Lover Eternal tbdb-2

by J. R. Ward

  "Where?" she said with dejection. "Where should she meet you?"

  "Where do humans meet for normal dates?"

  How the hell would she know? Except then she remembered Mary saying something about a colleague of hers meeting a man… What was the name of the place?

  "TGI Friday's," she said. "There's one in Lucas Square."

  "Fine. Tell her eight o'clock tonight."

  "What name do I give her?"

  "Tell her it's… Hal. Hal E. Wood."

  "Warrior?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Please…"

  His voice actually softened. "Don't worry, Bella. I'll treat her well."

  The phone went dead.

  In Mr. X's cabin deep in the woods, O slowly sat up on the bed, easing himself to the vertical. He brushed his hands across his wet cheeks.

  The Omega had left only an hour ago, and O's body was still leaking out of several places, wounds and otherwise. He wasn't sure he was up to moving, but he had to get the hell away from this bedroom.

  When he tried to stand his vision spun wildly, so he sat down. Through the little window across the room, he saw dawn breaking, the warm glow splintered by the boughs of pine trees. He hadn't expected the punishment to last a whole day. And had been sure at many points that he wouldn't make it through.

  The Omega had taken him to places inside of himself that he'd been shocked to find he had. Places of fear and self-loathing. Of utter humiliation and degradation. And now, in the aftermath, he felt as if he had no skin, as if he were totally open and exposed, a raw laceration that just happened to be breathing.

  The door opened. Mr. X's shoulders filled the frame. "How are we doing?"

  O covered himself with a blanket and then opened his mouth. Nothing came out. He coughed a few times. "I… made it."

  "I was hoping you would."

  For O, it was difficult to see the man dressed in regular clothes, holding a clipboard, looking as if he were ready to start another productive workday. Compared to where O had spent the last twenty-four hours, the normalcy seemed fake and vaguely threatening.

  Mr. X smiled a little. "So, you and I are going to strike a deal. You get in line and stay there, and that won't happen again."

  O was too exhausted to argue. The fight in him would come back—he knew it would—but right now all he wanted was soap and hot water. And some time alone.

  "What do you say to me?" Mr. X demanded.

  "Yes, sensei." O didn't care what he had to do, what he had to say. He just had to get away from the bed… the room… the cabin.

  "There are some clothes in the closet. You good enough to drive?

  "Yeah. Yeah… I'm fine."

  O pictured the shower at his house, all creamy tile and white grout. Clean. So very clean. And he would be, too, when he got out of it.

  "I want you to do yourself a favor, Mr. O. When you go about your work, remember what all that felt like. Call it up, keep it fresh in your mind, and take it out on your subjects. I may be irritated by your initiative, but I would despise you if you went soft on me. Are we clear?"

  "Yes, sensei."

  Mr. X turned away, but then glanced over his shoulder. "I think I know why the Omega let you survive. As he left, he was quite complimentary. I know he'd like to see you again. Shall I tell him you'd welcome his visits?"

  O made a strangled sound. He couldn't help it.

  Mr. X laughed softly. "Perhaps not."

  CHAPTER 11

  Mary parked in the TGI Friday's lot. Looking around at the cars and minivans, she wondered how the hell she'd agreed to meet some man for dinner. Close as she could recall, Bella had phoned and talked her into it this morning, but damned if she could remember any of the particulars.

  Then again, she wasn't retaining much. Tomorrow morning she was going to the doctor's for the follow-up, and with that hanging over her, she was in a daze. Take last night, for instance. She could have sworn she went somewhere with John and Bella, except the evening was a total black hole. Work was the same. She'd gone through the motions at the law office today, making simple mistakes and staring into space.

  As she got out of the Civic, she tightened herself up mentally as best she could. She owed the poor man she was meeting an effort to be alert, but other than that, she didn't feel any pressure. She'd made it clear to Bella this was friends only. Split the check. Nice to meet you; see you later.

