She’d questioned how much he’d wanted the bond. Wondered if he was after the healing abilities of a bond critical to a warrior’s longevity. Wounds that could otherwise incapacitate him for days or weeks could be healed in seconds with a mate. His work had been his life.
Then he’d made long, sweet love to her. He’d taken his time untying her robe, but he’d left it on, the sides flung open, just like she had it now. When he’d spread her on the bed, the dark look in his eyes had said he was going to devour her and she’d love every second.
She’d told him countless times how much she loved him. She’d never told him how much she enjoyed being with him. She’d never been the instigator, always waiting for Leo to make the first move.
Her fingers reached her sex and she paused. She’d never done this on her own before. Never. She’d waited for a mate. Other Numen got as much experience as they could until they had to mate. Not her. She’d waited for her mate and he was better than any she could’ve hoped for.
The way he’d settled between her knees, his broad shoulders pushing them farther apart. Her fingers touched wet heat and she gasped. It’d been so long. Her eyelids fluttered closed and she moaned her mate’s name.
Had he heard?
She explored herself, learning her own body. Leo knew it better than her. He knew that licking across a nipple while strumming her sex made her writhe, made her crazy.
With her eyes closed, she could almost feel the heavy weight of her mate on her. She spread her legs farther apart, spreading herself farther apart. Her fingertips touched her clit and she let out a strangled moan.
They weren’t her mate’s big fingers. The touch was wrong, and she missed the gentle yet proprietary way he handled her. She almost stopped.
Then Leo’s hoarse voice reached her. “Millie? Are you . . . are you okay?”
The sound of his rough rasp was enough to encourage her to continue. She wasn’t alone in this.
She stroked herself again. Her hips jacked up.
“Millie?”
“Yes,” she gasped. This wasn’t going to take long. She was more sensitive than she’d ever been and she didn’t have the expert touch of her mate. She didn’t know how to draw it out, how to pull back, how to tease like he did.
Pleasure licked through her. The sense of empowerment was unexpected. She’d been doing everything by herself. She’d been used to being alone while he worked long days, but since he’d been hurt, she’d been emotionally and physically alone even though Leo had been here all day long. She’d been helpless, powerless.
Her touch had healed him before. Was it pure hubris to think she could do it again?
Yes, but she was too far gone to care.
Her fingertips were slick and her hips rocked. She let out another moan and made this one louder.
“Are you—” His words choked off.
He couldn’t say it. Was he feeling anything?
Her feelings clogged her throat as lust mounted. Yes, she could get herself off. Quite efficiently, it turned out. But just because she could do that on her own didn’t mean she wanted to.
She wanted to be with Leo, legs or not. She wanted to be intimate with him. She wanted to experience life with him.
Had she told him? He’d been abandoned since he’d been hurt. Treated like an invalid when he was otherwise strong and healthy. It was enough of a blow to realize their realm didn’t need him, but he’d been left unwanted too.
“Leo!” she cried as her climax built.
“Millie, why are—”
Another shout tore from her throat as the muscles of her abs and legs tightened.
“I don’t think . . .”
Pleasure swamped her—nowhere near as strong as what Leo could do to her, but staggering all the same. “Yes. Leo. Yes!”
Her shouts rang off the walls as she rode her hand. The swell died down and she sagged against the bed. Stifling loneliness weighed on her like a lead blanket. She pressed the hand she hadn’t used on herself on the headboard behind her, as if she could touch Leo that way.
“Leo,” she said between heaving breaths, “I’m sleeping in that bed tonight.”
Silence was her only reply.
Chapter 10
A week since they’d arrived and she was less active than she’d been in a one-bedroom cabin in the middle of winter.
The bath water was getting cold, but sitting in the tub staring at the white tiled wall was better than being downstairs while everyone ignored her. Sandeen kept trying to creep by her. There were knives other than butter knives, but Sandeen wanted her blood bad enough to risk staying around a bunch of angels.
