Golden's Rule

by Billi Jean

  He turned to face the windows. The first brush of dawn lit the distant peaks, casting a pink glow over the dark valley below them. He had to do something. No way could he just stay here, not when twenty paces away, she was wet and naked. He started pacing. If he were a smart man, he’d leave. He was insane to stay. The kitchen felt too small. Maybe he should go get some groceries. She’d be hungry surely. If he stayed they could have a romantic meal, break open a bottle of wine, maybe he could get candles, even.

  He stopped pacing so fast his shit-kickers squeaked on the wood floor.

  What was he thinking? He could not romance her. She’d lost her memory. She was alone. Hell, he’d even withheld from her how damn powerful she’d been in that fight. Why had he done that?

  Frowning, he replayed their conversation. She’d shocked him when she’d woken up looking so lost and vulnerable. He’d only thought to protect her, and if she’d known what a strong, powerful witch she’d been in that fight, she might demand he take her back to Midway.

  Was that why he’d painted her actions as weak?

  Feeling guilty, he started pacing again. He couldn’t take her back to Midway. The place was in chaos.

  She needed…hell, he was the only person she knew. He couldn’t take advantage of that. But he couldn’t leave her either. The truth was he didn’t want to. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to someone else. Worse, he didn’t want anyone else. The very idea made his throbbing erection go limp in his jeans. Well, okay, until he thought of her touching him, caressing her soft hands over his heated flesh, then his dick jumped.

  “Sonofabitch.” He started pacing again, trying to ignore the growing tightness of his jeans. Maybe this feeling would pass. He’d been attracted to women before and they’d lost the appeal quickly—this might not be any different.

  And pigs might fly.

  He gripped the counter and hung his head, twisting it left and right to get the kinks out of his tight shoulders. This place didn’t help. He shouldn’t have brought her here, but some instinct warned that if he took her to his home, he’d not let her go again. What did that say about him? She was hurt, confused, alone, and he wanted…hell if he knew what but naked was a good start. He’d start at her tiny toes, work his way up her lean calves to the softness of her inner thighs and right to—

  “Fuck!”

  He slammed his hands on the counter and spun around, shutting down the fantasy, and swallowed past the guilt rising up to strangle his throat with panic. He couldn’t treat her like that. He couldn’t use her. She was so much more than a quick toss in the hay.

  He froze. Just what more could she be?

  He had no answer for that one, so instead of worrying the hell over it, he thought of her. What was it about her? Her intelligence, clouded by confusion and mixed in with her helpless situation, drew him. He wanted to protect her. Hell, protect her? He wanted to cuddle her close. Cuddle.

  What is wrong with me? Cuddle?

  He tossed idea after idea out. She’d be safer if he simply took her to Sorcha. The head of the Jade Coven would discover who she was and more, she’d protect her. The witch protected everyone. Something he’d given her shit over for hundreds of years, only now? Now he wanted to protect someone. And somehow, taking her to Sorcha pissed him off. He wanted to protect the woman behind that bathroom door, not hand her over, and chance never seeing her again.

  He heard the water start and instantly his cock pulsed. She’d be wet. He wanted to shower with her, lick the drops of moisture off her skin and suck each drop until he landed—

  Shit. He needed to get out of here before he joined her.

  His phone buzzed, sending a rush of relief through him. He grabbed it and flipped the cover. “Yeah?”

  “How’s the little lady?”

  Torque swallowed his instant jealous response. “She’s better. Awake. How are things at the Midway?”

  Silence, then, “Ah, good, good, man. Look, we still need that meeting, the council isn’t too happy to have to reschedule.”

  Shock stopped him in mid-pace. “Shit, when do they want to meet? We just fought off a Death Stalker attack in the—”

  “Hey, slow the hell down, buddy. Look, from what I heard from the Spartan, the deal is—hey, did you know he tied the knot? Shit, man, everyone is going crazy. The Spartan has balls though, I mean, damn. The niece to the two most powerful witches on the planet and he takes her for his. Damn, I knew the guy was—”

  “Jax, what the fuck?”