  Which would have been her attitude even if she hadn't been distracted by the whole Russian-roulette medical lottery hanging over her head. Aside from the fact that she might be sick again, she was way out of practice with the whole dating thing and not looking to get back in shape. Who needed the drama? Most single guys in their early thirties were still looking for fun or they would have been married already, and she was the antifun, buzz-kill type. Serious by nature, with some hard-core experience.

  And she didn't look like a party, either. The unremarkable hair growing out of her head was pulled back tight and cinched in a scrunchie. The creamy Irish knit sweater she had on was baggy and warm. Her khakis were comfortable, and her flats were brown and scuffed at the toes. She probably looked like the mother she would never be.

  When she walked into the restaurant, she found the hostess and was led to a booth in the back corner. As she put her purse down, she smelled green peppers and onions and looked up. A waitress whipped by with a sizzling iron plate.

  The restaurant was busy, a great cacophony rising up from all the life in the place. While waiters danced around with trays of steaming food or piles of used dishes, families and couples and groups of friends laughed, talked, argued. The mad chaos struck her as more awesome than ordinary, and sitting by herself she felt utterly separate, a poser among the real people.

  They all had happy futures. She had… more doctor's appointments to go to.

  With a curse, she clipped her emotions into place, trimming off the panic and catastrophizing, leaving behind nothing but a resolve not to dwell on Dr. Delia Croce tonight.

  Mary thought of topiaries and smiled a little, just as a harried waitress came up to the table. The woman put down a plastic glass of water, spilling some.

  "You waiting for someone?"

  "Yes, I am."

  "You want a drink?"

  "This is fine. Thanks."

  As the waitress took off, Mary sipped the water, tasted metal, and pushed the glass away. Out of the corner of her eye she caught a flurry of movement at the front door.

  Holy… Wow.

  A man had walked into the restaurant. A really, really… very fine man.

  He was blond. Movie-star beautiful. And monumental in a black leather trench coat. His shoulders were broad as the door he'd come through, his legs so long he was taller than anyone in the place. And as he strode through the knot of people at the entrance, the other men looked down or away or at their watches, as if they knew they couldn't measure up to what he had going on.

  Mary frowned, feeling like she'd seen him somewhere before.

  Yeah, it's called the big screen, she told herself. Maybe there was a movie being shot here in town.

  The man stepped up to the hostess and ran his eyes over the woman as if trying her on for size. The redhead blinked up at him in stunned disbelief, but then clearly her estrogen receptors came to the rescue. She pulled her hair forward, as if she wanted to make sure he noticed the stuff, and then kicked out her hip as if she'd popped the thing out of joint.

  Don't worry, Mary thought. He sees you, honey.

  As the two of them started coming through the restaurant, the man surveyed every table, and Mary wondered who he was eating with.

  Aha. Two booths away there was a blonde seated alone. Her fuzzy blue sweater was skintight, the angora shrink-wrap showing off a dazzling display of assets. And the woman was radiating anticipation as she watched him come through the restaurant.

  Bingo. Ken and Barbie.

  Well, not really Ken. As the guy walked along, there was something about him th
at wasn't WASPy handsome in spite of his amazing looks. Something… animalistic. He just didn't carry himself as other people did.

  Actually, he moved like a predator, thick shoulders rolling with his gait, head turning, scanning. She had the discomforting sense that if he wanted to, he could wipe out everyone in the place with his bare hands.

  Calling on her willpower, Mary forced herself to stare into her water glass. She didn't want to be like all the other gawking fools.

  Oh, hell, she had to look up again.

  He'd bypassed the blonde and was standing in front of a brunette directly across the aisle. The woman was smiling broadly. Which seemed only reasonable.

  "Hey," he said.

  Well, what do you know. Voice was spectacular, too. A deep, resonant drawl.

  "Hi, yourself."

  The man's tone sharpened. "You are not Mary."

  Mary tensed. Oh, no.

  "I'll be anyone you want."

  "I'm looking for Mary Luce."