She didn’t want to leave the bathroom. It’d become her safe space.
Las Vegas during winter was pleasant. There was a reason people from northern, wintery climates flocked here between the months of November and March. But she wasn’t allowed to sit out under the sun. The background checks on the neighbors weren’t complete.
Boone was allowed to go outside. He’d set up a couple of patio chairs that had been delivered, but they were for looks only. The neighbors would assume they were still settling in.
Boone didn’t talk to her enough to come up with a backstory, so Harlowe had given them one. Jack and Shari Smith from Idaho. He sold health insurance and worked from home but had been transferred to the Las Vegas area. She was taking online courses for her degree. Second marriage for him, first for her. She hadn’t missed how Boone tensed when Harlowe listed that as part of their background. But since Sierra looked like she was in her twenties and he was pushing forty, it would provoke fewer questions.
Alma was Jack’s mother. Sierra thought Boone would resist feigning having a parent, but he didn’t flinch. His own parents had died years ago, and he’d dealt with the grief.
Had Harlowe intentionally given Boone the fictional mother, knowing Sierra hadn’t known hers and that her father was probably still in mourning in Numen?
It’d make up for the box of ugly clothing she’d received. She’d gone through the piles, and at the risk of being ungrateful, they were repellent. She wouldn’t have to worry about maternity wear. The granny panties went to her boobs. The plain white bras lacked all support, and no matter how she adjusted them, they felt twisted. The simple sports bras weren’t better, but they allowed for growth and were easier on her still tender breasts than the others.
Plain T-shirts in off colors. Sickly green. Obnoxious yellow. Browns. All sorts of brown and none of them cute. None that complemented each other. She didn’t know how it was possible, but Dionna had managed it.
It wasn’t the clothing that irritated her. It was the sentiment behind it. She’d paid her dues. When would it be enough?
Should I tell Director Richter you said hi?
She deserved it.
Closing her eyes, she debated turning the hot water on and warming the water up. She’d love some bubble bath. A soothing scent that wouldn’t upset her stomach.
Why was her stomach so attuned to her nose?
Maybe she’d know if she read a book or two on pregnancy, but she’d have to tell the warriors and that wasn’t happening.
She should. Sandeen hadn’t said anything. Ever-present suspicion regarding the demon flared. He was smarter than the average demon. He was keeping the information to himself in order to benefit himself. She needed to let the warriors know. Even better—she needed to let them know and tell them not to let Sandeen know she’d told them. How would he attempt to use the information?
But she couldn’t. This baby wasn’t a pawn.
This baby.
Inhaling, she sat up. She couldn’t be stuck alone with her thoughts anymore. Lukewarm water sluiced down her body as she stood. After she dried off, she dressed and went to her bedroom. She wasn’t ready to go downstairs and be around anyone. She rolled her neck and stretched her shoulders. Then she lifted an arm and dug at the underwire sticking into her skin.
Already? Even a crappy bra should last o
ver a week.
She dug out a sports bra and took her shirt off. The bra went in the garbage and she tugged the new one over her head.
“Hey, Sierra, they want you—”
The bra was in place by the time she spun. Boone’s mouth was stuck open and his gaze planted on her breasts. The thin material had to show as much as it covered, but she kept her arms at her sides. How self-conscious could one be in mud-brown leggings and limp, wet hair?
“Want me for what, Boone?”
He snapped his mouth shut and stepped back. His back hit the door, knocking it closed the rest of the way. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“You’ve made it clear you don’t want to look at me or touch me. I’m not worried that you’re trying to peek.” She waved her hands up and down her body. “It’s not like I’m putting on a spectacular show.”
In Numen, she’d been surrounded by tall, stunning angels. Male attention hadn’t been plentiful. She’d lost her virginity to a friend she’d been in warrior training with. They’d done the friends-with-benefits thing, and sometimes she’d picked up a human when she was working long missions on Earth.
