Golden's Rule (6 page)

“Not too stale.” He put them on the counter before standing aside and nodded to a bench next to the enormous clawed tub. She spotted some grey and white clothing folded neatly.

“Everything you need is here, soap, shampoo. If not, give a shout. I picked up something that might fit you while you were sleeping.”

“How long was I…out?”

He shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “A few hours.”

She could sense there was more to that but let it go. “Thank you. You’ve been very kind to me.” She bent and touched the soft fabric of the clothing. A lump filled her throat again and she blinked rapidly before she turned to face him.

“I didn’t know your size, they might not fit.” He sounded hoarse.

Not saying another word, he stalked off down the hall, leaving the door open before she could thank him again for his thoughtfulness. She watched him, mesmerised by the flow of muscles all the way down his back to his tight, firm ass under the snug jeans. He might very well be the sexiest man she’d ever met.

Was he? She dug a bit in her fractured memory and encountered nothing but a sharp stab of pain for her nosiness. Still, she knew, absolutely knew, Torque was the only man she’d ever been so instantly hot over. There was simply a knowledge she couldn’t explain, but it was something so deep and accepted, inside her where none of this current confusion could touch, that recognised Torque—knew him and felt…felt what?

She shook her head, trying harder to get it right. Him, and her, right. It was more. He disappeared around a corner. Yeah, it was more than thinking he was the hottest guy she’d ever met. It was more than how familiar she felt near him—a complete stranger—it was more like she cared about him, wanted to hug him, hold him and soothe him. All of which she couldn’t—shouldn’t—do with a complete stranger.

Silly. She’d obviously taken more than a hit to the head. She shrugged and shut the door to lean against the wood. Maybe some things were simply bone deep, like the Death Stalkers, she thought with a soft laugh. Yeah, she knew that those guys were a part of her past, whoever she was, but was Torque a part of her future?

A shiver raced down her spine. A girl could hope.

Chapter Three

Torque felt like he was drowning. Maybe he should call Jaxon back over. Just the thought had his fists clenching until his knuckles popped. He didn’t want anyone near Beauty.

The nickname fit her. Whoever she was. She’d surprised him. He’d not expected her to wake up, not know who she was, and then give him hell for trying to order her around like some drill sergeant. But hell, she’d done that once already, so why was he surprised?

The woman had guts. Beauty. Intelligence.

And he was drowning in lust.

His magic fed on sex. Release wasn’t something he could hold off but his usual method for dealing with his needs wouldn’t work now. Not after one look in those deep green eyes. Not after feeling the softness of her skin. Not after watching her sigh in her sleep. Just the thought of going near another woman felt sickening. The playmates—toys—he had scattered around the globe now seemed empty and if he were honest, wrong. He felt dirty. As if he needed the shower more than Beauty.

What would she think of him for fucking nameless women? His stomach rolled. He knew what she’d think. She’d think he used women and one look at her and he knew she’d think less of him for it.

And why the hell should I care what she thought?

He was talking to himself.

He did what he had to do to survive in his fucked-up world. Besides, as he shoved both hands through his hair and tugged the short strands, his brain working fast to figure out a way around this messed-up situation, he needed the sex and women stood in line to become one of his toys. He wasn’t arrogant, he knew that for some reason, his magic fed on the act, but his magic also lent his partner a bit more ecstasy than other men did. At least that was what he’d always told himself. But, yeah, the other part? Knew what he did wasn’t honourable. A few of those women did want more from him. Even when he was clear that he’d not give more, some women were hurt. He tried hard not to, but it happened.

Still, there wasn’t a chance of him telling Beauty something like that. Back in the bedroom, she’d fixed her clear gaze on him and he’d felt like she’d reached inside to see his soul for the truth to her questions. He knew deep down what he did was wrong. The reality was he could jack off and get the same dose of power as he could from screwing any of those women. He often did.

He parked his ass against the counter with a deep groan. He was rationalising with himself. His thoughts were chaotic. She messed with him. Made him crazy thinking about things he never examined too closely. Crossing his arms to keep himself from pulling his hair again, he stared down the hallway where he knew she was undressing. By now, her dress had already slipped over those lush breasts and whispered by her ribs and over her hips to glide silently down her long, shapely legs to the tiled bathroom floor.

