Immortal Healer (7 page)

“I saw her once when I was there.” Ember looked to Truman’s eyes as he spoke. They were sitting in his living room with Quentin, and the topic had turned to the new addition in the building.

“You never mentioned it.” Ember’s eyes questioned him.

“I was more concerned about other things at the time to give the poor woman a second thought. God, I sound like an asshole.” Truman shook his head in uncharacteristic self-loathing. “It was the night I was called to Boston to speak with Mason, and his brother assaulted you. It was the night Mason told me I had to bury your memories of me, or they were going to kill you.”

Ember looked at him sadly. Truman’s gaze was distant and concerned. “It isn’t your fault, Tru.” She took his hand as she spoke, and he gave her a small smile.

“There was a woman there when I entered that night. She was … sucking his dick. He didn’t even let her stop when I came in.”

Quentin’s guts clenched, and his heart pounded at Truman’s words. Both of their gazes flashed to his in response to his increased heart rate, and he looked away, trying to get the muscles of his throat to relax, so he could swallow.

“I’m sorry, Quentin.” He looked it. Truman looked more than sorry; he looked devastated.

“You don’t owe me an apology. I can’t even say I know Abigail that well.” But as he spoke the words, he wondered how true that was, or how true he wanted it to be. He wanted to know her … very much. “I agree with Ember. You can’t hold yourself responsible for what Mason did to her, and we both know how hard that night was for you.” He meant every word of what he said; even if it was damn painful to imagine what Abigail endured there.

When Abigail tiptoed nervously out to the living room, Ember smiled warmly, but Abigail was obviously startled to see he had company, and her arms crossed over her chest in an instant. “Abigail, it’s so good to see you again. We weren’t properly introduced before. I’m Ember, and this is my husband Truman.”

She looked from one to the other of them, nodded her head tersely but remained silent. She was chewing on the inside of her lip when she approached the couch he sat on and took her place by his side. Ember’s forehead wrinkled in what looked like concern, but as she watched Abigail sit close to his body, a small smile found its way to her lips. Abigail’s eyes glanced to Truman, but then moved away. She seemed terribly uncomfortable, and he could smell the lingering scent of adrenaline. But the scent was dissipating and not from this encounter. She leaned toward him, and his heart soared again for a moment at her subconscious move. Of course, the sudden increase of his heart rate didn’t go unnoticed by Truman or Ember, and they both shared the same small smirk as he glanced to them.

“We should go, Tru.” And then looking at Abigail, she continued. “It was lovely meeting you. I’m sure I’ll see you around soon.” They stood together, and Quentin walked them to the door as Abigail remained on the couch. Ember winked at him before pecking him on the cheek. Truman’s smirk said everything his words didn’t, and then they were gone, and he had her to torture himself with again.

“You had a nightmare?” He spoke as he returned to her.

She looked at him a bit stunned as he joined her on the couch. “Yes. How did you know?”

“I can smell the influx of your adrenal hormones. It was just a guess.”

“Can I just stay out here for a while? I can’t be alone in there any longer.” Whatever her dream was, it was bad, and while she was trying to make light of it, her eyes pleaded with him. It left him wanting to touch her, reassure her, pull her into his arms, but being close to her was all he could really offer. Even that was torturous to his body which craved her far more than he should.

“Come with me.” She took his hand, and he pulled her to her feet, leading her to his bedroom. He knew where the line was, and while he also knew he was flirting with it, again, it was all he could offer her, painful and torturous as it might be for him.

She stared at his bed as he pulled back the sheets. He could hear her heart pound, and as he approached her from behind, he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. It was meant only to reassure, but the sudden subtle scent of her arousal had his dick hard and straining against the front of his pants. Fuck. He hadn’t expected that, and his mouth watered in desire to taste her wetness. His fangs protracted harshly into his mouth as a groan passed his lips, but he stifled it, letting the pain of his teeth distract his want for her.

“Lay down.” His voice cracked as he spoke quietly.

Quentin didn’t often sleep, but he was so very ready to be lying next to her. He wanted to strip down naked while she watched. He wanted to touch her in all the places he had no business touching, he wanted to taste her skin, kiss her mouth. He, in fact, wanted to show her exactly what it was supposed to be like and could be like with him. He was desperate to share it with her. God knows he had more than enough pent up sexual energy coursing through his veins to make it a most enjoyable indulgence for them both. Instead, he stripped out of his shirt as she climbed into his bed. He left his pants on and slid in next to her, keeping a marginal amount of space between them.