  “Ah, sorry. Oh, yeah, and get this, remember the missing wolf, Derrick?”

  Torque frowned and took a second not to yell at the vampire. “Jaxon, would you slow the hell down?”

  “Yeah, I’m not good at this rumour shit. I always seem to be the last in on everything. So, anyway, the missing wolf, Derrick? He’s back from the dead, or wherever he’s been for two centuries. Seems he found his mate too. Or she found him. She’s hot, I hear. Some renegade witch, not part of a coven, just one of those outsiders, anyway, they fought a pack of Death Stalkers and get this. The death dealers wore some kind of tattoo on their face, like, advertising they’re Death Stalkers. Crazy shit, right?”

  Torque pinched the bridge of his nose and inhaled, counted to ten and said, “I think we need to talk face to face because you’re not making sense.”

  “You just can’t keep up? Little lady got you wound tight?”

  The little lady let out a sound like a yelp then he heard a thump. His heart hit his throat. “Shit, call you right back.”

  He vaulted down the hall and jerked the door open, nearly cracking the wood when it hit the wall. Beauty shrieked. She would have fallen while getting half out of the tub if he’d not pulled her tight to his body. At least that was what he told himself when she fell against him. Wet. Warm. And gloriously naked. Beautifully naked. She was perfect. Every luscious inch of her body burnt into his brain until he knew, no matter how much he wanted to forget the first look at her, he’d never lose that image. That second in time had seared into his brain for eternity.

  She let out a soft sound like a hiccup and he cleared the lust fisted around his vocal chords enough to say, “Shit, I’m sorry, I thought you fell.”

  She shivered and he jerked a towel around her, but the bastard he was, he still held her close. “Did you fall? What happened?”

  “I slipped, just a little dizzy, I guess. I’m okay. Really.”

  She sounded scared as shit. No doubt because she was straddling his thigh and his cock punched up against her wet, bare stomach. If she hadn’t noticed his reaction to her in the bedroom, she sure as shit had to now. And shit, didn’t she say she was an empath? He swallowed past a dry throat and reached down to tip her head up by her chin. Her face was rosy pink and she blinked confused green eyes up at him.

  All he could think of to say was, “You don’t look okay.”

  As he said it, the colour drained from her face, turning it a pasty white, and her eyes flew wide. She shoved against him with more strength than he’d thought she’d have and managed to land on her knees, head down in the toilet. He heard her gag and the next second her stomach emptied with a splash in the basin.

  She waved at him, no doubt trying to gesture him out of the bathroom, but he grabbed her hand and stopped her, hauled the towel over her shoulders to hide her lush curves and helped tug her hair off her face as she retched repeatedly.

  Something strange hit his chest, something growing bigger, nearly encasing his entire body in warmth. She gripped his hand tight and trembled slightly. A low moan of pain and gasp for breath and she started all over again.

  “Oh, Gods, I hate throwing up. I hate it. Hate it.”

  He grinned at the misery in her tone. “Yeah, not many people like it, I imagine.”

  She shook her head and moaned, “Not helping. So not helping.”

  He cracked a laugh and got an evil look before she grimaced and tried to shove him away again. “Go, you’re making it worse.”

 
“I doubt anything can make it worse—”

  “Your drink did!”

  He chuckled softly and shook his head at her distressed tone. What a fighter.

  She shuddered once more and under his hand, he felt the tension leave her body. She slowed her breathing and eased down so she was sitting back on her legs, forehead on the toilet. He pulled her up, ignoring her protests, turned the water on in the sink with one hand, and used the towel with the other to wipe her face and mouth off. She frowned up at him the entire time, clearly not okay with him touching her. Instincts he couldn’t fight guided him and he cleaned her as best he could. He only let her go when she tugged the towel up to her chin and glared at him.

  “I gotta brush my teeth, and stop laughing at me.”

  “I’m not laughing.” He wasn’t but for some stupid reason he was smiling. She simply looked so adorable, like a half-drowned, indignant kitten. “Can you manage now?”

