“Perfect. I’m at the courthouse.” Because Hope was human, he couldn’t materialize in her lobby thirty seconds from now and let her know he was there. Thomas mentally tallied how long it would take to walk or take public transportation from the courthouse to Hope’s building. The number of minutes he came up with ended up being too many to wait to see her.
Fuck it. I’ll pretend I took a cab.
“I can be there in fifteen minutes.”
“I’ll just change real quick and figure out what to tell Garrett.”
Thomas hung his head in shame. Lying to Hope’s brother made him feel crappy. Mayhap he was a saint, but he used to be human, and therefore was as fallible as any. However, it was because he was a saint he preferred to hold himself to higher moral standards than the average human. Oh, his mind was just as dirty as any other male. The only difference was that Thomas kept his thoughts and fantasies to himself. But as usual, when it came to Hope, all bets were off. The second he met her, Thomas grabbed his high and mighty morals by the balls and drop-kicked them out the door, leaving them on the ground for some other fool to trip over.
In truth, he was so far gone, there wasn’t enough guilt in the world to make him walk away from Hope Harley.
“Sounds good,” he replied.
After hanging up, Thomas spent fifteen long, torturous, minutes pacing his office. With a sigh, he scrubbed his hands over his face and used the time to reflect upon the twisted path which led him to this moment. That’s when he realized that he never really had a choice when it came to Hope.
Fates, he was falling apart, more cracks forming at his seams every day. It shocked Thomas that he was not only more than ready to discard years, decades, centuries of hard work, spent cultivating his reputation as the honest and principled district attorney of Eastlake Falls, but eager to do so… for a female. And not just any female, a human female. What was he thinking?
Or more accurately, what was he thinking with? Because it certainly wasn’t the brain in his head.
I must needs be going mad.
When Thomas finished beating himself up, he closed his eyes and pictured Hope, all warm and soft, and smelling of lavender. How she felt in his arms, tucked against his side, hands intertwined. Her bright smile, the one that made his heart race and his blood boil. The feel of her lips under his, the sweet taste he couldn’t get out of his head. Without a doubt, he knew he would do anything to spend just one more minute with her.
When the fifteen minutes were up—plus a few more spent to get rid of the hard-on resulting from fantasies of Hope—it was time to go. He rematerialized behind the skyscraper of condos owned by Son of Pride and walked around to the front. The lobby was large and expensively decorated. Humans and immortals crisscrossed the space, going about their day, ignorant that the city was slowly sliding into a cesspool of crime.
“Thomas?”
Shit.
He had been so far in his own head he hadn’t noticed Hope arrive.
“Sorry.” He ran a hand through his hair and would have said more, but practically choked on his tongue when he got a look at what Hope wore.
By the Fates, I’m so screwed.
Thomas only ever saw her in casual clothes; jeans, shorts, T-shirts, and the like. If she was a knockout dressed down, she was utterly devastating all dressed up. Instead of in her usual ponytail, Hope wore her hair loose. The copper highlights shone as her hair cascaded over one shoulder in gentle waves. She chose a sleeveless black dress with a deep V-neck. Ivory skin sprinkled with ginger freckles exposed on her arms and cleavage almost seemed to glow. The dress stopped above her knees and at the other end of gracefully curving calf muscles, she wore a pair of black stilettos. They were open like sandals, but had multiple leather straps that buckled around her feet and ankles.
Thomas didn’t know if he stopped breathing or what, but the sight of those shoes made his lungs burn.
“I didn’t know where we were going, so…” Hope trailed off, sounding unsure. Thomas tore his gaze from her incredible body and forced his eyes up. Hope’s cheeks flushed pink and she chewed on her bottom lip.
What he wouldn’t give to suck that lip into his mouth instead.
She shifted uncomfortably and he realized he stood stock still, staring at her like a creepy pervert.
Say something, stultus!
“Um, wow. I mean, you look great. I hadn’t decided… I mean, I figured we’d discuss where…” Thomas huffed and had to look away in order to think long enough to formulate a coherent response. Well, think about something other than getting naked with Hope.
He thanked the Fates his suit jacket covered his groin.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, silently pleading she didn’t notice how raw his voice sounded.