When she rolled toward him, his heart lurched, and his groin tightened. “How are you feeling?” His question was more to distract his dick, but since he needed to know, it was appropriate.

“Tired, but okay.” He reached for her forehead and touched her smooth skin with the back of his hand. She wasn’t feverish anymore, and the color was back in her cheeks, subtle and pale as it was. When she coughed, her lungs sounded clearer, though he’d be happier if the cough was gone entirely. She needed to gain some weight, and though she appeared better, she still had dark circles under her eyes, and she looked exhausted.

It didn’t take her long to fall asleep, and her lips were slightly parted as she breathed gently beside him. He tried to watch TV for a while, but his eyes kept finding their way to her. When he failed to immerse himself in a book as well, he eventually reached over to turn the light out. But he stalled and looked back to her again. She was sound asleep, and he couldn’t seem to make his fingers turn the switch, knowing he’d lose the sight of her. He also couldn’t seem to let go of the arousal that was keeping his cock painfully stiff, and when he lowered the zipper and unbuttoned the waist of his slacks, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop once he started. He clenched his hands in fists as he looked over at her and willed himself not to continue. But then he remembered the delicious scent of her arousal, and there was no stopping his hand. The moment his palm met the shaft of his erection, his self-control was gone entirely.

His head dropped back against the pillow and rolled to the side to see her peaceful sleeping face. When his hand started stroking, he gasped silently, and his stomach muscles clenched hard against the need to release himself. He wanted to close his eyes and imagine he was inside her body as his hand moved over his length, but he couldn’t pull his gaze from her face. She was so incredibly stunning, and in a matter of seconds, his fangs were completely protracted, his mouth open, and the muscles of his face were strained and twitching.

Controlling the sound coming from his mouth was nearly impossible, and he moaned quietly as his palm passed over the head of his penis. She shifted beside him, closing the space between their bodies, and the moment her lips brushed his shoulder as she snuggled into him, a deep groan emanated from his chest as the muscles of his neck strained. There was little restraint after she touched him, and he came, pulsing streams of semen on his stomach as he stroked the length of his erection and massaged the silky liquid from his cock. His spasming stomach muscles didn’t go unnoticed by her subconscious, and she quietly whimpered beside him at the movements he was making. He stared at the ceiling, silently waiting for the ecstasy to pass, and when it finally faded, he pulled away from her, zipping and buttoning his pants as he went and retreated to the bathroom.

His reflection in the mirror looked damn near devastated. He wasn’t above masturbating, and while he didn’t indulge often, because he found it was more a cruel taunt than anything, he had no real commitment to keeping his hands off his dick. What was devastating was his utter loss of control. He controlled everything in his world, including what he was and was not willing to do with his body. But he couldn’t control this—not his desire for her. There was no wrangling the need at all. The muscles of his stomach were glistening, and as he wiped himself clean with a washcloth, he was startled when she suddenly walked in.

She rubbed her eyes as she walked, and as he quickly finished with the washrag, he watched her reflection in the mirror in front of him. Her nipples were taut under the fabric of the gown, and as her arms dropped back down to her side, she met his eyes. Her gaze drifted down to his wet stomach, and her head cocked to the side. “What are you doing?” Her voice was whisper quiet.

“Nothing.” But he couldn’t hold her eyes as he said the word. She studied him for a moment, but eventually let it go and approached the counter next to him. “Are you feeling okay?” She nodded, still looking at his stomach in the mirror. When he turned to her and lifted the back of his hand to her forehead, she reached her fingers to his stomach, and his muscles rippled at her touch. “Please stop.” His voice sounded demanding, even though it was the last thing he wanted her to do.

Her eyes shifted to his, and he held hers coolly. Inside his heart sped. He could see himself lunging for her lips, clasping his hand to her hip and pulling her to him. And as he watched her, it was there again. The subtle incredible scent of her own desire. It shouldn’t be there. She shouldn’t want him … but he’d be damned if she didn’t. It sure as hell didn’t help the situation.