He turned to face the windows. The first brush of dawn lit the distant peaks, casting a pink glow over the dark valley below them. He had to do something. No way could he just stay here, not when twenty paces away, she was wet and naked. He started pacing. If he were a smart man, he’d leave. He was insane to stay. The kitchen felt too small. Maybe he should go get some groceries. She’d be hungry surely. If he stayed they could have a romantic meal, break open a bottle of wine, maybe he could get candles, even.

He stopped pacing so fast his shit-kickers squeaked on the wood floor.

What was he thinking? He could not romance her. She’d lost her memory. She was alone. Hell, he’d even withheld from her how damn powerful she’d been in that fight. Why had he done that?

Frowning, he replayed their conversation. She’d shocked him when she’d woken up looking so lost and vulnerable. He’d only thought to protect her, and if she’d known what a strong, powerful witch she’d been in that fight, she might demand he take her back to Midway.

Was that why he’d painted her actions as weak?

Feeling guilty, he started pacing again. He couldn’t take her back to Midway. The place was in chaos.

She needed…hell, he was the only person she knew. He couldn’t take advantage of that. But he couldn’t leave her either. The truth was he didn’t want to. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to someone else. Worse, he didn’t want anyone else. The very idea made his throbbing erection go limp in his jeans. Well, okay, until he thought of her touching him, caressing her soft hands over his heated flesh, then his dick jumped.

“Sonofabitch.” He started pacing again, trying to ignore the growing tightness of his jeans. Maybe this feeling would pass. He’d been attracted to women before and they’d lost the appeal quickly—this might not be any different.

And pigs might fly.

He gripped the counter and hung his head, twisting it left and right to get the kinks out of his tight shoulders. This place didn’t help. He shouldn’t have brought her here, but some instinct warned that if he took her to his home, he’d not let her go again. What did that say about him? She was hurt, confused, alone, and he wanted…hell if he knew what but naked was a good start. He’d start at her tiny toes, work his way up her lean calves to the softness of her inner thighs and right to—

“Fuck!”

He slammed his hands on the counter and spun around, shutting down the fantasy, and swallowed past the guilt rising up to strangle his throat with panic. He couldn’t treat her like that. He couldn’t use her. She was so much more than a quick toss in the hay.

He froze. Just what more could she be?

He had no answer for that one, so instead of worrying the hell over it, he thought of her. What was it about her? Her intelligence, clouded by confusion and mixed in with her helpless situation, drew him. He wanted to protect her. Hell, protect her? He wanted to cuddle her close. Cuddle.

What is wrong with me? Cuddle?

He tossed idea after idea out. She’d be safer if he simply took her to Sorcha. The head of the Jade Coven would discover who she was and more, she’d protect her. The witch protected everyone. Something he’d given her shit over for hundreds of years, only now? Now he wanted to protect someone. And somehow, taking her to Sorcha pissed him off. He wanted to protect the woman behind that bathroom door, not hand her over, and chance never seeing her again.

He heard the water start and instantly his cock pulsed. She’d be wet. He wanted to shower with her, lick the drops of moisture off her skin and suck each drop until he landed—

Shit. He needed to get out of here before he joined her.

His phone buzzed, sending a rush of relief through him. He grabbed it and flipped the cover. “Yeah?”

“How’s the little lady?”

Torque swallowed his instant jealous response. “She’s better. Awake. How are things at the Midway?”

Silence, then, “Ah, good, good, man. Look, we still need that meeting, the council isn’t too happy to have to reschedule.”

Shock stopped him in mid-pace. “Shit, when do they want to meet? We just fought off a Death Stalker attack in the—”

“Hey, slow the hell down, buddy. Look, from what I heard from the Spartan, the deal is—hey, did you know he tied the knot? Shit, man, everyone is going crazy. The Spartan has balls though, I mean, damn. The niece to the two most powerful witches on the planet and he takes her for his. Damn, I knew the guy was—”

“Jax, what the fuck?”

