CONCEPTION (The Others) (18 page)

“I do not like that you swear, and crying damages you. You
will not do it anymore.” He leaned down. She pressed back into the unrelenting
wall of his shoulder. His lips brushed her lids with the delicacy of a
butterfly. Immediately the hot burning ache left her eyes. She touched her
under-eye area. It was flat and cool rather than puffy and hot. “What did you
do?”

“I removed the irritation.”

She should have been angry, but what woman wouldn’t want a
cure for the “after-cry uglies”? “Thank you, but next time, ask.”

He shook his head at her, his black hair shimmering with
shades of blue in the lamplight. She took that to mean he did not agree that he
needed her permission.

“Your food grows cold.” He set her back on the bed. The
plates rattled on the tray. The delicious odors brought her hunger back with a
vengeance. She reached for the tray but he beat her to it. Settling it over her
lap, he arranged the sliced orange to the side, in the perfect spot to be
aesthetically pleasing. In another of those graceful moves that defied logic,
he plumped two pillows behind her back. He was fussing over her like she was an
invalid. “I’m not helpless.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her as he took the throw off the
bottom of the bed and draped it over her feet and legs below the tray. “You are
not strong.”

“Yet.”

He paused. “You will never have the strength of the Chosen.”

She picked up her knife and fork again. “I’ve managed to
survive this long without it. I imagine I’ll make another fifty years or so.”

Again, that shake of the head. He motioned to her plate.
“Eat.”

Her knee-jerk reaction was to say she was done. She resisted
because that would have been counterproductive. She stabbed her fork into the
salad instead. The fork hit the bottom of the bowl with a clank.

Deuce sighed. “You are angry again.”

“I don’t take well to being ordered around.”

He nodded. “So you have said. Eat please.”

She would have told him that tacking a please onto the end
of an order didn’t really change it from an order, but she was too hungry and
there wasn’t any point in arguing with him.

About one-fifth of the way through the meal she was full. A
truly depressing state as her taste buds weren’t nearly done with their orgy.
She put her knife and fork down and wiped her mouth with her napkin.

Deuce frowned at her. “That is all you want?”

“No, but it’s all that will fit right now.”

There was a pause and then he nodded. The tray was removed
and set on the floor. Deuce held his hand out for the napkin. She very
deliberately held it high before dropping it into his palm.

“You are still angry.”

“I don’t like being treated like a child.”

“I was not aware I was doing that.”

“Really?”

“Really.” He stood there beside the bed, so big and
disgustingly strong that he made her aware of every weakness, every pain. Every
way she wasn’t what she needed to be.

“Don’t you have friends to visit, feeding to do?”

“My first priority is to see to my mate.”

“Consider me seen to.”

Between the food and the fluids he had given her last night,
she felt revitalized. Not her old self, but stronger than she could remember.
Strong enough to do what needed to be done.

He folded his arms across his chest. “I do not understand
your mood.”

The muscles in his arms bulged enticingly. She licked her
lips and dropped her gaze, only to be seduced by his washboard abs. She knew
exactly how he’d taste if she ran her tongue over those hills and valleys,
explored the depression of his navel, followed that trail of hair as it
disappeared beneath the waistband of his jeans. “It’s not necessary that you
understand.” She dragged her gaze to the safety of his. “It’s only necessary
that you respect it.”

“I cannot respect what I do not understand.”

“Sure you can.”

She could tell his patience was wearing thin by the furrow
growing between his brows. “No. I cannot.”

Apparently Chosen men were no better than human men when it
came to catching a clue. “I want to be alone, Dusan. I just want five minutes
of blessed privacy.”

“You want me to leave?”

“Yes!”

It might not have been the most polite of answers, but she
needed the man—vampire—and his smothering ways gone.

“And if I grant you this privacy, you will be happy?”

“At the least, happier.”

“Then five minutes you shall have.”

“Five minutes was a figurative term.”

His brow arched in that way that suggested she was trying
his patience. “You want more?”

“A half hour at least.”

“Why?”

She had to think fast. “I want to use the facilities and
bathe.”

