn’t bother. They withdrew almost imperceptibly as he strolled to the table and sat.

  “Thank you,” he said to them, his voice curt, dismissive. Hughes sent the woman Esperanza to tidy the kitchen and make fresh coffee, while he collected their coffee mugs from the living room area and joined her.

  “I don’t know what the hell’s the matter with you,” Niniane muttered as she glared down at the gleaming metal cover on her plate. “As far as I know, it might be a congenital defect and not your fault. But whatever it is, cowboy, you’ve got to dial it down or—”

  His hands shot out. He planted one on the table and the other at the back of her head as he lunged forward and drove his mouth down onto hers. He felt the shock of it bolt through her body. Her soft, pretty mouth fell open under his onslaught as he pushed his tongue deep inside her, and there was nothing sweet or romantic about it. It was a marauding capture that fed a hunger that had been gnawing at him from the inside and making him bat-shit crazy.

  Her hands flew up and touched his face. Her mouth moved, either to protest or to kiss him back. Or both. Breathing heavily, he pulled back.

  She blinked devastated, dazed eyes at him. She whispered, “You’re a menace.”

  “And you’re tap-dancing on my last nerve,” he growled. He removed the metal cover from her meal and slammed it down on the table. “Shut up and eat your breakfast, faerie.�
��

  He released the back of her neck and settled back in his seat to uncap a porterhouse steak and a mountain of scrambled eggs.

  Tap-dancing on his last nerve? Well, he was driving a Sherman tank over hers. Trembling in reaction, Niniane looked down at her plate. She put her elbows on the table and covered her mouth as she stared at her meal. Of course. He had fulfilled his promise. Fragrant fluffy pancakes were topped with fresh strawberries and melting whipped cream. There was a side plate with a scrambled egg and two crispy slices of bacon.

  For a heart-pounding moment she didn’t know if she wanted to eat her meal or grind it into his face, but then a surge of hunger consumed her. Unable to think about anything else, her mind shut down. She dove into her breakfast and didn’t come up for air until both plates were clean. At some point Esperanza brought them fresh coffee and iced water with lemon slices, then she left with Hughes.

  If Niniane could have come up with any excuse for them to stay, she would have. She sat back and cradled her mug in both hands. She stared into the fragrant hot liquid to avoid looking directly at the lunatic Wyr that lounged at the table beside her.

  She could see him out of the corner of her eye. He folded his arms and balanced his chair on its back two legs. He was topheavy as most of the warrior Wyr were, with massive muscles in his chest and arms from heavy sword work and wielding other weaponry. His stretched-out legs went on forever. She kept her feet tucked under her own chair to avoid coming into contact with him in any way.

  She pretended to sip her coffee as the tiny hairs along her arms rose. He was staring at her, a moody, brooding look from under level black brows, while his Power pressed down in the room with the sulfurous weight of an impending thunderstorm.

  “Of all the shit I’ve got to think about and deal with right now,” she remarked in a cool voice. “You should not even make the list.”

  “So you think you can ‘deal’ with me,” he said. The insolent, silken tone of his voice stroked down her spine even as it raised the danger level in the room. “You can try.”