“Don’t worry.Here, move over.Talk to me a little bit.”
“Christ, you want totalk?”He hadn’t even managed to get her under the covers.Where was the control he had such a reputation for?If this ever gets out I’m going to be a laughingstock.Then again, so long as she’s here, I don’t fucking care.
“For a little while.”She sounded amused.Don’t worry, you have a chance to redeem yourself.Her voice whispered in the middle of his head, a connection solidifying.He could feel her thinking, the deep satisfied glow threading through her veins.“Then I’ve got other plans.”
“I’m yours.”Just because one part of him was a little exhausted didn’t mean he was without hope.He was, after all, used to thinking on his feet, and there was an extremely interesting set of ideas having to do with his mouth and a few delectable corners of her body.“Just tell me what to do.”
CHAPTERTHIRTY-FOUR
Sleepingwith a very warm male pressed against her back was proving to be impossible.Sweating, Rowan pushed the covers down and tried to wriggle free.
Justin made a low sleepy sound and pulled her back against him, wrapped his arm around her waist and throwing a leg over hers for good measure.He buried his face in her hair and sighed.
She hadn’t slept in a bed with anyone else for… oh, it had to be nigh on six years.
The memory of her last relationship made her wince.Now that she knew she wasn’t crazy, that the painful chaos of normal people’s thoughts had made her withdraw, she felt a little more charitable about all those blind dates.
It hadn’t been fair to them that she could read their minds.
She was too warm, and she needed to use the bathroom.She pushed at his muscled arm, getting exactly nowhere.
“Dammit,” she whisper-groaned, then pushed back gently with her elbow, trying to nudge him loose.
He surfaced only long enough to pull her back against his chest, murmuring something into her hair, then passing out again.She had never seen him sleep this deeply.
Dozing, yes.Sleeping sitting up in a chair, sinking down just far enough to stave off exhaustion—but not dead asleep.
That must mean he trusts me.A pleased shiver traced down her spine.
“Justin,” she whispered, “letgoof me.I have to go to the bathroom.”
He muttered into her hair again, but loosened up.Rowan managed to untangle herself, sat on the edge of the bed.
It was proving to be a peaceful night.Nobody screaming or wounded in the infirmary, no operation going critical.Rowan took a deep breath, stretched, pushed herself upright.
Naked, she padded to the bathroom, closed herself in.The darkness was immediate, womb-like.
She found the toilet by touch.Yawned again, bracing herself on the counter.If I turned on the light I’d have to look at myself in the mirror.Good God.I knew he was capable of intense concentration, but that was something else.She was glad of the darkness, because she was actually blushing.
Just like a kid.
Justin’s sleeping mind still wrapped around hers, a flicker of dreaming deep in blankness.He was sleeping so heavily she felt tempted to shake him, wake him up, make him share her insomnia.
But that wasn’t fair.He was exhausted.She’d felt the scars from the bullets he’d taken, and the others from things she couldn’t even imagine, traumas he kept closed away.Glimpses of cold white rooms, of pain, of fist meeting flesh, and a soft evil voice sunk into his head like a fishhook; glimpses of a sick, shaky feeling as a needle was thrust into his arm.
Sigma.
Rowan’s fingers found the light switch.She flicked it on, blinked against the sudden onslaught, her eyes watering.
Her reflection blinked back.Shewasblushing, her cheeks crimson.Her collarbones and ribs stood out starkly, her cheekbones high and too gaunt.She wasn’t efficient and tough like Catherine, whose muscles moved smoothly under pale skin.She wasn’t even like Kate, knowledgeable about psychic talent and completely unflappable.Rowan had no illusions about her own usefulness on any of the “operations.”She would, as Henderson said, get someone killed.Or herself.
A part of her wondered if she could just stay here at Headquarters, the only safe space she had ever found.They didn’t mock her, or point at her.But the breathless awe a few people regarded her with was almost as bad.Some of that awe—most of it, probably—was the fact that she seemed to be able to handle Justin.
Rowan’s eyes squeezed shut against the light.Her father’s surprised face, the small gurgling sound he’d made.Hilary vanishing.Broken glass and terror and the popping sounds of gunfire.Cold air.
She shook the memories free, feeling Justin’s uneasiness.He was on the verge of waking up, deep sleep turning to dreaming, his mind reaching for hers.The images were sharp and hurtful, something burning in his arm, screaming and darkness, blood threading down from his ribs.
Rowan shut off the light, opened the bathroom door, padded across the bedroom.There was very little ambient light in here, but at least she could see the white sheets.She sat down on the bed.“Shh,” she said quietly, touching his hand.