His expression didn’t relax but there was a lightening of
the energy around him. “That sounds reasonable.”

And if he didn’t find it reasonable, did that mean he
wouldn’t allow it?

He flicked the throw back and slid his big arms under her
thighs and back. His scent surrounded her as he lifted her up. She refused to
throw her arms around his neck and further his belief that she was helpless.
Instead, she wedged her elbow into his gut and folded her hands across her
chest. “What are you doing?”

The smile that twitched the corner of his mouth was about as
irritating as the arrogance he wore as easily as others wore clothes. “Carrying
you to the facilities.”

“I could walk.”

“Yes.”

“But?” There was always a “but” with him.

“I would not have the pleasure of you in my arms or,” his
gaze dropped to her bunched arms, “the delightful view of your breasts.”

She looked down. Her breasts were all but pushed out of the
loose neck of the shirt. She yanked the material, swearing when it wouldn’t
budge, ending by relying on the stretch of the soft material to keep covered.
“Pervert.”

He laughed, a soft chuckle that bounced her lightly. “No
male, human or Chosen, would look away from such beauty.”

Her body, always on high alert with him, pulsed an
invitation. His eyes seemed to see right through the shirt to the flesh
beneath, and he licked his lips. Her nipples peaked and ached. Her breath came
up short. She closed her eyes and thought of all the women that tongue had
touched. As a cooling agent, it was only mildly effective. This close to him,
her body only cared about one thing. “Oh for heaven’s sake!”

She didn’t know if she said that aloud or was projecting,
but the smile he’d been teasing her with burst to full bloom, drenching his
handsome face in a sexual flood of promise as he let her slide down the length
of his body.

She could only stare as her feet hit the floor. It simply
wasn’t fair that any man should look like that. With his finger, he tipped her
mouth closed, male satisfaction tingeing the humor in his grin. He put his big
hands on her shoulders and turned her toward the bathroom. “I will be outside
if you need me.”

Her brain finally clicked back into gear. Outside? That was
never going to work. She ducked from under his hands and turned around, one hand
on the door to steady herself.

“Do you have hearing that matches your sense of smell?”

He reached forward, brushing a long spiral curl from her
cheek. “Yes.”

“Then no way in hell does standing outside the door
constitute privacy.”

“Why?”

“Because all I’ll be thinking about is what you’re imagining
as you listen.”

His finger traced down the line of her jaw, over her
collarbone, between the swell of her breasts to the bottom of her breastbone
before pausing. He held her gaze with his as the pressure increased. His
fingers folded, turned and then opened under her breast, lifting it up and out.
“You could imagine instead that it was my hands on you instead of yours.” He
squeezed her breast, letting it glide back until he caught the tip between his
fingers. “I would like to bathe you.”

Heat flooded her cheeks, her knees went weak, and that fast,
she was wet and ready for him. He did nothing more than hold her breast
suspended by the nipple, letting the weight and her movement determine the
stimulation. She leaned back, her breath catching at the stab of pleasure that
shot straight to her groin. His smile faded. Lust filled his expression and the
air around them. His and hers. His grip tightened. Fire chased the pleasure as
she gasped, “I don’t think I’d get much bathing done.”

“But your pleasure would be great.”

It already was. She bit her lip and closed her eyes against
the potency of his allure. “I really want a bath.”

He released her breast but not her gaze. “You are strong
enough for this?”

She glanced into the bathroom at the decadent shower stall,
and lastly the window between the toilet and the stall. “Absolutely.”

“And you will not be able to relax if I stand outside?”

She shook her head no.

He hesitated, brushed his hair back off his shoulder with a
sharp movement and then nodded. “Then I grant you your privacy.”

Relief washed through her in a wave she had to struggle to
contain. “Thank you.”

“But—” He frowned at her, clearly not comfortable with
leaving her alone.

“What?”

“You will promise to call if you have need.”

“You just tell me what button to hit on the intercom and
you’ve got a deal.”