“Ah, sorry. Oh, yeah, and get this, remember the missing wolf, Derrick?”

Torque frowned and took a second not to yell at the vampire. “Jaxon, would you slow the hell down?”

 “Yeah, I’m not good at this rumour shit. I always seem to be the last in on everything. So, anyway, the missing wolf, Derrick? He’s back from the dead, or wherever he’s been for two centuries. Seems he found his mate too. Or she found him. She’s hot, I hear. Some renegade witch, not part of a coven, just one of those outsiders, anyway, they fought a pack of Death Stalkers and get this. The death dealers wore some kind of tattoo on their face, like, advertising they’re Death Stalkers. Crazy shit, right?”

Torque pinched the bridge of his nose and inhaled, counted to ten and said, “I think we need to talk face to face because you’re not making sense.”

“You just can’t keep up? Little lady got you wound tight?”

The little lady let out a sound like a yelp then he heard a thump. His heart hit his throat. “Shit, call you right back.”

He vaulted down the hall and jerked the door open, nearly cracking the wood when it hit the wall. Beauty shrieked. She would have fallen while getting half out of the tub if he’d not pulled her tight to his body. At least that was what he told himself when she fell against him. Wet. Warm. And gloriously naked. Beautifully naked. She was perfect. Every luscious inch of her body burnt into his brain until he knew, no matter how much he wanted to forget the first look at her, he’d never lose that image. That second in time had seared into his brain for eternity.

She let out a soft sound like a hiccup and he cleared the lust fisted around his vocal chords enough to say, “Shit, I’m sorry, I thought you fell.”

She shivered and he jerked a towel around her, but the bastard he was, he still held her close. “Did you fall? What happened?”

“I slipped, just a little dizzy, I guess. I’m okay. Really.”

She sounded scared as shit. No doubt because she was straddling his thigh and his cock punched up against her wet, bare stomach. If she hadn’t noticed his reaction to her in the bedroom, she sure as shit had to now. And shit, didn’t she say she was an empath? He swallowed past a dry throat and reached down to tip her head up by her chin. Her face was rosy pink and she blinked confused green eyes up at him.

All he could think of to say was, “You don’t look okay.”

As he said it, the colour drained from her face, turning it a pasty white, and her eyes flew wide. She shoved against him with more strength than he’d thought she’d have and managed to land on her knees, head down in the toilet. He heard her gag and the next second her stomach emptied with a splash in the basin.

She waved at him, no doubt trying to gesture him out of the bathroom, but he grabbed her hand and stopped her, hauled the towel over her shoulders to hide her lush curves and helped tug her hair off her face as she retched repeatedly.

Something strange hit his chest, something growing bigger, nearly encasing his entire body in warmth. She gripped his hand tight and trembled slightly. A low moan of pain and gasp for breath and she started all over again.

“Oh, Gods, I hate throwing up. I hate it. Hate it.”

He grinned at the misery in her tone. “Yeah, not many people like it, I imagine.”

She shook her head and moaned, “Not helping. So not helping.”

He cracked a laugh and got an evil look before she grimaced and tried to shove him away again. “Go, you’re making it worse.”

“I doubt anything can make it worse—”

“Your drink did!”

He chuckled softly and shook his head at her distressed tone. What a fighter.

She shuddered once more and under his hand, he felt the tension leave her body. She slowed her breathing and eased down so she was sitting back on her legs, forehead on the toilet. He pulled her up, ignoring her protests, turned the water on in the sink with one hand, and used the towel with the other to wipe her face and mouth off. She frowned up at him the entire time, clearly not okay with him touching her. Instincts he couldn’t fight guided him and he cleaned her as best he could. He only let her go when she tugged the towel up to her chin and glared at him.

“I gotta brush my teeth, and stop laughing at me.”

“I’m not laughing.” He wasn’t but for some stupid reason he was smiling. She simply looked so adorable, like a half-drowned, indignant kitten. “Can you manage now?”

“I can manage. I could have before, too.” She snapped her lips closed at his grin and turned away from him, but he saw the colour flush her cheeks.

“Okay, try not to overdo it. I’ll be right outside.”