13
Nightshade ran allthe way back to her room, passing by a startled Ethan, who she completely ignored. Heart pounding, she slammed the bedroom door and collapsed face forward onto her sister’s bed, which was so soft it nearly wrapped completely around her.
The silk coverlet rubbed against her sensitive skin in a way that only seemed to make her wilder. Her lips throbbed in a sweet, agonizing way she knew could only be solved by one man.
Merc.
A man who was supposed to be her enemy. A man she was supposed to use to infiltrate Cotter's life. A man who had taken her first kiss and left her desperate for more.
Heat unfurled in her belly, her womb clenched, and she squeezed her legs together trying to ease the unfamiliar ache. She’d never felt anything remotely like this. Her nipples ached and throbbed, the blood pounding through her veins practically screamed out his name. If he hadn't set her down – if he hadn't ordered her to leave – she had no doubt she would've completely lost control. And from the incredibly large hardness she’d felt pressed against her, she knew he’d been skating that same edge too.
He'd taken her lips with such ferocity, she had no doubt he must have had a lot of practice at it. Instant white hot jealousy flared when she thought about Merc kissing another woman. He didn't belong to her and never would, but right now she would take a knife to the heart of any female who dared to approach him with lust.
And now that Nightshade had experienced it, she could recognize it from a mile away. In fact, she remained intensely aware that Merc was somewhere in her house, pacing around the dark confines. She knew all she had to do was unlock her door and find him, and they’d finish what they’d started. But she also knew that if she gave herself to him now, something inside her would change and it might affect her mission. It might affect her ability to concentrate. And if it came down to Merc or her teammates and her sister – she would not choose him.
Nightshade bolted from the bed at the thought of any violence falling on him again, even violence at her own hand. She darted into the bathroom, yanked open the extravagantly large shower and flipped the water on straight cold. She stripped naked and plunged inside. The icy water stole her breath, but didn't cool her insides. Instead, the hard spray abraded her nipples and seemed to highlight the places on her neck his mouth had been.
Frustrated and angry at herself for wanting him so much, wanting a man that she should hate, she soaped the loofah and scrubbed her skin raw. She hit the tender, scarred-over wound where her father had shot her and groaned. But the pain was a reminder of what she'd been through to get here. With an almost masochistic need, she scrubbed the sore again, hissing in a breath at the fresh wave of agony and repeating the process simply to distract her body from the desire that urged her to run back downstairs and seek out Merc.
Dropping the loofah, she braced her hands against the smooth white marble of the luxurious walk-in shower and hung her head, allowing the cold water to pelt against her back.Remember, Nightshade. Remember your sister. Remember your team. Remember the pain Cotter has caused your family.
She stayed in there until her fingers and toes started to prune and turn blue. She ripped a fluffy white towel from the wall and dried off quickly, then slipped between the sheets of the bed and pulled the covers up to her chin.
Cold seeped inside her now, its familiar icy fingers comforting. She put some distance between her mind and her body and analyzed the situation. She had to stay away from Merc – it was the only way. Her reaction to him was too unpredictable and explosive.
Tomorrow when Cotter left for work, she'd sneak back into his study, hack into his computer, and steal the files. By the time he returned that evening, she'd have a loaded pistol waiting for him. And then she'd never have to worry about seeing Merc again.
The next morning, Nightshade woke with a renewed sense of purpose. She went straight into Caroline's closet and rummaged through her sister's clothes until she found something normal. Well, Caroline might consider it normal. To Nightshade, the pale pink capri pants and tight navy blue t-shirt made her feel like an Easter egg more than a trained operative.
At least the clothing would allow her to move about freely and wouldn't get in the way like all the loose flowing dresses and matching sparkly high heels she’d bypassed. Luckily, in the very back corner, tucked behind a pair of boots, Nightshade located a worn pair of tennis shoes, which she slipped on with relish.
In the bathroom, she pulled her hair back into a ponytail and braided it so she didn't have to worry about her hair getting in her face or her way. Then she paused a moment, staring at her reflection and seeing her sister. Perfect.
She emerged from the room ready to do what she could to avoid Merc and find the senator’s hidden server.
She jogged downstairs, light on the balls of her feet, ready. But she stopped dead in her tracks ten steps from the bottom, tendrils of worry creeping around her shoulders.
Harriet and Francis stood sentry at the bottom of the stairway. Harriet had her hands on her generous hips, Francis had her arms crossed beneath her nonexistent bosom, and a man — at least Nightshade thought it was a man — stood with a hip cocked out in garish neon-green pants that tapered to his ankles. He clutched a bright pink handbag in one hand, a purple and green polka-dotted one in another. His hair was gelled back with something that would allow no movement, even in a stiff wind.
Fernando.
Harriet started up the steps, lifting her long dress with one hand and wagging her finger with the other. “Oh no. You’re not escaping breakfast, Miss Caroline. You completely skipped supper and you need to eat to fully recover. Go on up to your room. I'll bring the tray and Fernando can get started.”
Francis waved her hands in the air, reminding Nightshade of a crane about to fall off a cliff. “Your father said you were exhausted, but you’ve never slept this late before. Ten o'clock. Half the morning’s wasted. Poor Fernando, he's been here for over an hour, but I refused to let him disturb your sleep.”
It was ten o'clock? She'd never slept past six a.m. a day in her life. It had to be exhaustion.
Fernando's caramel-colored gaze drifted slowly from her head to her toes and back up. “My dear, what have they done to you? Those shoes…”
Nightshade glanced down at her feet in confusion. The tennis shoes were a little bit ratty. They had a few old stains dotting the surface. But compared to the five-inch heels that dominated the rest of her sister’s closet… “What? They’re comfortable and I’m not going anywhere today. What does it matter?”
Fernando slapped a hand over his chest, his eyes widening to the point she was afraid they might actually pop out of his head. “You can’t be serious. I know you’ve been through a traumatic experience, but you’ve never let your style slip like this.” He snapped his fingers and Nightshade jumped. “Don't worry, I'll have Nina go to all your favorite shops. Although,” he tapped a finger on his pouty lower lip, “you’ve definitely lost some weight…”
“Why does everyone keep going on about my weight? I haven’t lost that much, besides, what does it matter? I’m alive. I’m home. I kind of like my new look.” She’d never worried about weight, except when she was trying to bulk up and add strength, or her clothes, unless she was heading to a remote location with freezing temperatures.
Fernando completely ignored her and shooed her to the stairs, driving her absolutely crazy.
“I’ll pretend like you didn’t just say that. Go on, up to your bedroom. If I can get your new measurements to Nina in time, you’ll have a whole new wardrobe by this evening. Perfect for the celebration your father’s planning in your honor at the end of the week.”
Nightshade froze halfway up the stairs. Her stomach dropped.This was definitely not part of the plan.