“No.” She shook her head. Thomas swallowed hard. Those gleaming white teeth still sank into her lower lip.
“What about a drink? I know a place nearby that makes great martinis.”
She freed her lip and Thomas struggled to keep from reaching out to smooth the pad of his thumb over the indention left on that sexy as sin mouth.
“Okay.”
He smiled, if only so he didn’t wince at the erection that pressed painfully against his zipper. Hope smiled back and Thomas’s heart flopped around in his ribcage before landing at her feet, all but begging her to take it. At this point, it would be a mere formality, since he couldn’t deny that his heart already belonged to her, and her alone.
He held out a hand and, aye, Hope’s face flushed again. She slid her palm into his and Thomas swore he felt something. And electric charge that passed between them. He glanced at Hope and caught a ‘blink and you missed it’ flash of confusion cross her face.
She felt it, too.
Whatever was happening, it certainly wasn’t the explosive inferno he heard rumors of after the Son of Lust bonded with Faith. It was hot alright, but more of a slow burn, the temperature rising so gradually, you didn’t realize what was going on until you found yourself willingly standing in the center of a scorching hot bonfire.
He should run. Escape whilst he still had a chance. But since the day he met Hope, Thomas discovered something about himself. He was a masochist, because whilst the flames consumed him inside and out, all he could think was burn baby, burn.
CHAPTER 12
H ope giggled as Thomas made her laugh again. After downing two wild berry martinis, she felt good, relaxed and carefree. Her skin flushed and a warm tingling sensation had spread throughout her body. It made her hypersensitive to every little touch, and she hadn’t noticed before, but Thomas touched her a lot. A caress of fingers here, the brush of a knee there. Hope was ready to climb onto his lap and tell him to touch her the way she really wanted.
He was regaling her with another tale from the courthouse. His stupid-criminal stories were so outlandish, she kept accusing him of making them up, but he swore they were all true. Like the one guy who got arrested for fraud, then paid his court fee with a stolen credit card.
“You’re lying,” she said with a snort and a giggle as she playfully shoved his shoulder. When her hand made contact with hard muscle, Thomas’s pupils dilated and his nostrils flared. His eyes dropped to her mouth and Hope sucked in a breath. Her abdomen tightened and desire pulsed through her.
“I don’t lie,” Thomas said, dead serious.
This time, it was Hope’s eyes that landed on his mouth, and without thinking, she licked her lips. With a pained groan, Thomas slid his hand behind Hope’s head and descended upon her, his mouth landing on hers. Immediately, she opened to him and the man took full advantage. He drove his tongue in, devouring her as a low rumble vibrated through him. He plunged that wicked tongue deep while she hungrily responded to each and every thrust. Thomas pulled her closer until she had to brace her hand on his thigh to keep her balance on the barstool. The heat beneath her palm was searing, even through his wool pants. She dug her fingers into the muscle and he tore his mouth away with a hiss.
/> “Fates, Hope.” Thomas squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth. It looked to her as if he was trying to slow things down. Rein in his desire.
“Don’t hold back,” she begged. She needed this. Needed him. Blue eyes flew open and locked on hers. Despite the cool color, they flickered with fire. Hope trembled, scared to death at how strongly she felt about this man, but somehow managed to shift her hand a bit higher on his thigh. Thomas cursed, and with a burst of courage, she didn’t stop until a finger brushed against his groin.
“Oh fuck,” Thomas whispered. His eyes fluttered shut again. Loving the reactions she pulled from him, Hope leaned in and nipped at his mouth. That was the final straw as his willpower broke. “We’re getting out of here.”
He stood, one hand holding the jacket he removed earlier over his crotch, the other reaching to thread fingers with hers. Hope tried to keep her mouth from curling into a grin as Thomas tugged her from her stool, through the crowd, and to the front door of the bar. When they tumbled out onto the sidewalk, he continued to maneuver her until her back pressed against the brick facade of the building.
Thomas studied Hope, eyes roving over her face. “You’re driving me crazy, you know that?” He kissed her long and deep before pulling away, leaving her breathless, then lifted a hand and skimmed his thumb across her mouth. “You’re pure sin.”
“Take me home. Garrett works late,” she whispered against his thumb.
