Dancing on the Wind (46 page)

“You’re bad,” she said, and stepped out of the shower to undress.

“But I’m lovable.”

“You have your moments,” she agreed.

He watched every move she made as she took off her clothing. A fine sheen of

sweat glistened on his brow and there was a dark ruddy color in his cheeks. The hand

he put up to rake through his hair trembled.

After she closed the shower door and turned on all twenty jets—the water coming

out at just the perfect programmed temperature—she took a big sponge and bar of

mango-scented soap from the shelf and began working up a nice, rich lather. Her long

braid was soon plastered to her back and the water skimming down her felt heavenly.

Fallon’s attention hadn’t wandered from her the entire time, and when she came

over to him, running the soft sponge down his neck and arms, he felt every bone in his

body melting—even the ones that hurt like hell.

“Feel good?” she asked.

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” he replied with a heartfelt sigh. “It’s been a long

time.”

“I know the nurses gave you sponge baths, lineman,” she said.

“Not the same,” he told her. He opened one eye. “I like your hands on me.”

“You’d better.”

She worked her way down his chest and hips, along his thighs, then squatted in

front of him to run the sponge down his calves. This close to his flesh, she could see the

deep indentions that had yet to fill in where the steel pins had been inserted into the

bones of his shattered right leg.

“It’s taking too long,” he said, reading her mind.

She looked up. “Getting your powers back?”

“In spurts,” he replied.

“The x-rays show the bones are knitting together.”

“Yeah, but there was so much venom in me, my entire system was saturated in it. It

seeped into the very marrow of my bones. Sometimes I can even taste the vileness

lurking in my saliva.” He sighed. “That’s why it’s taking so long for Her to heal me.”

“Everything else is all right though, isn’t it?” she asked, thinking of the organs that

had suffered damage during the beating he’d taken at the hands of Martiya.

“I guess so. My head still hurts and every now and then I feel a twinge in my lung,”

he said. He sounded so tired, but after washing his feet, she looked up to find his eyes

filled with a need she remembered all too well.

235

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

She gently eased his thighs apart—very careful of his right leg—and went to her

knees in front of him. Without a word, she lowered her head.

Fallon closed his eyes to the sweet warmth of her mouth as her lips closed around

his limp flesh. He wanted her desperately but knew he had neither the strength nor the

stamina to take her there in the shower. He wanted to. By the gods and all that was

holy, he wanted to! He ached for her. Had been aching for her since he woke from the

nightmarish hell into which he’d been plunged. More than just the sex, he wanted to lie

with her in his arms, to keep the world at bay for at least a few hours.

Burying his hand in her wet hair, he gave himself up to the ecstasy her mouth

always brought him. Her lips swept over and around him, sending chills down his

spine.

Keenan swirled her tongue over the head of his cock and delved into the warm slit.

Her hand cupped his balls, kneaded them, sought to give him the sweetest pleasure she

knew how to give. She took him deep down her throat and worked the flat of her

tongue against the underside of his shaft, milking him, rolling his cock. As his shaft

hardened, she suckled him with strong pulls that made him groan and caused his hand

to tighten in her hair. His breathing became shallow and quick, and he began to tilt his

hips up to her.

When he came, he came hard, but he didn’t make a sound. His cock leapt, his juices

spurted, but not one sound came from his lips. As the last spasm left him and she let his

spent cock slip from her mouth, she looked up and realized he was crying. Tears were

sliding silently down his cheeks and he was staring at her with such deep, raw hurt it

was like a slap across her face.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” she said, straightening, putting her hands to his cheeks.

“Did I hurt you?”

He shook his head and gathered her into his arms, bringing her wet body to his,

holding her there as wave after wave of grief shook his body.

“I love you,” he said. “God, I love you so much!”

There was ragged misery in his voice, anguish choking the words out of him. Her

arms were around his waist, her face to his chest as he gave in to the emotions wreaking

their havoc on him. It seemed to her he was holding on to her for dear life, his arms

locking her to him.

“I’m right here, lineman,” she said. “I’ve told you before, I’m not going anywhere.”

As the water beat down on them from every direction, he continued to hold on to

her. By the time his tears were spent, he was too drained to heave himself up from the

shower bench and—much to his shame—Keenan was forced to call for an orderly to

carry him into the bedroom.

Wrapped in a plush white terry cloth robe, she waited in the living area with her

back to the bedroom door until the orderly had helped Fallon into a pair of shorts and

put him to bed. After the orderly left, she went to the bedroom door. The moment he

236

Dancing on the Wind

saw her, he held his hand out to her and she went to him, taking a seat beside him on

the bed.

“You’ll do just about anything for attention, won’t you, Fallon?” she teased as she

pushed a strand of wet hair from his eyes.

“I’m hungry,” he said. “That crap they fed me at rehab was rabbit shit.”

“Oh yum. Pellet form or pudding?” she inquired with an arched brow as he leaned

over and took the receiver from the bedside phone. She watched him as he punched in a

number he obviously knew by heart.

“Yeah, this is Fallon. I want an obscenely large rare steak and a humongous potato

smothered in sour cream and chives, and a round of cheese bread dripping with real

butter,” he ordered. He listened then frowned. “No, did I ask for any fucking

vegetable?” He rolled his eyes. “Yes, I know potatoes are vegetables but they’re not

fucking green vegetables, now are they?”

Keenan pursed her lips together to keep from laughing. Her man was slowly

rotating back to the obnoxious, entitled person he believed himself to be, and that was

just fine by her. It proved his spirit was healing along with his body.

“I don’t know. Hold on.” He shoved the receiver at Keenan. “He wants to know if

you want anything.”

She took the phone. “Hi, I could use a glass of tea and a much smaller version of

what Fallon ordered except I would love a nice green veggie to balance out the carbs.

