by Elise Faber
He saw her stiffen and glance at him. Dom kept his shoulders turned to the wall, still watching her out of the very corner of his eye.
After a moment of studying him, she glanced back down at her clothes.
“They’re ruined,” she said.
“I figured that was obvious.” A frown drew his brows together. “Is that a favorite pair of pants or something? Because I can get you a new set.”
Steph straightened and stared at him. Even if he hadn’t seen her in the mirror, he would have felt the weight of her stare on his back.
“No.” She shook her head. “It’s just that all of my clothes are ruined.”
“Okaaay.” Was this one of those tests, designed for males to fail?
“All of them.” Her sigh was loud enough to rattle the walls. “Including my bra and underwear.”
“So?” Seriously, what was the big deal? “Just don’t wear them.”
“Don’t wear them? That’s your big solution?” Her voice was incredulous. “You’re a bigger idiot than I gave you credit for. See these?”
He turned and stared at where she was pointing, to the barely concealed breasts beneath the thin scrap of cotton.
“Uh-arh.”
“I have boobs.”
“Uh… yes.” Good God, did she ever.
“It hurts to not wear a bra.”
He frowned and tore his gaze from the cleavage he wanted to bury his mouth into. “Hurts?”
“Yeah,” she said, clutching her towel closer, probably because it was obvious that Dom was imagining all of the things he could do to those breasts. And not just with his mouth.
But then what she was saying penetrated the fog of arousal. “It hurts?”
Steph rolled her eyes. “Yes, Captain Parrot. It hurts. I’m not flat-chested. They… bounce, and it’s not comfortable. Okay?”
Dom was nowhere near okay, and he was really trying to not focus on Steph’s bouncy breasts, but at least he finally understood what she was saying.
He shook off the Baywatch vision bounding through his mind and said, “Well, I can’t help with the underwear— unless you want to wear a clean pair of mine? But I have an idea about the—“ He cleared his throat. “—boob issue.”
With a small grunt, he pushed up to standing, noting that though the bandage on his ribs pulled, his side didn’t hurt nearly as much as the dizzy-inducing pain of half an hour before. It was probably because all of his blood was currently located in a completely different part of his anatomy.
Dom crossed to her and snagged his duffle, her little intake of breath at the contact making him smile.
He wasn’t in this alone.
It only took a moment to find the first-aid kit inside. He pulled it out.
“Sorry to tell you this,” she said, her voice just shy of acidic. “But Band-Aids aren’t going to cut it.”
The laugh that burst out of him was surprising in its intensity, in its warmth, in its realness.
He hadn’t laughed like that in a long time. Not since… not since before he’d managed to alienate her from his life.
But instead of dwelling on the giant vat of regret that sat in his gut, Dominic focused on the future.
“Not Band-Aids,” he said, scrounging through the little kit before holding up an ACE bandage. “But I think this will work.”
Steph’s mouth fell open, her lips shaped in a soft O he desperately wanted to kiss. He resisted, just barely, mainly because she was studying him intently, her expression gentle, her eyes clouded with an emotion he couldn’t — but desperately wanted to — decipher.
After a moment, she snagged the wrap from him, leaned up on her tiptoes, and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
“I think you’re right,” she whispered. “Now turn around, and I don’t want to see you peeking in the mirror again. Otherwise I’ll have to kick your ass— injured or not.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Stephanie kept glancing over her shoulder as she walked down the street to her former apartment, toward her ex-boyfriend, toward what would probably be a picked-over box of her belongings.
Trevor.
She sighed. Why had she wasted her time with him?
But though she might have wanted to pretend to not know the truth, her mind wasn’t so kind. She’d never been an ostrich and wouldn’t start now.
Trevor had been charming — when he’d wanted to be — and he’d also looked a hell of a lot like Dominic.
No need to go psychologist on her about that one. It was clear to her that she and Dom had unresolved issues from the past and… also maybe for the future.
Regardless, she was there to pick up her things then to get the hell out of New Orleans.
She would already be gone if Dominic or Morgan had gotten their way. But though she didn’t have much, Steph did have a few belongings that were important to her, a few items it would really hurt to lose.
Of course, Dominic wouldn’t leave her. Not even when Morgan promised to come right back for her or to send for Mason or Monroe — his brothers, apparently — who could also teleport.
“I’m in this until you’re safe,” Dom had said right before they’d left the hotel.
She glanced to the side, to the small pained steps he was taking, and a fresh wave of guilt swept over her.
“It’s okay,” he said, adjusting the strap of the duffle slung over his good shoulder. “This costs us nothing but a few minutes of our time.”
He was right… about the time thing, at least, since her apartment was just a few blocks from the hotel.
Unless, of course they ran into the Dalshie again.
Who apparently wanted her.
Which made no sense. What was she to them? She could do Earth magic. Woohoo. Congrats. She could make plants grow.
It wasn’t like she could do Fire magic or Air or even Water. Those were cool. Not like the other Forgotten or even like the abilities of the Rengalla — who could use all four elements and even combine them into secondary skills like Morgan’s capacity to teleport.
Now that was a power she’d like to have. Travel the world in moments; see every national monument or wonder of the world. Get authentic New-York-style pizza just because she felt like it.
