Flirting With Fate (10 page)

She stayed silent. How could she explain that it
did?

The doorbell rang and she was saved from having to
say anything at all.

Alyson let herself in. She covered in jewelry
fashioned with various crystals and stones, and her long skirt trailed behind
her.

“Tanner, I’d like you to meet my good friend
Alyson,” Josie said. “Alyson has been my yoga instructor for years. Tanner is
an operative for the SIA,” she told Alyson.

Alyson nodded and knelt before Josie, an “Oh,”
escaping her lips as she took in Josie’s face. She lifted her hand to touch
Josie’s cheek, and Josie stopped her with a shake of her head.

“My arm first?” she asked.

“Yes, of course,” she said, placing her hands on
Josie’s cast.

“Wait!” Tanner said.

Josie shook her head. “I trust Alyson. You should
too.”

Tanner stepped back, concern marring his handsome
face.

The energy collected in Josie’s broken arm—the
feeling was something like being burned with the most intense flame, only there
was no heat.

Josie winced, and Alyson whispered, “I’m so
sorry.”

Just as quickly as the pain increased, it
dissipated, bringing a wash of relaxation in its wake. Josie closed her eyes,
unable to resist the pull of the post-healing peacefulness.

She wanted to stay awake and tell Alyson how much
she appreciated this. Alyson was the most powerful Healer Josie knew, but
mending broken bones drained even the best Healers. She wanted to express her
gratitude but could barely summon the will to move her lips, let alone open her
eyes.

“She can take the cast off,” Josie heard Alyson
tell Tanner, “but be careful you keep it. She should wear it in public so
anyone who saw her at the hospital thinks she’s healing the slow way.”

“Okay,” Tanner said, “If I cut it in the right
spot, I can rig it so it’s easy to remove and replace.”

“Josie,” Alyson whispered, her hand at her face
again, “I still have a little left in me. I would like to heal your face, at
least partially. If I don’t, these bruises will be terrible by tonight.”

“’Kay,” Josie whispered, already leaning into the
couch cushions and falling into the deep, peaceful sleep of the recently
healed.

The Keeper had summoned him.

A thrill ran through Bobby. No one got to see the
Keeper. He clutched the satchel with the journal to his side as he allowed the
Keeper’s black-suit clad security to escort him into the private residence.

His mouth went dry with anticipation. Finally,
he’d been given the chance to prove himself.

He looked around the mansion, trying to take
everything in. They’d put him in the back of a windowless limo to bring him
here. He’d tried to keep track of where they were, but the driver hadn’t taken
a direct route. Bobby could tell they drove around to throw him off, but he
didn’t care.

He may have gained enough clout to meet the
Keeper, but he wasn’t to be trusted with the Keeper’s location. He understood,
and he was satisfied with working his way up slowly, satisfied with gaining
trust slowly.

He’d successfully completed his mission and maybe
now he could be one of the few to know what the Keeper was planning.

Bobby was nearly salivating, imagining the reward
the Keeper would give him for his work tonight. It was known that he gave
powers to the best of his workers.

He was surprised when they escorted him into a
casual sitting room. The man in the room was younger than Bobby—maybe
mid-twenties?—but the way he sat in the room’s only chair suggested he was the
most important person in the building.

Dude needed to get over himself. This was the
Keeper’s place, and this man couldn’t be anything more than a peon to the
Ascendants’ true leader. Nevertheless, the man motioned to the couch across
from him as if he owned the place.

“Please, sit.”

Bobby smiled. “No, thank you, sir. I’ll stand
until the Keeper joins us.”

The man chuckled and exchanged a look with the
security men. When he looked back at Bobby his face was hard. “Sit.”

Bobby swallowed, suddenly realizing he wasn’t
going to get the hero’s welcome he’d anticipated. He lowered himself to the
couch and put the satchel on his lap. He swallowed. “I did as I was asked.”

The man narrowed his eyes. “Did you?”

“Yes, sir. I was sent to retrieve the journal and
I did.” He patted the satchel.

“And did you erase her memory of the journal? Did
you erase her memory of these messages she was finding in its pages?”

Bobby swallowed. “No, sir. I was interrupted—”

The man put up a hand. “I don’t take excuses.”