  Oh… shit.

  Mary cleared her throat, wishing she were anywhere else, anyone else. "I'm… ah, I'm Mary."

  The man turned around. As vivid, teal blue eyes bored into her, his big body stiffened.

  Mary looked down quickly, jabbing the straw into her water.

  Not what you were expecting, am I? she thought

  As silence stretched out clearly he was searching for a socially acceptable excuse to cut and run.

  God, how could Bella have humiliated her like this?

  Rhage stopped breathing and just took the human in. Oh, she was lovely. Nothing he'd expected, but lovely nonetheless.

  Her skin was pale and smooth, like fine ivory stationery. The bones of her face were equally delicate, her jaw a graceful arch running from her ears to her chin, her cheeks high and tinted with a natural blush. Her neck was long and slender, like her hands and probably her legs. Her deep brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail.

  She wore no makeup, he couldn't detect any perfume, and the only jewelry she had on was a pair of tiny pearl earrings. Her off-white sweater was bulky and loose, and he was willing to bet her pants were also baggy.

  There was absolutely nothing about her that courted notice. She wasn't anything like the females he went for. And she held his attention like a marching band.

  "Hello, Mary," he said softly.

  He was hoping she would look back up at him, because he hadn't been able to catch enough of her eyes. And he couldn't wait to hear her voice again. The two words she'd spoken had been so quiet and not nearly enough.

  He stuck his hand out, itching to touch her. "I'm Hal."

  She let his palm hang between them as she reached for her purse and started to scootch her way out of the booth.

  He planted himself in her path. "Where are you going?"

  "Look, it's okay. I won't tell Bella. We'll just pretend we had dinner."

  Rhage closed his eyes and tuned out the background noise so he could absorb the sound of her voice. His body stirred and calmed, weaved a little.

  And then he realized what she'd said.

  "Why would we lie? We are going to have dinner together."

  Her lips tightened, but at least she stopped trying to escape.

  When he was sure she wasn't going to bolt, he sat down and tried to get his legs to fit under the table. As she looked at him, he stopped shifting his knees around.

  Dear God. Her eyes didn't match the gentle lilt of her voice at all. They belonged to a warrior.

  Gunmetal gray, surrounded by lashes the color of her hair, they were grave, serious, reminding him of males who had fought and survived battle. They were staggeringly beautiful in their strength.

  His voice vibrated. "I am so going to… have dinner with you."

  Those eyes flared and then narrowed. "Have you always done charity work?"

  "Excuse me?"

  A waitress came over and slowly put down a glass of water in front of him. He could smell the female's lusty response to his face and his body and it annoyed him.

  "Hi, I'm Amber," she said. "What can I get you to drink?"

  "Water is fine. Mary, do you want anything else?"

  "No, thanks."

  The waitress stepped a little closer to him. "Can I tell you about our specials?"

  "All right."

  As the list went on and on, Rhage didn't look away from Mary. She was hiding her eyes from him, damn it.

  The waitress cleared her throat. A couple of times. "You sure I can't get you a beer? Or maybe something with a little more kick? How about a shot—"

  "We're fine, and you can come back later for the order. Thanks."

  Amber took the hint.

  When they were alone, Mary said, "Really, let's just end—"

  "Have I given you any indication that I don't want to eat with you?"

  She put a hand on top of the menu in front of her, tracing the picture of a plate of ribs. Abruptly she pushed the thing away. "You keep staring at me."

  "Males do that." When they find a female they want, he added to himself.

  "Yeah, well, not to me they don't. I can imagine how seriously underwhelmed you are, but I don't need you focusing on the particulars, know what I mean? And I'm really not interested in enduring an hour of you taking one for the team."

  God, that voice. She was doing it to him again, his skin flaring with shivers and then settling down, loosening. He took a deep breath, trying to catch some of her natural, lemony scent.

  As silence cropped up between them, he nudged her menu back at her. "Decide what you're going to order, unless you just want to sit there while I eat."

