She paused, the hand with the hairbrush poised over a long fall of pale hair.“I didn’t guess you were trying to concentrate.”Oddly enough, she didn’t bother to turn the overhead light on either, just stood in the gathering darkness.The image robbed him of breath.
He unfolded from the floor, wincing as a bruise on his left quad reminded him of his last sparring session with Henderson.The old man didn’t pull any strikes, that was for sure.“I like hearing you.”He watched her flush, visible even in the dimness.
Quit fucking around, the deep, cold voice told him.She’s in danger.You know she is.That feeling’s never let you down.
And that was the crux of it.He was uneasy, too.Something wasn’t right—some deep premonition of danger was beating like a drum inside his head.He should have moved to the next stage with her a long time ago.
He wondered if she would forgive him, if she’d ever guess what he was up to.
He crossed the room, stalking noiselessly.Her gaze fixed on him, extraordinary almost-glowing green depths.Eyes he could drown in.
That actually doesn’t sound so bad.If I drowned, would I forget everything else?
An unfamiliar pressure tugged at his mouth.How long would it take for a smile to feel normal again?“I’ll brush your hair, angel.Want to turn the light on?”
She studied him for a long moment, thoughts moving behind those lambent eyes and the tingling wash of her talent spilling down his back.The others felt her like a pressure against their minds, but he felt her all along his skin—and all the way down to his bones.Whether it was because of his own ability topushor simply because he was emotionally involved, he didn’t know.
Didn’t care either.
“I don’t think so,” she said finally, dropping the brush.It clattered against hardwood floor.
He didn’t have any time to react.Rowan stepped close, that prickling feeling running over his skin, the smell of her hair closing around him.He froze.
She ran her hand up his arm, her palm sliding over his sweater, past his shoulder.She had to reach tip-toe to cup her hand around the back of his neck.
“We have to talk,” she breathed.“Right?”
Oh, my God,he thought through a sudden haze,she’sseducingme.
His throat was desert-dry.“Um,” he managed, staring at her eyes.She doesn’t have any idea.Of course not.She can’t be serious.
“You know what your problem is, Justin?You think too goddamn much.”
“Must be genetic.”Don’t joke with her, you idiot.She might decide not to touch you.
Her smile widened briefly.Then she pulled his head down.
He hadn’t expected this.Hoped, wished, prayed for—but not expected.
Her mouth met his.Liquid fire slid down his spine.
She kissed him thoroughly, taking her time.His hands moved around her waist, spread against her back, and he did his best to pull her in.
It seemed to last forever.Her slenderness against him, the cleanness of her mind swallowing his.He disappeared into her, a raindrop in a river, her mouth warm and forgiving.
She finally took pity on him and broke free, but only halfway.Delgado kissed the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her temple under the mat of silken hair, buried his face in her hair and inhaled deeply, shuddering.
“We definitely have to discuss a few—” she said, breathlessly.
“Later.”His hands found their way under her sweater.Her skin was cool and smooth under his fingers.“Muchlater.”
She pushed him toward the bed.He was only too happy to comply, pulling at the sweater.Her hands were fiddling with his jeans, he was surprised into a bitter laugh.
“I suppose you’re not thinking about—” she began.
“Later,” he repeated into her hair, finally getting the damn sweater up over her head.She wasn’t wearing a bra, and he had to suppress a groan.The bed hit his calves, and they went down in a tangle of arms and legs, her elbow smacking a fresh bruise.
He inhaled sharply; she gasped a helpless apology that he trapped with his mouth, kissing her as if he was dying.In a way he was.