  “I can manage. I could have before, too.” She snapped her lips closed at his grin and turned away from him, but he saw the colour flush her cheeks.

  “Okay, try not to overdo it. I’ll be right outside.”

  She muttered something under her breath but nodded. He held in the grin because he thought she’d said ‘in your dreams’ and if she had, yeah, he had to agree. She was more than any dream he’d conjured up, that was certain.

  His phone buzzed again, no doubt Jaxon and more of his rumours. “I gotta get that. I might have to leave for a bit, but I won’t be long.”

  He waited for her to say something. Her shoulders tensed, but she nodded. “I might take a nap, if that’s okay.”

  “Beauty.” He turned her by her slender shoulders and ignored his phone. “You can do anything you’d like. I merely ask you don’t leave the grounds. I think a nap might be wise. Then something to eat.”

  She pinched her lips together, studying his face for a long moment before she nodded. “I can cook something, maybe. Pasta?”

  “Uh, are you sure you can cook? I mean…” Her look dared him to go on and he backed out of the subject. Cooking had always been a mystery for him, but if she didn’t burn the place down, great. “I don’t know what’s here.”

  She watched him a second longer, as if she knew he was making this up as he went along, and when he didn’t say more, she nodded. “I’ll look around.”

  “Sure, look around. It’s yours for as long as you need it.”

  He swallowed hard to clear his throat of a sudden tightness. His brother had loved this hunting lodge. It was one reason Torque kept it clean and in good condition.

  Not moving a muscle, he watched as she lifted a hand and cupped it along his jaw.

  “Thank you. I’m sorry I grumped at you, I guess a girl doesn’t like a man to see her…”

  “Throwing up in a toilet?”

  She smiled and the effect of that sweet look, directed at him, hit right in the chest. His body hummed to immediate readiness, his dick swelled even harder until he knew the head had shoved past the waistband of his jeans. Holy hell.

  “Yes. That. Thank you, for holding my hair and coming to the rescue.”

  He nodded, barely managing not to bend his head and take her sinfully soft lips. She’d be offended, he just knew, probably mortified since she’d just lost her lunch, but he wanted to kiss her so badly he ached. Instead of taking what he wanted, he loosened his hold on her shoulders and backed down and out of the bathroom.

  “I’ll only be a little while. Try to rest.”

  She tipped her head to the side and smiled. “Sure thing. I’ll be fine.”

  He walked before he kissed those smiling lips. She’d not said a thing about his erection. Not a word, but he’d seen interest in those lovely eyes. Interest and something more. He frowned and leaned his head on the door between them. Shit. He was in trouble. Just that one touch and he knew he’d not be able to stop himself from taking her sweet body. He wanted to feel her touch…everywhere.

  Trouble was, what would he do after?

  He couldn’t have a forever with anyone. He only had the now. His curse made sure of that.

  He lifted his head and stared at the door. He’d just have to make sure to make the now something she’d remember.

  Then he’d have to turn her over to Sorcha.

  Chapter Four

  Saying she could cook and finding something to use were two very different things. He had stuff, just not a lot of it. Old stuff too, if she had to guess. She had managed to find spaghetti pasta, a can of tomatoes that looked promising, fresh garlic, which was a surprise, old-looking shaker parmesan cheese in the back of the huge refrigerator and an onion with a nice green sprout growing out of it in his crisper.

  And vodka, bourbon, tequila, and all sorts of other dusty, expensive-looking bottles of alcohol. There was cocoa powder, some flour that had seen better days, even a few eggs, but not much else. Even those things seemed odd to her. It was as if he lived here, but didn’t.

  She grabbed a few things, her mind elsewhere as she tried to remember, but not remember a recipe for pasta sauce. The pain didn’t explode down her back, so she must have found a way to think about what she wanted to do, without shifting the heavy blackness concealing her past. The thought made her shiver. Were her memories there, just beyond her reach? Again, she pushed the idea away and focused on simply cooking, not analysing how she knew what she was doing. Once she had the odd assortment of miscellaneous items on the glossy countertop, a picture of a red sauce, rich with tomatoes and spices flashed in front of her eyes. Vodka Sauce.

