Danger That Is Damion (24 page)

Her stomach clenched, and she shook her head. “No.”

“Maybe once you’re up and moving around, that will change.”

She nodded. “I hope so.”

He ran his hands down his legs. “I grabbed some clean fatigues for you, to get you by until we can get you some real clothes.” He motioned to a door on her left. “They’re in the bathroom, along with a bag of ‘female necessities’ that Sterling’s Lifebond, Becca, put together for you. I didn’t ask what that meant.” He stood up. “I’ll get you some orange juice and throw together some food.”

She tilted her head to study him. There was a subtle tension that had replaced his concern of moments before. She yearned to make it go away, to cling to a little more of their fantasy of being friends and lovers. “Thanks, Damion. You’re pretty okay—
for
a
GTECH
.”

He didn’t smile as she’d hoped. In fact, for several eternal seconds, he didn’t move, let alone speak. Then finally, “You’re pretty okay too. For a GTECH.” He started for the door.

Lara stared after him, watching the lethal grace, the powerful lines of his body. She’d wondered what the morning after would be like with Damion. Now she knew. The morning after, he was more alluring and more dangerous than she’d ever imagined possible. Okay, so in this case, it was three mornings after—how had she slept that long?

Lara threw off the covers, a sudden urgency to get dressed and gain some sense of her legs beneath her, to return to the safety of logic. Her attraction to him was a vulnerability she couldn’t seem to fight. She needed to find out if she really could trust Damion, rather than hoping she could, gambling she could. That meant getting out from behind the bedroom door and investigating. She headed for the shower, and already her brain was starting to function more efficiently. The stream of hot water set her mind to racing, soothing her into a contemplative state.

Damion had claimed that the Renegades worked with the government. Powell had claimed
to
be
the government, who he’d declared was an enemy of the Renegades. So either Powell was lying, or the government was feigning an allegiance with the Renegades. Or the other possibility, the one she should assume, but found herself struggling to accept, was that Damion was the one who was lying.

She was just about to turn off the water when a tingling sensation—not painful, but insistent—touched the nape of her neck. Frowning, she rubbed it, praying it wasn’t a sign her headaches were coming back. The sensation intensified about the time a double-knock sounded on the door, a second before it creaked open.

“I brought you orange juice,” Damion said. “Doctor’s orders.”

The sensation on her neck slid away, and with a smile on her lips, she peeked through a hole she opened in the shower curtain. “I never thought I’d see the day that I had a Renegade bringing me orange juice in the shower.”

He handed her the orange juice. “Drink.”

She did as he said, feeling weak from three days without food, and then handed him back the empty glass.

“Finally you took an order from me,” he said approvingly.

She laughed. “Must be that voodoo of yours.” A shiver slid over her skin. “My water is cold.”

“You’ve been in there forever,” he said, as she slipped behind the curtain and turned off the shower spray. “I was beginning to get worried.”

“You should see how long I can stay in a bathtub.” The statement froze in her throat. She liked hot bubble baths, so why couldn’t she remember ever taking one? Another shiver slid down her spine, and she shoved aside the thought for a new concern. The idea of stepping out of the shower in all her chilled, naked glory was unnerving. Not because she was shy. The man had seen her body. This was about desire and willpower. She wanted Damion in a bad way, like she’d never wanted a man in her life. She didn’t need memories to know that. She knew it with blind certainty, felt it to her core, which only made that vulnerable thing he did to her, all the more true, and him, all the more powerful.

“You coming out of there?” he asked.

She inhaled, steeled herself for the impact of his gaze, and pulled the curtain back. Damion held a large towel open and wrapped it, and his arms, around her. Their eyes locked and held. The attraction between them darn near sent the towel into flames.

“You’re way too dangerous when you’re naked,” he said, his arms still around her, along with the towel. “You steal every bit of objectivity I own, and I swore I wouldn’t let that happen again.”

“Back at ya,” she agreed softly, blinking away the water that clung to her lashes. “You naked… way… too… dangerous.”