  "I can leave anytime I want."

  "True. But you won't."

  "Oh, and why's that?" Her eyes flashed, and his body lit up like a football stadium.

  "You're not going to bail because you like Bella too much to embarrass her by walking out on me. And unlike you, I will tell her you ditched me."

  Mary frowned. "Blackmail?"

  "Persuasion."

  She slowly opened the menu and glanced at it. "You're still staring at me."

  "I know."

  "Would you mind looking somewhere else? The menu, that brunette across the aisle. There's a blonde two booths back, in case you haven't noticed."

  "You don't ever wear perfume, do you?"

  Her eyes flipped up to his. "No, I don't."

  "May I?" He nodded to one of her hands.

  "Excuse me?"

  He couldn't very well tell her he wanted to smell her skin up close. "Considering we're having dinner and all, seems only civil to shake hands, doesn't it? And even though you shut me down the first time I tried to be polite, I'm willing to give it another shot."

  When she didn't answer, he reached across the table and took her hand into his. Before she could react, he pulled her arm forward, bent down, and pressed his lips to her knuckles. He breathed in deeply.

  His body's response to her scent was immediate. His erection punched at the fly of his leathers, straining, pushing. He shifted around to make some more room in his pants.

  God, he couldn't wait to get her home alone.

  CHAPTER 12

  Mary stopped breathing as Hal released her hand. Maybe she was dreaming. Yeah, that had to be it. Because he was too gorgeous. Too sexy. And way too focused on her to be real.

  The waitress came back, getting as close to Hal as she could without actually being in his lap. And wouldn't you know it, the woman had freshened her lip gloss. That mouth of hers looked like it had had an oil change with something called Fresh Pink. Or Curious Coral. Or something equally ridiculous.

  Mary shook her head, surprised she was being so bitchy.

  "What can I get you?" the waitress asked Hal.

  He glanced across the table and lifted an eyebrow. Mary shook her head and started flipping through the menu.

  "Okay, whadda we got here," he said, opening his own. "Let's have the Chicken Alfredo. The NY strip, rare. And a cheeseburger, also rar
e. Double on the fries. And some nachos. Yeah, I want the nachos with everything on them. Double that, too, will you?"

  Mary could only stare as he closed the menu and waited.

  The waitress looked a little awkward. "Is all that for both you and your sister?"

  As if family obligation was the only reason a man like him would be out with a woman like her. Oh, man…

  "No, that's for me. And she's my date, not my sister. Mary?"

  "I… ah, I'll just have a Caesar salad, whenever his" — feeding trough? — "dinner comes."

  The waitress took the menus and left.

  "So, Mary, tell me a little about yourself."

  "Why don't we just make it about you?"

  "Because then I won't hear you talk."

  Mary stiffened, something bubbling below the surface of her consciousness.

  Talk. I want to hear your voice.

  Say nothing. Over and over and over again. Do it.

  She could have sworn this man had said those things to her, but she'd never met him before. God knew, she would have remembered that.

  "What do you do for a living?" he prompted.

  "Er… I'm an executive assistant."

  "Where?"

  "A law firm here in town."

  "But you did something else, didn't you?"

  She wondered how much Bella had told him. God, she hoped the woman hadn't brought up the illness. Maybe that was why he was staying.

  "Mary?"

  "I used to work with kids."

  "Teacher?"

  "Therapist."

  "Head or body?"

  "Both. I was a rehab specialist for autistic children."

  "What got you started in it?"

  "Do we have to do this?"

  "Do what?"

  "All the let's-pretend-to-get-to-know-you stuff."

  He frowned, leaning back as the waitress put a huge plate of nachos on the table.

  The woman bent down to his ear. "Shhh, don't tell anyone. I stole these from another order. They can wait, and you look very hungry."

  Hal nodded, smiled, but seemed uninterested.

  She had to give him credit for being polite, Mary thought. Now that he was sitting across the table from her, he didn't seem to notice any other women at all.