Authors: Stephanie Rowe
He went still under her touch. His gaze was riveted to hers, and she saw the shock on his face.
His skin was hot, as if he were burning up from fever. She moved her hand to his forehead. “Are you sick?”
He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. “Your hand is so cool,” he whispered, disbelief raw in his voice.
A man who was shocked by the comfort of human touch? Well, not that she was entirely human anymore, but close enough. She put her other hand on his cheek, not afraid of him anymore. Just wanting to ease his pain, as she’d done repeatedly over the years for her sisters and mother, as they got sicker and more terrified of their future.
Until, of course, they reached that nefarious end, turned into advertisements for GNC health food centers, and lost their ability to feel anything but an über-high. At which point, Reina’s loving support had become unwelcome and annoying.
But Jarvis needed to be touched. She could sense it in every fiber of her soul, and her spirit yearned to give him comfort. She framed his bristly face with her hands and rested her forehead against his. The position, with his face against hers, was so intimate, a connection between lovers, between soul mates who had no boundaries between them. She felt the world go still, like all the hell chasing her faded, until all that was left was the sensation of his skin against hers, of his presence wrapping around hers, of her own reaching out for him.
It was a moment of utter stillness, of peace, of having the most intimate connection with a tortured man who could protect her against the world. His skin was still burning up, but it seemed to be slightly less likely to give her third-degree burns. She was easing his pain, or maybe she simply wanted to believe she could give
someone
relief from the hell that stalked him, after a lifetime of failing to succeed to save anyone. It didn’t matter whether it was real or not. In this moment, it was a gift of peace that she would never let go. “This feels good,” she whispered. “I—”
“Shit!” Jarvis jerked back suddenly, out of her grasp. His hand went to his sword, and before she’d even moved, he had the tip of it at her throat.
Well, excellent. That was exactly the feel-good kind of feedback she’d been jonesing for.
Jarvis held the sword steady, waiting for Reina to descend into the hell-o-hate and decide that he had to be castrated, disemboweled, and other fun stuff. He’d gone skin to skin with her for several minutes, when the hate had been so thick in him he’d barely been able to see. Her mind would snap within moments. He shouldn’t have touched her. He knew better.
But when she’d laid her palm against him, he’d literally lost his mind for a minute. Her caress had felt so good, and she’d simply wiped the monster away. The relief had been instant. He’d been so shocked by the sensation he’d been unable to force himself to pull away in time.
“What’s with the sword?” Her eyes were still a rich blue, her cheeks still a healthy pink. Her mouth hadn’t compressed into that thin line of aggression, and her hands were palm out, in a gesture of “I’m not going to hurt you, please don’t slice my head off.”
Not that he was buying it. Some women were very, very good at hiding their intentions until the barb ice pick was already lodged in assorted soft tissues. But hell, she sure looked normal. “How do you feel?”
“Unappreciated.”
He lowered the tip a fraction. Made no sense, but he wasn’t feeling any aggressive vibe from her. Just that same sense of peace and warmth he’d been getting from her, tempered with a shiver of wariness. But no aggression. Was it really possible? No, it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. There were no miracles for men like him. “What else are you feeling? Cranky? A little violent?”
“No, just confused. It’s not every day a man goes through as many personality changes as you have in the last ten minutes.” She cocked her head. “Is it that time of the month for you?”
She was teasing him? Yeah, it was the desperate humor that emerged when you’re scared shitless, but not the kind of jokes chicks made right before they went for his jugular. He leaned closer and passed his hand just above her heart. Warmth beat from her skin, not coldness, no tingle of black magic. “You’re not feeling angry toward me?”
“Angry?” Her gaze flicked down toward the blade again. “Um, no. I must admit, though, I’m not feeling quite as warm and fuzzy as I was a few minutes ago.”
“Ah! I knew it.” He raised the blade again, feeling smug that he’d been right. But there was also an unfamiliar prick of disappointment in his gut. For that split second, he’d started to think that he could actually touch her, that she could touch him, and he’d be damned if that hadn’t sounded like a hell of a good idea. It wasn’t something he’d ever considered, or even bothered to want, but that one second of thinking he’d found it only to realize he hadn’t… Not that it mattered. It was better that way. He liked his life just fine. “The hate will fade as soon as you get away from me,” he told her, repeating the same instructions he’d given so many women over the decades. “Just get out of the car and—”
“Oh, so now you’re invalidating my emotions?”
He blinked. “Invalidating your emotions? Shit, woman, I’m
Hate
. It’s not an emotion. I’m a fucking curse.”
“You think I’ll stop being annoyed you pulled a sword on me if I leave? That I’m not capable of generating my own aggravation? That the only way I could dislike you is if you messed me up?”
She should be insane by now. Attacking him. He didn’t understand why she was psychobabbling to him instead of stabbing him. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m trying to tell you that my emotions don’t work that way, and you can’t simply dismiss them. You have to apologize, express your appreciation for who I am, and put the sword away. That’s how it works between adults.” She eyed him. “Or are you going to kill me? Because if you are, then I might take your advice and leave you alone.”
“I don’t engage in first strikes against women,” he snapped before he could think to take advantage of the opportunity to lie and give her a reason to remove herself from his presence. He narrowed his eyes, trying to figure her out. Why wasn’t she going AWOL on him? “I’m merely going to keep you from attacking me.”
She made a small noise of aggravation. “Why would I do that?”
“Because you hate me.” What part of the Guardian of Hate did she not comprehend?
She stared at him, then burst out laughing.
Laughing.