“So why do I want to drop this towel and get naked with you all over again?”

“The same reason I want you to.” She sounded breathless. She felt breathless.

His lips lowered, lingered close to hers, teasing her with the promise of their touch. “And what reason would that be, Lara?”

“Yo, Damion!” came a male shout from the living room.

Damion’s forehead settled against hers. “Sterling.”

“Yo, Damion.”

“And Chale,” he added. “The two of them are the very definitions of perfect timing.”

She inhaled on a sudden tightening in her chest, as their pretend world came crumbling down around them, or at least, around her. There was not one, not two, but three Renegades in this small apartment with her. Powell would say she was in enemy territory, and maybe she was. It was well past due that she proved him right or wrong, and before her attraction to Damion led her into trouble. “I should get dressed.”

“Yeah,” he said. “You should get dressed.” And then he kissed her. A long, deep slide of his tongue against hers. “Just so you know. No matter how bad it might make my judgment, if Curly and Moe hadn’t shown up, I would have licked off every drop of water on you and then done it all over again.” He released her then, exiting the bathroom while she stood willing him back, thankful she didn’t possess such a power. She so would have enjoyed him licking the water off her. Who was she fooling? There was no avoiding trouble where Damion was concerned. She was already there, in too deep, and ready to swim right back into his arms.

***

Damion and Sterling were sitting at the kitchen table with laptops in front of them when Lara exited the bedroom. Damion’s gut clenched at the sight she made, her long, dark hair sleek and silky around her face and shoulders, her lips lightly painted pale pink. The contrast to the rugged fatigue pants and T-shirt she wore, downright sexy. Then again, Damion was pretty much of the opinion that Lara could wear a paper bag and he’d think she was sexy.

“There she is,” Chale said, exiting the kitchen with a spatula in hand. “Food’s almost done.”

Lara stood there, staring at Chale with a stunned look on her face, as if she couldn’t believe Chale was cooking—that a Renegade was cooking for her. This was exactly why he had Sterling and Chale here now. To show Lara that the Renegades weren’t the monsters she’d believed them to be.

Chale grimaced at Lara. “Don’t look so petrified. I’m a damn good cook.” He grinned. “I’ve never poisoned anyone.” He cut a look at Damion. “And don’t bring up the egg incident, or we’re going to have trouble.” He disappeared into the kitchen again.

Lara’s eyes widened on Damion. “Egg incident?”

“He forgot to check the expiration date,” Damion explained. “Tasted like, well, rotten eggs.”

“Oh yum,” she said sarcastically.

“Come sit,” Damion said. “We won’t bite.” He smiled. “Even if you do.” Of course, he’d found other, interesting uses for his teeth during their little bedroom extravaganza.

Her eyes narrowed on his, lighting with the smallest hint of mischief. “We both know
that’s
not true,” she said, closing the distance between them to sit down at the table, across from Sterling and beside Damion.

Sterling snorted. “I know an innuendo when I hear one.”

Damion motioned to Sterling. “I’m sure you’ve gathered by now, this is Sterling. King of smart asses.”

“And expert hacker,” Sterling added.

“Second best to me,” Damion agreed.

“In your dreams,” Sterling assured him, and then nodded to Lara. “Now you know our interrogation and torture methods. We seal you in a room with Damion and force you to endure his fantasies of grandeur.”

“Breakfast for dinner, considering the 6:00 p.m. hour,” Chale said, walking from the kitchen and setting a plate in front of Lara. “Cheese omelet and blueberry muffins.” He cut Damion a hard look. “And yes, I checked the expiration date.”

Lara looked down at the Texas-sized omelet and said, “Coercion by way of food?” She glanced at Chale. “And seriously? You made blueberry muffins?”

“What’s wrong with blueberry muffins?” Chale asked.

“I like blueberry muffins,” she assured him. “I just can’t imagine you making them.”