Sure, she was fit. She still had some abs. Her breasts were slightly bigger than her normal size. Muscles filled out her biceps and thighs. But she wasn’t Harlowe. Statuesque. Stunning. Loyal. And she hadn’t cared. She’d lived to be a warrior, not a mate.
Yet the way Boone couldn’t keep his eyes off of her left her with a craving for more. Was this what she’d been missing? Was it the man who made the difference?
She shook her head. Moot points. Tossing the shirt over her head, she asked, “Did they say what it was about?”
Boone crossed his arms and stared at the floor in front of her feet. “There’s another warrior here.”
She’d seen Bronx out the window when he’d been unloading the moving van. He’d caught her looking and she hadn’t bothered waving. Just turned away before he could see the tears glittering in her eyes. She’d crawled back in bed and tried not to think about how she couldn’t walk up to Bronx, bump knuckles, and ask if he’d actually fought anyone or if he’d spent his whole time on Earth picking up women. She wouldn’t think about how he’d laugh and tell her that she was his favorite wingman.
Bronx was the brother she’d never had. Since her sister didn’t know she existed, the loss left a bigger hole than ever.
“Who?” She could go downstairs and see for herself but her feet were rooted in place.
“I don’t know. Blond.”
Icicles crystalized in her veins. “Jagger.”
Boone lifted a shoulder and finally lifted his gaze to hers. “Sierra? Are you going to faint?”
She might. “Damn hormones.” Her butt hit the edge of the bed. She wasn’t close enough and slid down. Boone was at her side before she could catch herself. He lifted her up and placed her close to him.
“What’s with Jagger?”
“He’s . . .” Breathing was like sucking air through ten thick blankets. “He’s . . . Nothing. He’s just an old teammate.”
How would she act around Jagger? She’d fucked his father. They hadn’t liked each other, but she’d let the fallen have at her. They’d had sex like it was tied to their next breath. Two desperate, lost beings. She’d never see Jameson again. She’d never have to wonder what he’d do if he learned she was expecting his kid.
Oh, God. What if Jagger found out? Would he try to take the baby? Or destroy it?
Her chest burned.
A hand was at her back, Boone’s voice in her ear. “Breathe, Sierra.”
She clung to his words and the steady way he spoke them.
“So, you and this Jagger . . .”
Boone thought she was a scorned woman seeing her long-lost lover again? “No. No, not at all. Not him.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. The way she’d said Not him was telling to anyone who knew her. Only she and Jameson knew what they’d done together, and she was the only one alive.
“Then what?”
“It’s just . . .” Another lie. Another lie to a guy who claimed to not care about her but was rubbing her back and coaching her to breathe. “After the way Harlowe and Urban have acted, I don’t want more of the same. It’ll be harder with Jagger. His father was the fallen who started the club we told you about. His father . . . died.”
Boone’s hand on her back stopped. His dry chuckle sent prickles down her spine. “I keep getting sucked in. I gave up my life to follow you across the country and you still can’t be honest.” He stood, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “Everything you said was true—in your world at least. But the reason you almost fell on your ass wasn’t part of it. After everything I’ve heard, I can’t believe I’m hung up about this.”
“I thought you were bored and that’s why you’re here.”
He propped his hands on his hips and spun. The clothing purchased for him wasn’t the same as his mountain clothing but probably made him look like he had before he retreated to Montana. Between the jeans and regular black polo shirt and the newly trimmed beard, the edge should’ve been dulled. But no. He was a mushroom cloud of repressed emotions.
“I’m here because . . .” He huffed out a breath. “Because I can’t not be.”
Once she got her fake papers, she’d have to find a way to ditch this place. Those times she’d been with Jameson hadn’t been only sordid fucking. He’d told her things. He’d talked about his life as a fallen. How he’d thrived.
But he hadn’t had demons after him. Not at the beginning. He hadn’t had someone give him a hand up when he’d needed it the most. If he had, would he have turned out the same?
