Last Kiss Goodnight (Otherworld Assassin) (24 page)

Now she would either feel obligated to him or hope to avoid upsetting him. She might let him do anything he wanted, but not out of passion.

He wanted her passion or nothing.

So, rather than plotting ways to romance her, he would be better served spending his time coming up with a new plan of escape. Yeah. That’s what he’d do. And maybe he would stop wanting, needing, craving, wishing, and hoping for what could never be.

Eighteen

Arise, my darling, my beautiful one, and come along.

—SONG OF SOLOMON 2:10

C
OOL WATER DRIBBLED ON
Vika’s lips and slid down her throat, and food soon followed. The actions dragged her out of the darkness and into the light. She blinked open her eyes.

Though her vision was clouded, she was able to see Solo looming over her, a streak of blood under his eye.

They really were together, she marveled.

He was holding a bottle to her lips. She swallowed what he poured, never having tasted anything so magnificent, she was sure. She wanted to close her eyes and savor, but had no desire to look away from Solo.

His dark hair was in utter disarray, the locks sticking out in spikes. He had his head down, his chin pressed into his sternum. His lashes were lowered, hiding the crystal clear blue of his eyes and fanning out as prettily as any peacock’s tail. She had noticed the aristocratic slope of his nose and the sharp cheekbones the day she’d bathed him, but she had missed the lush, pink lips women would have paid a fortune to acquire.

He was rugged and capable and fearsome, and for
just a second—or two—she wished she had told X she would do whatever was necessary to stay with Solo, that she would place her life in his hands and trust him to keep her safe. Now and always.

Wait. X. Alloris. The Altilium, whatever that was. The dream that hadn’t really been a dream, she realized now. As much time as she’d spent in her head throughout the years, she knew the difference between fantasy and reality, and there was no confusing the two in the light of day. She really had talked to X and Dr. E, the Epoto. They really were out there, somewhere, and they knew Solo.

X, who clearly loved him.

Dr. E, who clearly hated him.

Did Solo know they were there? That X considered him “a charge”?

Solo, who was so close she had only to reach out to touch him.

So few people realized there was another world around them, just as real.

“Hey, you,” she said.

Only silence greeted her.

Sharp disappointment cut through her. Her ears had stopped working, and that meant she wouldn’t be able to hear Solo’s voice, either. And oh, how she would have loved to hear him. He would have a low baritone, she would bet. Low and rumbling. Sexy.

Solo glanced up, blinked in surprise. “You’re awake.”

Again, silence.

The disappointment intensified, but she easily beat it back. She was alive, and she was with the best man
she’d ever met. What did she have to complain about?

“I am.” She stretched her arms over her head, arched her back. The bones popped.

Heat exploded in Solo’s eyes, the blue suddenly reminding her of living flames. The callused hand at her nape eased her to the ground. He moved away from her, taking his delicious body heat with him.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

Not as good as I did a few seconds ago.
“Wonderful, thank you.” Better than she had in years. “But how . . .” She scanned her surroundings. She was inside his cage, the bars all around her. Beyond them stretched the vast expanse of the Nolands. Random fires blazed, ribbons of thick smoke wafted, and green and black insects buzzed in every direction, even swarming a tree that had dared to survive, its limbs budding with life—but quickly withering.

Her father . . . he’d . . . he’d . . . 
caged
her. The man responsible for her well-being, the man who professed to love her above all things, had placed her with one of his “animals” during a solar flare, leaving her vulnerable to the attack of the Nolanders.

She should not have been surprised, but she was. He’d done many, many terrible things to her, but this . . . Grief pierced her, wounding her far more than Matas’s fist. Matas, who must have shown Jecis the video.

She’d known her father was cruel, had known he enjoyed lording his power over her and everyone else. Had known he thrilled in punishing anyone who defied him, but . . . but, she was his little girl. His princess. His beloved.

Well, this would make leaving the circus that much easier.
If
she was ever allowed outside the cage, she thought, fighting a wave of panic. Was she to be one of the sideshows now? Was this to be a life sentence?

Was she to be treated as a lowly animal?

Oh, sweet mercy. All these years, she’d done nothing to stop her father from locking up innocent people. People who had experienced these very emotions, but without any hope.

She couldn’t free them while they still wore those cuffs, as she’d finally decided to do. She couldn’t allow Jecis to find them and bring them back. She had to stay, no matter the pain inflicted upon her, and she had to continue her search for the key.

First, though, she would have to get out of the cage.

Sorry,
X,
but I can’t pack up Solo and let him go just yet.

Solo tapped her gently on the shoulder to gain her attention. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

For her. Her. One of his tormentors. After everything, he still desired to help her. “I . . . I . . .” Wanted to cry. Wanted to sob and beg for his forgiveness. “I’m so sorry. I know there’s nothing I can say—”

“Vika,” he said.

“—to make things better, but I’ll try. I will. You have my word. I won’t let him keep you—”

“Vika.”

“—locked up anymore than necessary. The moment I’m free, I’ll look for the key more intently.”