“He’s a Harley-riding, blueberry-muffin-making contradiction,” Damion concluded. “We don’t try to understand him. We just eat the food.” He glanced at Chale. “Where’s my plate?”

“And mine?” Sterling agreed.

Chale’s brows dipped to a grumpy line. “Get your asses up, and go get them.”

Sterling reached over the table and took one of Lara’s muffins. “Lara wants another muffin.”

Damion stole one himself. “Make that two.”

Chale grumbled and headed to the kitchen. Lara laughed, soft and sexy, the tension he’d sensed when she’d exited the bedroom quickly fading. The next thing he knew, they were all eating, arguing about who was the best quarterback of all time. Lara knew football—knew it well—and seemed to be a fan of the Dallas Cowboys.

“You know a lot about football for a chick,” Sterling commented, after Chale headed for the door, claiming he had a “hot date.”

“Yes, I…” Lara paled suddenly. “I know football, but I can’t remember my last name, which has become a multiple choice equation.”

A knock sounded at the door, and Sterling pushed to his feet. “I’ll get it.”

“Lara,” Damion said softly, ready to talk her into the CT scan, when the two familiar female voices of Cassandra, Michael’s Lifebond, and Becca, Sterling’s Lifebond, touched his ears. “No, Becca.”

The pretty brunette, who wore a pink, slim-fitted dress, threw her hands up in the air. “Full disclosure.” Her attention went to Lara. “Lara. I’m Becca, Sterling’s Lifebond, and if I touch you I will be able to see your past experiences. So I won’t touch you unless you ask me to.” Her gaze slid to Damion’s. “And you should know me better than to think I would do anything sneaky.”

Sterling wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Yeah man. Chill already.”

“Hey, Damion,” Cassandra said, rushing into the room, her long blonde hair floating behind her. She looked casual and friendly in faded jeans and a T-shirt, until she turned, and he saw the “girls rule” logo—that told him he had absolutely no control over anything that was about to happen.

Cassandra offered her hand to Lara. “I’m Michael’s Lifebond, and the only special ability I have is taming the beast otherwise known as Michael.”

Lara stared at her a moment and then broke into a smile. “I’ve met him,” she said, accepting Cassandra’s hand. “That’s definitely a talent.”

Damion sank down into the chair again. “Welcome to Sunrise City,” he said to her, in a sigh of defeat. “Where the women rule and the men just try and survive.”

Cassandra grinned and sat down. “And don’t forget it buddy.” Then to Lara, “And welcome is the point, by the way. Me and Becca want to steal you away for a girls’ night out—a little shopping and pampering. It’s a way for you to get to know us here.” Her eyes lit. “Oh. I didn’t even tell you my name, did I? Cassandra. Cassandra Powell.”

Damion felt the tension ripple through Lara at the name Powell, and his gaze locked with Cassandra’s. She’d noticed Lara’s reaction as well.

Everything became crystal clear. Adam hadn’t converted Lara to GTECH. General Powell had, and if anyone could understand and explain, how easily that man manipulated and hurt other people, it was his own daughter. A little “girl time” was exactly what Lara needed right now.

Several hours after leaving Damion behind in his quarters, Lara was still reeling with the knowledge that Cassandra was Powell’s daughter, made more difficult to digest by the dull headache she was pretending not to have. Thankfully, the opportunity to sit had presented itself, and Lara found herself at a wooden table with Cassandra and Becca, in a quaint little coffee shop lined with shelves full of books and mugs. She even had a caramel latte in hand, and the bags by her feet held a variety of clothes and products that the two women had insisted she buy. Though Lara barely remembered what was in the bags, with her thoughts torn between her growing attachment to Damion, and the bombshell about Powell.

Lara glanced out the shop’s window, feeling as if she’d entered an alternate universe where an underground military base had transformed into a town, with brick sidewalks framing stores and restaurants. This wasn’t the world of vicious killers and monsters, as Powell had painted the Renegades.

“How long have you both been with the Renegades?” Lara asked, now that they had time to talk about something other than her wardrobe.