“Yes, sir. I understand, sir.”

He leaned forward, studying Bobby’s face. “Do you
know who I am?”

Bobby shifted his weight, wondering how the hell
he was supposed to answer that question. “No, sir,” he admitted, even though he
was pretty sure that was the wrong answer.

The man just seemed amused by that, exchanging
smiles with security, but again his chuckle turned to a scowl as soon as he
addressed Bobby again. “Is that it?” he asked, looking at the satchel.

“Yes, sir.”

The man ran his hand over his face. “Do you know
why you were chosen for this mission?”

Bobby looked around, wishing he had a drink of
water. He tugged at his shirt collar. “Because of my ability, sir.”

“Yes.” The intensity of his glare left Bobby’s
face feeling scorched. “You were not chosen for your brute strength. Had I
known that you had no finesse, you’d have never been chosen for the job.”

Had I known.
Who did this guy think he was?

The answer came to Bobby right on the heels of the
question.
Oh, fuck.
“You’re the—? I thought you were supposed to be—” He
swallowed.

“Old?” the Keeper supplied.

Bobby knew he shouldn’t respond. “I apologize,
sir, if there was a misunderstanding. I was under the impression that I was to
get the journal by any means—” His words were cut off when the Keeper lifted
his hand and at the same time, Bobby’s airflow was cut off.

“You risked everything tonight. You understand?
Everything. The Keys are not to be harmed. Without them, forty years of
planning and twenty-seven years of careful, tireless implementation are wasted.
You understand?”

The grip at his neck tightened, making Bobby gag
as he sought breath. Instinctively, Bobby’s fingers went to his neck, but there
was nothing there to pull away. He couldn’t stop the man from choking him.

“You had a simple task. Get the journal and make
the girl forget she’d ever had it.” The man stood and released his mental hold.

Bobby gasped air into his lungs again. It felt as
painful as it did glorious.

The Keeper flicked his wrist and suddenly the
satchel was in his hands. “You’ve served your purpose,” he said, opening the
bag. His head snapped up and, again, his mental hold was at Bobby’s neck.
“Where is it?”

Bobby motioned wildly to the bag, but he couldn’t
form words, couldn’t breathe.

“You failed on all counts,” the Keeper said. “I
don’t tolerate failure.” He turned to the guards and said, “Give him to someone
who can use his power.”

Free to breathe again, Bobby choked out, “But I—”
The words scraped his bruised throat and security cut him off, dragging him out
of the room.

Why wasn’t the journal in the bag? He hadn’t let the
bag out of his sight.

When Josie awoke, she was in her bed, and dusk was
falling outside her window.

She sat up and rubbed her eyes. From a chair next
to the bed, Tanner stirred, bare-chested and beautiful.

She smiled. Some people didn’t like the word beautiful
for men, but a body like Tanner’s made every other word fall short. He was tall
and lean but sculpted. She wanted to feel those hard planes of muscle under her
hands. She was ready to know what it was like to run her nails over his abs as
she found her way to cup his balls. She wanted to feel his back flex as he
drove into her.

She chewed her bottom lip, feeling herself go wet
at her thoughts. Maybe it was the healing or maybe it was knowing she’d fallen
asleep on the couch, and he’d moved her to her bed. Maybe it was seeing that
he’d tucked her in and pulled a chair in from the living room to sit by her as
she slept. Whatever it was, she was ready to throw out her reservations and
feel every sensation, every pleasure her visions promised.

He opened his eyes and she smiled. “You didn’t
have to stay,” she said, twisting the blankets in her lap.

“You know the dangers of such a drastic healing,”
he said, rubbing his eyes. His voice had that morning gravel in it, the kind a
girl wanted to feel as a man’s chest rumbled against her cheek.

“You didn’t have to sleep in the chair,” she said,
wondering that he hadn’t chosen to climb into bed and hold her.

“I wouldn’t have slept at all if I’d gone home.”
He cocked his head. “It worries me that you didn’t take more precautions.”