When they returned to his bed, she didn’t take long to move close to him and curl into his arms. And she was awake when she did. He slept for the first time in more months than he could recall. He had research data he’d intended to review, but with her in his arms, there was no place he’d rather be.

Chapter 8

“So, this is charge number four in the past year. Seems you’re on a roll, Ms. Danner.” His sarcasm left Abigail wanting to slap the man. What right did he have to judge her?

“Listen, I don’t need a new lawyer…” She snapped in her best bitch voice. It was a couple days later, and she’d regained her strength … and apparently her voice. She’d spent the last year perfecting this particular voice, and it usually left eyebrows furrowing, eyes bulging, and mouths gasping. But not today.

“Silent. Now! Mr. Devlin came highly recommended by a colleague of mine, and we are here to see if he can help you, so you will listen.” Quentin snapped at her. He was obviously angry. That made sense, but it didn’t mean she liked the sound of his voice or that it didn’t leave her wanting to slap him just as much as she wanted to slap the stranger sitting behind his massive ugly desk. She was defensive, and she damn well knew it, but what the fuck? This man, Mr. Devlin, whoever the hell he was, didn’t know a damn thing about her. She glared at Quentin, and he glared right back. Mr. Devlin simply looked between the two of them as their eye war carried out in front of him.

She caved first, and as she cursed herself as she broke the stare, Mr. Devlin cleared his throat. When she met the man’s eyes again, he smiled. It was completely contrived and even challenging. She did not return his smile but picked up her glare where it left off with Quentin.

“Now, Ms. Danner, you were let off easy on your first case. Assaulting an officer should have earned you a hell of lot more than thirty hours of community service, but it seems you were able to sell the story that you’d been abducted and had only just escaped well enough that you got the sympathy vote from the judge.”

“That was no story, you dick! It’s exactly what happened—”

Quentin’s hand clamped down on her wrist before she was finished speaking the words. When he leaned to her, his lips brushed her ear as he spoke through gritted teeth. His other hand moved to her neck, holding her head firmly in place. “Hold it together, Abby.” She whimpered quietly at the harsh sound of his voice that stilled her fury in a second, and when he heard her whine, his fingers relaxed against her skin and an equally quiet sigh was released against her cheek. Her anger dissipated as his thumb stroked one gentle pass over the skin of her cheek before he pulled his hand from her neck.

She was left flushing with some unknown emotion as her eyes sheepishly found his cool gaze. He left his hand on her wrist as he looked to Mr. Devlin. “Please continue. I apologize for the interruption. But imply Abby is a liar again, and you will answer to me.” His tone made it clear that calm as he may be, he was capable of backing up his words. Abigail already knew he was, but the protective hand that lightly stroked the skin of her wrist and the well-controlled tone of his voice as he spoke to Mr. Devlin left no question to anyone in the room, including the pompous Mr. Devlin.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…” He was stuttering.

“Please continue.”

“Of course. As … as I was saying, it helped that a psych evaluation was ordered. It’s part of her criminal record because it was pulled into her second case, again most likely the reason she received only time served for that one. While I’m not thrilled there is record of her mentioning … well monsters, for lack of a better word, to the psychiatrist during the evaluation, the psychiatrist’s opinion is of utmost importance to us. The psychiatrist determined that she was—”

“How about you try speaking directly to her. She deserves that respect.”

Her skin flushed again as she sat next to him, and his fingers gently grazed over her knuckles.

“Uhh … yes, of course. The psychiatrist determined you were suffering from PTSD from the trauma of your alleged … err … I’m sorry … your abduction. She described it as a reaction to the trauma that was causing you to be hyper-vigilant about your safety.” Well he’d sold her and a big fat fucking duh to go with it, but she stayed silent. She was enjoying the soft circles Quentin’s fingers were tracing along the top of her hand entirely too much to piss him off again. “If we can link this … incident…” He looked almost afraid to say anything that could be construed as offensive to her at this point. “…to the PTSD, then we may be able to argue a lesser charge or at least a lesser sentence. If we’re very lucky, the prosecution will decide they’re too busy to try this case and offer a good plea bargain. With my reputation, and I’m not trying to sound arrogant,” Yes he was. “…they’ll be more apt to offer a plea bargain than were you being represented by public defense.”