“Fates. What you do to me.” Thomas moved his hand and gave her one last kiss before striding to the curb, towing her along, and throwing up his free arm. A cab pulled up and he opened the door for her. As Hope stepped inside, their eyes met and the fire inside her spread and she burst into flames. “Get in the car,” he practically growled.
“With pleasure.” Hope ducked in the backseat and smiled at the sound of his pained groan.
THE DOOR OPENED and instead of the small female with the sweet smile and flaming hair, Donovan was face to face with the Guardian Angel. The stupidly handsome, impossibly selfless, kind to his very core, Guardian Angel.
He wanted to punch the Viking right on his stupid, chiseled jaw.
“Donovan,” Tor said with a big smile on his stultus face. “Great to see you. Come in.” He politely stepped aside to let Donovan pass.
“Tor,” Donovan said—mayhap more like grunted, but what the fuck ever. Donovan gave himself credit for not shoulder-checking the asshole as he entered True’s tiny home.
“Why aren’t you still staying with Duncan?” he asked, taking in every inch of the unfamiliar surroundings. It was second nature to note every point of entry, places where enemies could hide. He was a warrior first. Everything else came second.
“True wanted to be back at her own place.” Tor shrugged and Donovan fingers curled.
Right. Where you have her all to yourself. Alone. Fucking prick.
“It’s safer at her father’s.” He spun to face Tor. Donovan’s expression must have shown his displeasure because the Guardian Angel’s brows shot up. The bewildered look pissed Donovan off that much more.
“No single place is safer than another as long as I’m there to protect her.” Tor said. The smug bastard turned and walked into True’s tiny kitchen, leaving Donovan to follow like a puppy. “Coffee?”
Fates, he hated the guy.
“So now you’re what? Her butler?”
Tor’s back was to him. His wide shoulders tensed whilst he stood at the sink and filled the decanter. The blond angel poured water into the machine and added coffee grounds before spinning on his heel to meet Donovan’s harsh gaze. It appeared mayhap he finally got under the unflappable Viking’s skin, because the usually congenial angel’s lips pressed tight and the set of his jaw looked stiff. Tor folded his arms across his chest and rested his backside against the countertop.
“No, I’m not True’s butler,” he said slowly. “She happens to be in the shower and I thought it polite to offer her guest a drink.”
Donovan mimicked Tor and crossed his own arms. He kept his spine rigid and feet shoulder width apart to intimidate Tor. He didn’t even blink. No words were exchanged as they locked gazes in a silent stare down. Whilst grinding his teeth and glaring across the kitchen, Donovan discovered a few things about the angel—first, he was one stubborn motherfucker. Second, he didn’t suffer fools. The way Tor met his stare, unflinching and strong-willed, whilst flexing his substantial muscles, said more than words ever could.
Tor was challenging him. A subtle one, but a challenge nonetheless. Daring Donovan to fuck with him. Donovan knew the only way it would happen was if he were to make the first move.
Wish fucking granted, asswipe.
Right as he was about to tell Tor to step the fuck outside so he could kick his angelic ass, he heard small feet padding down the stairs. If he weren’t so furious, the way both males simultaneously relaxed their postures and pasted phony smiles on their faces as True entered the kitchen would almost be comical.
“Tor, you’re a life saver. Do I smell cof—” True spotted Donovan. To his great joy, her eyes widened and a stunning smile split her heart-shaped face. “Oh! Donovan. I didn’t know you were here.”
“Yet here I am,” he said, biting the inside of his cheek to calm down before he said something stupid. It wasn’t True’s fault Donovan’s mood was shitty. Nope, that was entirely his own doing since he was the one who put Tor in her life and home.
He threw his arms open and bent at the waist. True accepted the invitation and flew into the embrace. That was all it took to forget all about Tor. Fuck him. Donovan gave in to his desire and held True the way he wanted to for so long. She was so much smaller, his long arms wrapped all the way around her tiny frame until he could almost touch his own shoulders.
She pressed her cheek to his chest and sighed into his T-shirt. That single, soft sound sent a ripple of shockwaves racing down his spine. Donovan’s heart sped, the rapid beat sending electrified blood pounding through him to light every nerve aflame. Unable to resist, he ducked his head and buried his nose in True’s fiery hair, inhaling deeply. Fates, his eyes nearly rolled back as he savored the fresh floral scent of orchids combined with the tangy citrus of her shampoo.