Pizza.
Her lips curled into a smile as she remembered a time she and Daphne and Tiffany had snuck out to the lake. Daphne had tried to use her Fire magic to cook them a pizza.
They’d made the dough from scratch, had covered it with sauce, cheese, and other toppings. Then they’d put the pan on a rock and stood back to watch Daphne work.
She felt her lips twitch. Their pizza had been fired all right, scorched into oblivion, a smoking mass of blackened dough.
“What’s so funny?” Dom asked and brushed his fingers softly against her arm.
“I was just thinking about the time that Daphne, Tiffany, and I tried to make pizza.”
His eyes widened, and a grin spread across his face. “Oh my God. That was epic.”
Morgan cocked his head. “What? Did they make a really big mess or something?”
“Or something,” Dom said, his tone light, though his eyes were narrowed at the other man.
The caveman gesture both amused and irritated the crap out of her. She wasn’t an object or something to fight over. She was her own person, dammit.
On the flipside — and though she knew it was wrong — Dom’s possessiveness brought a little of the devil out in her.
She took a few steps toward Morgan, until they were separated by a smaller-than-socially-acceptable amount of personal space. He raised a brow in question, and one side of her mouth quirked up in response.
Morgan wasn’t an idiot. He knew what she was about.
“We tried to make pizza with Fire magic,” she said and placed her hand on his arm, squeezed lightly. “Outside. On a rock.”
He laughed. “And how’d that go for you?”
“About as well as you’d expect, I imagine. So tell me—“ She leaned up tow
ard him, ignored the sharp intake of Dom’s breath. “—can you do Fire magic? I’ve always thought it was the… sexiest type of ability.”
Steph almost couldn’t withhold her snort, and Morgan didn’t help her cause. His amused hazel eyes stared down at her, almost daring her to blow it.
“Any particular reason that you’re torturing the poor guy?” he murmured after a flick of his gaze over her shoulder.
Hers followed suit, and she almost burst out laughing.
It was a terrible thing to do, flirting with Morgan despite the falseness and cheese factor of nearly infinity. But it was almost worth it, just to see Dom — unflappable, cool-as-a-cucumber Dom — be so off his game.
“Nope.” Well, at least none that she wanted to get into with Morgan.
The past might be playing a small part in it.
Okay, it was a part and not a small one at that. But the truth was, she was done with solely blaming Dominic for the events of that night. She shared equal blame. Or at least deserved to share it with him, her parents, and Seth.
Steph hadn’t fought for her life. She’d left, had taken the coward’s way out.
So there was that, and she was going to do her honest best to move forward from the guilt and shame and hurt of the kidnappings.
It was time.
The other part of her — the larger part — enjoyed the way Dom looked at her and she wanted to test its authenticity.
Maybe not the most mature method to do so, but still highly effective.
“Works for me, sweetheart,” Morgan said then hesitated. “Endearments are okay in this case?”
She grinned and nodded. “Yup. I’ll leave all pertinent parts where they belong.”
“Good.” He bent to press a kiss to her cheek. “I love watching these boys get all tangled up.”
“What boys?” she asked. “And tangled how exactly?”
His lips tipped up. “Cody and Mason. You’ll meet them at the Colony but they’re just as ensnared as Dom.”
“Aren’t you worried you might eventually be one of those whom get tangled?”
“Not gonna happen.”
Dom sighed, shoved in between them. “If you two are done powwowing, you’d realize that we’re here.”
Amusement battled annoyance until she realized what Dom had said. Then… then irritation won out. She leveled a gaze on him. “And how would you know that?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Dominic’s mental “Oh shit” must have been clear as day on his face because Morgan smirked, and Steph’s glare turned even darker.
“What do you know about my apartment?” she asked.
Lie or come clean? That was the question.
He’d been here several times, mostly just hoping to catch her alone so he could talk to her, but he’d also seen Steph with her asswipe of a boyfriend.
Dom had wanted to kill the SOB, had barely refrained as a matter of fact, when he’d see the boyfriend meet another girl in front of the apartment not five minutes after Steph had left for work.
But she didn’t need to know that. They’d broken up, and that truth would only hurt her.
He glanced up at Morgan, hoping — and obviously desperate — for some help.
The LexTal had always been cool for a Rengalla, surely he would—
Morgan shrugged, the smug idiot, seeming content with simply enjoying Dom’s squirming.
No help there then.
Plus, after his ridiculous flirting with Steph, Dom wasn’t sure he wanted help from that particular Rengalla. Enough girls fell at Morgan’s feet; Steph didn’t need to be one of them.
Narrowing his eyes, Dom sent Morgan a mental “Stay the hell away” then turned to face the firing squad.
God she was pretty, the morning sunshine highlighting the blond of her hair, the bright blue of her eyes.
Which were shooting daggers at him.
A curl of amusement wove through him. He liked Steph. So dammed much. Too damned much, and when she was staring at him like that, flames in her eyes, her lush lips pressed into a firm line he wanted to—
“Reconnaissance,” he blurted.
Morgan made a sound of disgust, coughed, and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “Idiot.” Dom felt his cheeks go hot.