Probably. If Boone had been born an angel, he wouldn’t have fallen. Ever.
“You’re a good guy, Boone. Don’t let anyone ruin that.”
“The thing is, Sierra, it’s the secrets that’ll ruin you. I just hope you figure that out before it’s too late.” He left the bedroom.
When his broad shoulders disappeared, she sighed. He thought it was cut and dry. If she talked to him, or to her team, it’d all be okay. It should be okay. But her secrets could hurt more than just her.
Boone went downstairs and Sierra followed him, her face wan and her steps deliberate. Sandeen was at the table with his puzzle. He had all the edges together and was working on the sky. The giant red cardinal in the middle would’ve been easier, but when Boone had commented, Sandeen had told him that patience was a virtue and sometimes doing the harder steps first made the easier ones better.
Had he been philosophized by a demon?
Harlowe sat on one end of the couch and Urban on the other. One or the other was consistently here to watch all of them and act as mediators between the rest of the team, like this Jagger, the only other one that Boone had met. When Harlowe or Urban would leave, they’d step out the back sliding door, leaving the blinds within the window panes closed. Boone saw nothing. Sierra and Sandeen claimed the angels did something called transcending, which involved ascending to Numen or descending from Numen to Earth. They said it was easier than using the Mist since they could come across warrior and demon battles.
Or the “warriors” could just be stepping off the patio, spinning around the cove made by the terrace, and jumping the fence. Maybe they’d parked a block away like he’d done at Alma’s place. Boone had come this far by playing along; he wasn’t going to question it too heavily.
Leaning against the sliding doors, Jagger towered over the group. He was dressed like the others. Dark, long-sleeved shirt and tactical pants. On the streets, people would wonder whether they were law enforcement or EMS workers. But this was Vegas. They might not get spared more than a glance.
Jagger’s stern gaze dimmed when he spotted Sierra. “Finally, we can get this over with.”
He flipped a folder onto the coffee table. Harlowe and Urban didn’t make a move for it. Had they gone through it when Boone was upstairs?
Sierra walked to the folder and
flipped through the contents. “Shari Smith. Twenty-nine. Vegas license and Idaho birth certificate.”
“You’re not allowed to go anywhere,” Jagger stated. His arrogant tone demoted his likability in Boone’s mind. The only other words Boone had heard him say were, “Go get her. I don’t have all day.” So his likability had been at ground level to start.
“What if we need to go somewhere?” Boone crowded behind Sierra as if he could protect her from the warrior’s glare. Were these three some form of military? A private security company? And the angels and demon talk just code?
Sierra didn’t fit the mold, but perhaps that was why she was on the outs.
Over a week of this shit and he still couldn’t work out any details. Proving them would be harder.
“You don’t need to go anywhere,” Jagger said evenly.
Boone’s patience snapped. He was irritated with the new guy and he was frustrated that Jagger had something to do with why Sierra didn’t want her former team to know she was pregnant. They might not take her into consideration when she decided what she wanted to do about the baby.
“Look, since she fell or whatever the hell you call it, she’s been good. She notified you when trouble came to town and she didn’t expect you to save her ass.” Boone stalked closer to Jagger. “If she wants to go get some clothes that don’t look like a garage sale puked all over her, she should be able to.”
Jagger’s brows dropped lower with each sentence. “It’s not up to you.” He pushed off the door and crossed his arms, biceps bulging. Was it a show of power? Boone could do the same. “Boone Reamer. Five years as a cop, another six ATF. Three of those years spent undercover. Until your wife—”
“I know my own fucking story.”
“—and kid were killed when the undercover operation was busted—by your wife. It took another four years to clean up the legal mess. And here you are, wondering why I won’t let you or Sierra take any lead, or have any flexibility where this mission is concerned. People end up maimed or dead around the both of you.”
Demon Fire (The Angel Fire Book 3) Page 12