The alternative is unthinkable.
He regards me for a moment with an inscrutable expression. “Have you applied for a place to sleep?”
“What? No. Do I need to talk to someone about that?”
Leaning around me, he points to another line fifty meters away. “Lex is handling that.”
Vel pats his pack. “I have everything I need.”
Well, of course he does. “You want to come with me?”
But hindsight is twenty-twenty.
“You can stay with me,” he says finally. “Are you still going to look around?”
“If I see”—he pauses—“anyone, I’ll tell them where to find you.”
His hesitation tells me he’s worried about March. That makes two of us.
With a wave, I set off into the crowd. I have people to find, or I’ll die trying.
The place is bigger than it looks.
I want to scream. My stomach has tied itself into knots, worrying about the man—
“They’re waiting for us in tactical,” she tells him, gesturing at one of those semiprivate alcoves.
To my surprise he doesn’t let go. “Do this one without me.”
“You made it.” He sounds hoarse.
“What?” I tilt my head back, registering a pleasurable shock.
But that reminds me. “Why didn’t you . . . make contact? Let me know you were alive?”
March leans his head against mine. “What do you think?”
“You’re the psychic. It’s mean to toy with me.”
“Don’t you understand?” I ask tiredly. “I’m trying
not
to hurt you.”
“The last few weeks, you’ve been breaking my heart.” Such a stark tone, unadorned truth.
I have no defense against that. Mary help me, I want him so bad.
“This is only a temporary truce,” I whisper into his jaw.
He gives me a slow simmering smile. “I can live with that.”
“You’re sure? I won’t hurt you?”
“Lazy bastard,” I manage to tease as I climb on.
“Take me, Jax.” I can’t resist his whispered plea.
I manage to snort, though I feel shaky as hell. “You wish. I’m still woman enough to wear you out.”
He shudders, breath rushing in noisy gusts.
I whisper, “Every time I’ve touched myself in the last four months, I thought of you. Every. Time.”
And then he’s all mine, groaning, shaking, and breathless beneath me.
When l come to, he’s dressed and about to slip out
on me.
No, I do, actually. It says things I don’t enjoy hearing.
I push up onto my elbow. “You weren’t going to wake me?”
“I didn’t want to bother you.” That sounds like an excuse.
Is this because I wouldn’t lean on him? Didn’t want to become physically dependent?
He hesitates, as if there’s something more he wants to say. And then: “I’m glad you’re safe, Jax.”