Josie nodded. “Alyson’s good,” she said, but he
was right. Healers focused so much peaceful energy into their subject that
sometimes the subject slipped into too deep of a sleep. Sometimes the
subject—particularly if the injury was great—never woke up. It was a relatively
minor risk with a Healer as experienced as Alyson, but trusting a newly turned
healer could be fatal. They just couldn’t focus their energy yet. “Alyson’s
been healing for thirty years.”

Tanner shook his head. “I don’t care if she’s been
doing it for one hundred years. I wouldn’t have left you alone.” He stood and
stretched his arms over his head.

Josie resisted the urge to lick her lips at the
sight of him bare-chested, jeans slung low on his hips. She swallowed. She
wanted to reach out and touch the hair that tapered into a long line over his
hard stomach and disappeared beneath the band in his jeans.

He dropped his arms and looked at her, catching
her staring at that aptly named trail of hair.

When I’m inside you for the first time...

Words a girl didn’t soon forget.

“Can I make us some coffee?” His smirk was his
only acknowledgement of the way she’d been looking at him.

“Coffee would be great.” She put a hand to her
hair. She had to look a mess. “Would you think I was a terrible hostess if I
jumped in a quick shower? I smell like a hospital.” And she could still smell
her attacker on her, but she didn’t want to remind Tanner of the man.

“Of course not.” He turned toward the kitchen.

“Tanner?”

He faced her and she was taken aback by how
quickly heat bloomed in his eyes. She’d been intending to thank him for staying
while she slept, but the look in his eyes had her thinking inviting him into
the shower would be more fun.

The silence pulsed between them until finally she
said, “You could have slept in the bed. There’s plenty of room.”

He closed the space between them in two strides
and extended his hand for hers. She took it, allowing him to help her from the
bed to her feet. He pulled her body against his. “Are you looking?” he asked,
pressing his palm flat against hers.

“Looking?”

“Use your ability, Josie,” he urged, the heat of
his large hand warming her small one. “I want you to see what I already know.”

She closed her eyes and let her wall drop. She
gasped as the vision hit her.

His face was between her legs and his eyes
locked with hers as he slid his tongue over her clit. She rocked her hips
against his mouth and grabbed her own breast, rolling her nipple under her
finger to increase the delicious sensation pumping through her body. He pressed
closer and nuzzled her sex, his tongue moving and exploring in ways that sent
delicious shockwaves through her body.

His thumbs pressed against her inner thighs,
willing her legs to open further for him.

Josie’s pulse kicked up and she blinked as she
looked into his eyes. She’d enjoyed the vision of his mouth on her more than
she’d ever enjoyed another man doing it in person.

A smile curved Tanner’s lips. “You see us together,
don’t you?” He lowered his mouth to her ear and his lips brushed against it as
he spoke. “So, you see, when I have you in bed with me, I have plans that
involve very little sleeping.”

Josie wanted to ask what he was waiting for but
stopped herself. She was going to give into this. She knew that. But she sure as
hell wasn’t going to have a bad case of morning breath and bed-head when she
did.

“I like my coffee strong,” she said before turning
toward her shower and swaying her hips a little more than necessary as she
walked away.

Quinton Greyly was on his third scotch and it was
only seven o’clock. Normally, he was a man who preferred to maintain control in
all situations, but the last twelve hours had kicked that preference in the
balls.

It had been four years since he’d seen Mallory.
Four years since he’d tasted her. And yet every day he remembered her face and
her taste like he’d woken up with her in his bed.

So it was understandable, he figured, that when
he’d walked in to the ER to take Josie Bovard’s statement, he’d been floored.
The woman could have been Mallory’s twin. Hell, she could have been Mallory
herself.

He stared down at the picture of the blonde he’d
fallen in love with during a semester abroad in France. Blue eyes, soft, plump
lips, curves made for a man’s hands, and a laugh that sent his heart soaring.

He’d left her. She’d had some of the most
fucked-up daddy issues he’d ever come into contact with, and he couldn’t deal
with it. So he’d left her. He’d left Mallory, he’d left France, and he’d left
foolish notions of love and happily ever after.

Quinton wished he could say he hadn’t thought of
her since then, but it’d be a lie. He’d thought of her almost constantly when
he’d returned to the States, then a little less as the months went by. But he’d
never stopped thinking of her, and never stopped second-guessing his decision
to leave.