His eyes lit with humor and the stern lines of his face
softened. He was laughing at her. She just knew it. She was absolutely certain when
he tilted her head up and brought his down. His breath hit her cheek, then her
lips, before his mouth settled over hers. Hunger rose between them, fast and
furious. His mouth mated with hers, his soul reached for hers. He pulled her
hard against his groin, the thick edge of his cock digging into her hip. His
mouth separated a hair from hers, leaving her drowning in a wave of longing
that threatened to pull her under.

“You have only to think of me, and I will come.”

Chapter Eleven

You have only to think of me, and I will come.

The promise lingered long after Deuce left the room, hanging
on the moist air like a threat. Eden put all the energy she could into blocking
her thoughts as she turned on the shower jets. The last thing she needed was
for him to come in here any sooner than they’d agreed. She could only hope the
baby didn’t wake, and that Deuce took her mental block as a sign she didn’t
want him doing a peeping Tom routine during her shower.

Steam fogged the room. She threw the switch for the fans.
They came on with a satisfying rumble. She needed as much noise as possible to
cover her escape. She glanced up at the small window. Assuming she could get it
open. The basement windows at her grandfather’s house looked similar and those
could be popped out. If luck was with her, so could these. She just needed
enough height to get leverage. She tossed a towel on the toilet seat and
grabbed the stainless steel trash can. The only thing in it was a couple of
tissues she’d used the day before. She dumped them on the floor and flipped the
can upside down on the toilet seat. She almost knocked it off twice before she
found her balance, but once high enough, she checked for wires around the
outside of the window. As absurd as it sounded for something as all-powerful as
a vampire to have a security system, she could see Deuce investing in one. He
had that intensity that suggested he’d be a stickler for all the little
details.

To her surprise, there weren’t any wires that she could see.
She held her breath as she turned the locks on the window, wincing as they
clicked. No alarm went off. No warning cry rang out. So far so good. She eased
the window open. A cold shot of air blew into the bath, sending the whorls of
steam retreating for cover. She unhooked the restraining chain and popped the
window free. A stronger gust of winter air followed the first, sprinkling her
face and arms with a dusting of snow as she pulled the window out of the frame.
Holding onto the casement with her left hand, she braced herself as she lowered
the window to the floor. The garbage can teetered on the toilet. She froze,
letting her arm take most of her weight for a moment while she adjusted her
stance. Nervous sweat dampened her underarms and face, spreading to her hands.
She tightened her grip, not needing a slip at this moment. Her heart pounded
and her breath fought to clear the clench of her throat. She had to do this.
She had to escape. Jalina’s life depended on it.

Slowly, she straightened. Adrenaline was rushing through her
system so fast she couldn’t catch her breath. Every nerve ending stretched
taut, waiting for the slightest clue that she was about to be discovered.
Indecision took advantage of the hesitation, wiggling between conviction and
possibility. Maybe there was another way. She shoved it aside on the next gust
of winter cold.

This was the only way. Deuce would never let her leave. He’d
fight to the death to keep her safe, but he didn’t know what he was up against.
Didn’t know her grandfather or just how sick he was. Clay Lavery would do
everything in his considerable power, use every one of his high-placed
Coalition connections to get her back, because he thought she held the secret
to his immortality. She could work with that. As long as she could keep his
focus on her, convince him that Jalina had died due to an inability to feed,
she could adopt the role of discouraged prisoner, convince him that she’d
exhausted her last hope before recapture. And in time, get far enough below his
radar so that she could kill the son of a bitch.

She
shifted her weight cautiously. Standing on tiptoe, she dug the snowdrift away
from the opening. The fluffy white flakes melted on her hands. She didn’t fool
herself that killing her grandfather would stop the Coalition, but it would end
the Coalition’s path to her daughter. Lavery was a suspicious, cautious man. He
hadn’t let anyone know she was pregnant. She didn’t know if that meant he’d
been planning on double crossing his cohorts or if he was holding out for a
grandstand moment, but she was willing to bet that, after her escape, those
who’d cared for her during her pregnancy were now dead. Clay Lavery did not
tolerate humiliation or failure.