The sound of a throat clearing ruined the moment. Irritated, Donovan lifted his head and slid his gaze over True’s shoulder. Tor was staring so hard he was practically drilling holes into Donovan’s skull. He wasn’t sure if the angel disliked him specifically, or disliked the thought of anyone touching True. Thing was, he didn’t give two fucks. Tor had better keep his hands off her unless he wanted them ripped from his body and stuffed up his ass. Donovan’s expression must needs have conveyed his desire to inflict violence, because the corner of Tor’s mouth quirked up as if he wasn’t threatened in the least.
Prick.
The coffee maker chose that moment to beep, breaking the standoff. True released her hold and he had no choice but to let her go. Donovan shoved his hands in his pockets whilst Tor poured three cups of coffee. The fucker’s shoulders shook the entire time. Donovan couldn’t see his face, but would swear he was laughing at Donovan’s desire to fuck him up.
Once they each had a steaming mug, he asked True to join him at the table. Tor was about to leave the room and give them privacy—ten minutes too late if you asked him—but Donovan signaled him to have a seat. One blond brow winged up, and as much as he obviously didn’t want to, the big Viking complied. He sat across from Donovan, eyes narrowed, whilst he sipped his coffee.
“Donovan?” True asked. She glanced up and frowned. “What’s going on?”
Shit. He sucked at keeping emotions off his face. True knew him to be worried.
“Um, I came to tell you something.” He fiddled with his mug, picking it up, putting it down, taking a sip, swirling the contents.
True put a soft hand on top of his. “Donovan…” Those big blue eyes with the ring of dark cobalt shimmered with concern.
“Crap. Fine. Okay.” He exhaled and spit it o
ut. “Someone is killing immortals.”
True’s jaw dropped and she yanked her hand back into her lap, reacting as if his touch burned her skin. Tor had his hands on the table and Donovan watched as they shook, then curled into fists. Tor was pissed. Just as Donovan suspected, the fucker knew about the immortals and hadn’t told True any of the shit going down in Eastlake Falls. Bastard would rather keep her in the dark whilst Donovan preferred to have her prepared for the worst.
Some Guardian.
“We know who’s doing it,” he added.
True’s lower lip trembled. “Who?”
He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his chin. “It’s the Horseman, Famine.”
“Is this really necessary?” Tor hissed.
He shot a dark glare at the Viking angel. “Aye, it’s necessary. It should have come from you, Guardian. The more True knows, the safer she’ll be. She’s not stupid.”
“Screw you, Byrne.”
Oh, we’re using surnames now, are we?
A low snarl rumbled in Donovan’s chest. He began to rise from his seat, but True grabbed one of his wrists with both hands and held on as if her life depended on it. “Don’t. Prithee, Donovan. Tell me what you know,” she begged. He winced at the pain, not in his wrist, but in her broken expression. Donovan’s heart stuttered.
“True—”
“Quiet, Tor,” True snapped. Both Tor and Donovan gaped. He hadn’t ever heard the sweet sorceress use such a sharp tone of voice. It sounded angry, demanding, and pretty much let the males know she was done putting up with their bullshit. “I want to hear what Donovan came to say.”
Tor threw his hands in the air and pushed back from the table. “I’ll be in the other room.” He stormed out in a cloud of rage. Donovan watched him go, wondering if he should beat some damn sense into the stultus.
“He’ll be fine,” True said calmly. Once again, Donovan’s face must needs have betrayed him, because True knew he was flabbergasted by the tiny female’s easy dismissal of a pissed off, six-and-a-half-foot Viking immortal. “Don’t get me wrong, Tor’s a great Guardian. He just…” She sighed. “He coddles me. I’m a grown female and a sorceress. Despite being kidnapped and… well, you know.” Her cheeks flushed and she ducked her eyes for a brief second before steeling her gaze and meeting Donovan’s head on. “I know most Guardians aren’t full time, and they usually observe, not live with their charge twenty-four seven. But I’m not weak, nor do I need to be lied to or kept out of the loop.”
Hope For More (Trinity Book 3) Page 19