He was too stunned to react. He couldn’t understand it. How could she be laughing? Violent aggression he was ready for. Delighted, whimsical laughing was beyond his ability to process. He hadn’t heard genuine, innocent, female laughter in his whole life. And it sounded
good
. God, it sounded good.
“Jarvis, you have a serious complex. I mean, yes, holding me at sword-point isn’t endearing you to me, but why would I hate you? I’m not like that.” Her eyes were dancing with amusement, but there was a sadness in her expression that made him uncomfortable. “I’ve never met anyone worth hating. Sure wish I could manage it, because it would make my assassination attempts a lot easier if I could hate the person I was trying to kill, but it’s just not my thing.”
She laughed again, and he felt the honesty in her voice and her tone. There wasn’t anything dark festering inside her. She really wasn’t going to the dark side, even though she’d fondled him for well over a minute.
The woman was immune to him. He couldn’t shake her. Couldn’t contaminate her. Couldn’t tap into a dark side that she didn’t even know she carried.
Holy crap.
Cautiously, he lowered his sword, still waiting for the sudden shift that would take her from woman to a double X assailant. Not quite trusting it to be true. That there was a woman, a passionate, loyal, courageous woman he could touch. He had to be wrong. He had to be.
But all he saw was a look of relief in her eyes as he sheathed his blade. No flare of excitement as she took advantage of the opening and leapt at him. She simply relaxed in her seat.
He didn’t get it. She’d eased his hate, and she hadn’t been rocked by such close contact with him. Yeah, his evil twin was still swirling inside him, but her touch had taken the edge off enough to give him his control back. How? And why hadn’t she been brought down?
If her touch could keep the monster at bay, then maybe he could afford to be in the same room as her after all. For the mission, of course. It was strictly professional. “Okay,” he said. “Here’s the deal. I’ll work with you as long as you promise not to piss me off.” Regardless of what her touch did, if she eroded his self-control by taunting him, even accidentally, they would all be screwed.
But the feisty female was already shaking her head. “I can’t promise that, and why would I?”
“Because if you piss me off, I can’t promise not to kill you.” And the rest of the world.
She cocked her head with sudden understanding. “You really do have a monster inside you.” It wasn’t a question. It was more of a statement of “oh, well, that explains everything.”
“No monster. Just me.” As fantastic as it would be to be able to attribute his dark side to the external application of evil juice, he was hate. Why else would he be the Guardian of it? It was a match made in heaven.
She nodded. “Okay, I’ll try not to aggravate your inner alien. I’m actually glad to know it’s not
you
that’s the scary one, just some demon-like predator roaming inside your body.”
He scowled, and he felt darkness bubbling around inside him again. The beast didn’t like to be argued with now? Fantastic. It was bad enough to be the Hate Hotel. But having it become overly sensitive was just not adding fun to the game. “
I
am the monster.”
“Okay, fine. Whatever you say.” She reached over and patted his cheek, and he caught her hand and pressed it to his face. Her skin was warm, her touch gentle. He’d never been touched in kindness before, and it felt amazing. He took a breath, letting the feel of her skin fill him. And just as before, the sharp edge smoothed, and he was able to take a breath, as if an anvil had been shifted off his chest.
She smiled. “I like that.”
He forced himself to release her hand, not daring to hold it any longer, but all his instincts were screaming at him to hang on, because this moment might never happen again. It was most likely an aberration, a heartbeat in the wind, a hiccup in his hell. “What do you like?”
“Giving you peace.”
Yeah, understatement of the year. He could sit there with her hand on his jowls for the rest of his life and never move again. Which was just weird. He’d never been able to sit still for anything, but Reina’s touch made something inside him quiet. Which was good. He could focus again, and that was what he needed for this mission.
He started the engine again. “Don’t get too comfortable. It’s not going to last.” A reminder for both of them.
She ignored his warning as he shifted into gear. “So, we have a deal? You help me?”
“And you help me.”
She bit her lip and looked at him. “As long as it doesn’t endanger my sister.”
He pulled out into traffic, dodging an aggressive cab driver. “That’s fine. I don’t care about your sister.”
Her face became shuttered, and she looked out the window. “Well, I do.”
“Well, hell. I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant I had no interest in endangering her.”
She shrugged. “I know. It’s fine.”
But it wasn’t. He could see she was almost ready to cry.
Hit a woman while she’s down, why don’t you, big guy?
Hadn’t he just listened to that whole conversation with her sister? He knew what was up and he’d still made a callous remark. Crap. Hadn’t he learned a damn thing in Sensitivity Training for Warriors 231? He knew better, and he’d still blown it.
He swore under his breath as he swerved around a double parked Mercedes. What was he supposed to do now? He’d been taught to give flowers and foot massages when he was an insensitive boor, but he was pretty sure if he offered to lube up Reina’s feet, it wouldn’t go over all that well, though the idea did hold some appeal…
How was he supposed to team up with a female? A team was only as good as the partnership. He knew how to insult Nigel into putting the sketch book away. He knew how to threaten Blaine into healing himself from the edge of death. He was fantastic at interpreting Christian’s grunts. And he was great at sparring with any of his teammates to let off steam and get each other fired up.
But he had no clue how to make a female better, stronger, and tougher. What was he supposed to do about the weepy look on her face? Was he supposed to punch her in the shoulder? Make a joke about getting her balls hacked off by Angelica? Give her crap about how Angelica was winning in her desire to make a bunch of blade-wielding saps out of them all?
That’d work for the guys. But Reina—
Jarvis looked over at her and saw that the V-neck collar of her shirt had slipped to the side, revealing the edge of a black lace bra. She was wearing a gold chain so delicate he knew he’d break it if he so much as breathed on it. From the links dangled a jade pendant that nestled softly between her breasts.