“Reconnaissance?” she repeated, those flames not at all dissipated. A trickle of sweat trailed down the space between his shoulders.
He was an idiot. But… he also wasn’t going to let Steph push him around. He’d been doing right by her, trying to get her to safety. So what if he’d come here once or twice? It was for her own good, dammit.
“Look,” he snapped. “Any smart person on a mission does reconnaissance first. It’s plain stupid to go into a situation unprepared. Okay, your Highness? Is that a good enough reason for you?”
Their little group went silent for a long moment. Dom’s eyes flicked between Steph and Morgan, who was watching the pair of them as though they were the best entertainment he’d had in a week of Sundays.
Steph’s face was harder to read, and he felt a pinch of guilt. Had he hurt her feelings? It wasn’t like him to lose his temper.
Grounded.
He was usually calm and grounded.
What the hell was it about Steph that always brought out this side of him? Even when she’d been a bratty toddler, a rough and tumble little girl, then a pissed-at-the-world teenager, she’d always, always made him feel. Too much. Too violently.
Which didn’t matter, dammit. Because he was the jerk who’d snapped at her when she hadn’t deserved it.
But just as Dom had opened his mouth to apologize, Steph grinned.
“I’ve always managed to push you to your breaking point, haven’t I?” she asked and reached for his hand.
He laced his fingers with hers, and the tension slid out of him on a long, slow breath. “Yeah,” he murmured. “You always have.”
“Sorry.” But her words and smile were unrepentant. She squeezed lightly.
Dom tried to ignore the feel of those delicate fingers against his and the resultant bolt of heat.
It didn’t work.
He couldn’t ignore a damn thing about Steph. Never had. Not when she’d been a little girl with pigtails and dirt-streaked hands. Never would. Not with her standing in front of him, slightly vulnerable and with a touch of softness that spoke to his very soul.
Holy shit. Really? That was where his mind was going? Speaking to his soul?
Oh, he was so screwed.
“Nothing for you to apologize about,” he said gruffly. “Let’s get your stuff and get out of here.”
Steph led the way, her blond ponytail a beacon in the sunshine. Her keys rattled as she unlocked the door then held it open for them to trail her up the stairs.
“Which unit?” Morgan asked.
“4C.”
“Elevator?”
“Nope.” Her lips twitched, and she feigned a look at Morgan’s leather pants. “Don’t like cardio, Lothario? Or haven’t you heard stairs are good for your butt?”
At her words, Dom couldn’t have stopped his eyes from flicking to Steph’s ass, not for the life of him. But when he forced his gaze away and saw that Morgan had followed suit, Dom had to bite back a hot wave of jealousy.
Steph turned, probably because they were standing on the bottom two steps of the stairwell like a bunch of dumbasses, and sighed. “Really? You two are terrible.”
Morgan laughed. “Guilty.” He paused. “But I wasn’t worried about cardio so much as—“ Morgan said then glanced at Dom…
…who scowled. “I’m fine.”
His ribs were on fire, but the bleeding had stopped. If Dom knew anything, it was how to push past the pain.
They both fixed him with a look.
“Okay. I’m not fine, exactly. I could use a bed and a gallon of painkillers,” he said. “But four flights of stairs aren’t going to kill me.”
“Dude,” Morgan said. “It was pretty near that in the alley.”
“Well, I’ve started to heal. I’m bandaged up, and the sooner we get the hell out of here, the sooner I can find that bed.”
“Suz—“
“No doubt will have a plethora of choice words for me.” Suz was the Rengalla’s main healer and had more spunk than even Steph. “So let’s get this over with.”
“Maybe you should wait down—“
“I’m not sitting down here like a freaking invalid. Let’s do this already.”
Steph huffed out a sigh, turned for the stairs. “Fine, but if—“
“I’m all right.”
The old building creaked and groaned around them as they made their way to the fourth floor.
Dom was hurting, slow as hell, but Steph and Morgan didn’t say anything else, just sandwiched him — one in front, one behind — as they climbed.
By the time 4C came into sight, Dom was grateful. He leaned against the wall as Steph tried her keys.
Then tried them again.
“Bastard.” She sighed, resting her head against the smooth panel of wood. “Goddamned bastard.”
“Here,” Morgan said then placed his hand on the knob.
Strands of green and gold and brown that matched Morgan’s eyes exactly slid from his palms and wrapped around the worn metal.
Dom had seen Rengallan magic loads of time, had witnessed the vibrant colors, the amazing things it could do — stitching together organs, transporting people through space, predicting the future — and he always felt the same painful longing.
A phantom limb, severed. A lost ability that his body ached for.
There was a click, and the door slid open an inch. Morgan’s magic dissipated off into space.
“Let’s get that box,” he said and pushed the door open. “Then get back—“
His words were cut off by a crack of black magic. He dodged, pushed Steph to the side, but the strand still hit him. It whipped across his shoulders, flayed open the skin there.
“Move!”
Dom knew the pain, had felt the agonizing burn of that malicious magic, and almost before Morgan’s shout he was reaching for the crossbow in the holster on his back.
With one arm, he snagged Steph and shoved her behind them.