  Her hands trembled.

  The assortment of jars could make a meal. How she knew, she wasn’t going to think about too closely. The reminder helped. If she could just focus on cooking, she’d be okay. Decided, she stared around the kitchen once more and then back at the counter. He didn’t have anything for a salad, though, and she craved greens. A salad with pecans and blue cheese or a Greek salad with spicy peppers. Her stomach twisted on emptiness. How long had it been since she’d eaten?

  “Probably a few hours. Stop being so jumpy, just cook.” It felt like forever.

  Maybe she’d missed something. Turning back to the refrigerator proved useless. She couldn’t find anything resembling edible greens outside of the sprouted onion. The refrigerator had a container of half-and-half that was still okay, some butter, and that was it. He didn’t even have salad dressing. No old mustard. No ketchup. What kind of house was this? He didn’t actually live here. Yeah, but he must visit, right?

  Didn’t matter. She was being nosy. The kitchen was an amazing contrast of old wooden counters and new stainless steel appliances. The wooden floors were glossy. The width of the beams truly amazing. The place felt like a man’s hunting lodge for sure. There was even a huge elk or something on the far wall. Kinda creepy, but she sensed the place was ancient. It had that kind of musty smell of a house closed up for too long without people. So why so clean?

  Bizarre.

  She opened drawers until she discovered a row of truly impressive kitchen knives. Underneath that fantastic find, she located some olive oil tucked away in the back of an otherwise empty cabinet.

  Humming lightly, she began making the sauce only half-paying attention to what she was doing. Her body flushed every time she remembered the look Torque gave her when she’d half fallen out of the shower. She’d felt like an idiot, but one look at his face and one feel of his hard body, and she’d nearly melted at his feet.

  And how did you handle that, stupid? Throwing up right in front of the silly man.

  Her neck and face grew hot just remembering how she had retched and retched until her stomach hurt and she was breathless.

  Torque hadn’t seemed to mind. He’d actually thought it was funny. Not that he’d laughed at her. He’d picked up a towel and wiped her face off. His expression had been so odd—intensely focused, as if cleaning her was somehow important to him. If she hadn’t felt the thick, hard cinder of his erection only moments befor
e she’d spilled her guts in the porcelain, she might have thought he regarded her as a child.

  Halfway through the sauce, she realised she needed something to purée it before they ate.

  How did she know how to cook? She paused with the spoonful of sauce to her lips and let it fall back in the pot. She wasn’t trying to remember anything. She’d not tried since the bedroom. But she had tried to reach for her magic in the shower. She’d felt something, a warm glow, but with it she’d felt weaker than a kitten and slipped in the soapy bathtub and nearly hit her head against the solid tile wall.

  Torque must think her a complete idiot.

  He’d not looked at her like one. She’d not missed that moment of ‘oh shit’ on his face when he’d burst through the door, nor the way his eyes had practically smoked with sexual tension. That look had shaken her up more than the painful welts scratching under her skin like a cat trying to get out.

  “So, that smells good.”

  She screamed and the spoon flew out of her hand, landing on the floor with splatters of red sauce everywhere.

  “Shit!”

  Torque. She gripped the counter and tried to get her heart rate back to normal. Torque appeared more freaked out than she was. He looked so comical she started laughing and couldn’t seem to stop, especially when he lowered his dark eyebrows and frowned at her. Slowly a smile tugged at his lips and he chuckled. Bending down, he picked up the dropped spoon and caught up a towel from the sink to clean it off with before returning it to her.

  “You scared me,” she told him when he faced her again. He wore a rough leather trench coat and his hair was mussed as if he’d run there, but his silver eyes sparkled with a banked heat she now recognised.

  “Yeah, I kinda thought so by the shriek.”

  The silly man had a wicked sexy accent, with that soft r sound of the Scots or maybe the musical purr of the Irish? It was hard to say, but she found herself listening to his voice then racing to catch what he’d said. “I did not shriek. I was startled, that’s all. Do you have a blender?”