Make my steak medium well.” She smiled. “Steamed broccoli would be great, thank

you.” She shook her head for Fallon was motioning he wanted the phone back. “Wait a

minute. I think his lordship thought of something else.” She handed Fallon the phone.

“Strawberry shortcake with lots of strawberries and globs of cream and two

pitchers of iced tea.” He ground his teeth. “Yes, she wants one too so make it four slices

of cake.” He slammed the phone down.

“You are so endearing yourself to the people in the cafeteria,” she drawled.

“I’m hungry,” he said then rubbed his right thigh. “And I hurt, Keenan.” He

frowned like a little boy with a boo-boo. “I hurt.”

“Yes, I know you do.” She pushed aside his hand and began rubbing his thigh.

There was a long incision that ran from his hip to his knee at a slight angle and to either

side of the wound were six round indentions where the pins had recently been

removed. The calf and shin of the same leg looked like the railroad lines in a cattle yard.

As she massaged his leg, he reached up to tug on his left earlobe—a habit she

realized long ago signaled he was ashamed of something he’d done.

“Damned bitch tore the earring out of my ear when she threw me across…” He

flung out a dismissive hand. “Wherever the hell it was she threw me,” he complained.

“Now the hole has sealed up and I’ll have to get it punched again.”

“I’m surprised your hellion allows you to have a piercing of any kind,” she said.

237

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

He sniffed. “She must think it’s sexy on me or She wouldn’t let me have it. It’s bad

enough She went and healed the fucking hole.” He laid his hands over his flat belly and

laced the fingers together as she worked her way down his calf. “I once tried to grow a

mustache and that turned out real well.”

She looked up at him. “She didn’t like the ’stache?”

He shook his head. “All I got for my trouble were ingrown hairs.” He rolled his

head on his shoulders. “She doesn’t mind a two- or three-day growth of beard, but

anything more than that, She won’t allow. I don’t like beards anyway, but I wanted that

fucking mustache something fierce.”

Keenan smiled. He was back to the banter that had so endeared her to him in the

first place. Though his eyes were still filled with dark shadows, he was relaxing at last

and wasn’t looking at her as though he wanted to strangle her.

“Roland has Matty,” he said.

“That’s my guess too,” she replied.

“The question is why.”

“They were pretty friendly at Bolivar’s,” she told him. “I used to see them together

much of the time so I suspect the Supervisor assigned Matty to get tight with the

gypsy.” His eyes tracked every step she made.

“That sounds right,” Fallon agreed. “Matty makes friends easily.”

“Are you worried about him?” she asked, because for some strange reason she

wasn’t.

“I don’t get the feeling he’s in danger and
that’s
what worries me,” he answered.

There was a light knock at the door and Keenan went over to let room service in.

“Do you want the food laid out on the table?” the young man asked.

“No, just roll the cart into the bedroom. I think Agent Fallon would be more

comfortable there.”

Fallon pushed himself up on the bed, propped against the thickly padded

headboard covered in the same tropical print as the coverlet, wincing as his injured leg

dragged against the coverlet.

“There is a bed tray in the closet, Agent McCullough, and a folding card table,” the

young man said. “Would you like me to get them?”

“That would be great, Andy,” she said, reading his name tag. “Thanks.”

Bringing one of the rattan chairs from the dinette set into the bedroom to place

beside the card table, Andy laid their food out for them then left.

“Man, this smells good,” Keenan said. She took a seat the table.

“I’ve never had anything from the kitchen here that wasn’t,” he said as he began

scoring his steak.

238

Dancing on the Wind

For a few moments they ate in silence, enjoying the tender steak and

mouthwatering potato piled high with rich sour cream and pungent chives. One bite of

the cheese bread and Keenan groaned with delight.

“I wonder what’s in this that makes it so spicy?” she asked.

“Jalapeño jelly in the batter,” he supplied.

“Ah.”

“I have to find Matty,” he said, and she realized his friend’s whereabouts was never

far from his mind.

“Coim should be back any time now,” she said. “Maybe he’ll have learned

something about the creature. If we can find it, destroy it, Roland will be neutralized.”

“Maybe,” he mumbled around a huge glob of potato. He kept eyeing the

strawberry shortcake with the same kind of lustful expression he’d given her in the

shower.

“Eat your steak,” she said, knowing full well he’d consume every ounce of sugar in

the three oversized pieces of strawberry shortcake and exactly what that sugar overload

would do to his Reaper libido.

“You hope,” he growled, and when she looked over at him, he was grinning

mercilessly.

239

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Matty and Roland took their seats in the luxury jet and buckled in. Lily McCullough

was on her cell phone giving orders to a man she called Royce. Whatever she was

saying to him seemed urgent and from the expression on her face, she was not a happy

camper. When she finished the call, she threw the cell phone the length of the plane’s

aisle.

“Bad news?” Matty asked when she sat down.

“Eight mercenaries including him,” she snapped. “That’s a hell of a lot of people to

keep quiet!” She slammed the two ends of the seat belt together.

Matty didn’t like the sound of that, but her plans were something he didn’t want

her sharing with him anyway. The less he knew about the operation, the better. He had

concerns of his own.

“Where’s the incubator?” he asked. “Is it onboard?”

“Yes,” Lily hissed. “Now shut the fuck up. I need to think! We’ve got trouble.”

“Is something wrong?” Matty asked.

“Yes, something’s wrong!” Lily snapped. “In all the planning we did we never once

gave any thought to what would happen when Fallon or that bastard who runs him

realize Keenan can’t possibly be dead!”

“I don’t follow,” Roland said.

“Oh shit,” Matty said, scrubbing a hand over his face. “How did we miss that?”

“Miss what?” the gypsy asked.

“The grief will cripple him for a day or two at the most,” Lily said, chewing on a