He leaned down, getting in her face. “Vika!”

She blinked up at him. “Yes?”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, settling back on his haunches.

Confusion returned. He thought, what? That she was apologizing simply to keep him calm? Well, if that was the case, he wouldn’t believe a single word she uttered on the subject of freedom, would he?

“Your father left a blanket for you. I let you use it as a pillow for a while, but when you began to heal, I took it and rigged it in the corner as a curtain. For privacy . . . when you need to use the chamber pot he also left. I think that’s what it’s called.”

Heat flooded her cheeks. “O-okay. Thanks.” She shouldn’t be embarrassed. She actually deserved this. He and the others had had to endure that kind of violation since their capture.

“Just so you know, I bathed you,” he said, “but I never removed your clothing and I never looked where I shouldn’t.”

As she had done to him. The heat intensified.

She looked herself over and saw that she was wearing the same clothes she’d worn to confront her father, the plain tee, and the flowing pants. At least she was comfortable.

“Thank you, Solo. Really. For everything.”

A stiff nod. “You’re welcome.”

Her gaze swept over him. He still wore the loincloth, his big, beautiful body on display. His skin was a luminous bronze, each of his muscles so well defined they looked painted on.

Breath caught in her throat. “So, uh, how long have we been here?”

“Three days.”

Three whole days. Fifty hours rather than seventy-two, for time was not the same here. During those fifty hours, Solo could have bound her. He hadn’t. He could have threatened to withhold medicine and food until she swore to aid him. He hadn’t. He could have fed her to the Nolanders to save himself. He hadn’t.

I’m the monster in this relationship
. “Are you all right?” she asked hesitantly.

He blinked, frowned. “Why?”

“You have blood on your face.”

He reacted as if she’d slapped him, spinning to hide the fact that he was scrubbing his skin with a vigor that astonished her.

“Let me,” she said, but he acted as if she hadn’t spoken. She sighed. “Did the monsters hurt you?”

“You know about them?”

“Yes. To keep them out of the trailers, Jecis had the windows removed, the walls reinforced with steel, and the doors padlocked.”

“He should have put us inside your trailer, then,” he said, still wiping at his face.

“And allow you to find and hide weapons to use on him later?”

He popped his jaw. “Do you know of a safe place to hide outside the cage?”

Hoping to bust out of here, was he, while there were no armed guards? “I don’t recommend fighting the Nolanders on their home baseball court. Now, will you stop doing that and let me help you?”

He stilled. His hand fell to his side. Slowly he turned
and met her gaze, his eyes so frosted over she shivered.

Still, she held out her hand. “Rag.” He’d helped her. Now she would help him, even in so small a way. Despite the fact that he had scrubbed so hard he’d left a red welt on one side of his face, the blood remained.

Reluctantly, he gave her what she wanted.

“Lean down here.”

Inch by inch he obeyed, a mask falling over his features.

She gently wiped at the crimson streak. Her arm trembled, the action almost too much for an arm that hadn’t been used in three days, but still she persisted.

“People play baseball on a field,” he rasped.

“That’s what I said. Isn’t it?”

“You said court.” Solo’s gaze never left her. He watched her every reaction, as if . . . what? As if he wanted to know her every emotion? Well, he would discover that she liked tending him and looking at him. Especially at his lips. Those beautiful, lush lips.

Right now they were pink. When his appearance changed, they would turn as red as his skin. Would they still be as soft as she remembered? she wondered. As sweet?

“You’re staring,” he pointed out, his voice tight.

“Does that bother you?”

His tongue flicked out, swiped. “No.”

To have that tongue in her mouth . . . to know what it was like to press her own against it . . . She shivered forcefully. “It did before. You threatened to kill me.”

“That was before.”

Before . . . what?

“And I will never hurt you, Vika.” He reached out, his thumb tracing the seam of her mouth.

At the moment of contact, her lips began to tingle. They parted of their own accord, and a heated, needy exhalation escaped her. “I know you won’t. Just like I will never hurt you.” She forced herself to finish cleaning him—before she did something they might both regret. “See? I’m harmless.”

He didn’t pull back.
He
stared at
her,
the fire in his eyes intensifying. Finally, he leaned toward her. “I’m sorry,” he croaked, “but I have to do this.”

“What—”

He kissed her, silencing her. His lips pressed against hers, lingering for one second, two, as though testing her reaction. Yes! This was what she’d wanted. And no wonder. It was magnificent, his lips softer than before. When she offered no protest, he lifted his head and studied her face. Whatever he saw, he must have liked, because he lowered a second time. His tongue flicked out, and she eagerly opened for him.

Their tongues thrust together, and, oh, this kiss was so much better than the one before, when she had taken what she shouldn’t have. He went slowly at first, coaxing her, but she didn’t need coaxing. She needed more.

Somehow, he understood what she couldn’t vocalize. He increased the pressure, the speed, and forced her head to tilt, giving himself deeper access, dominating her mouth, branding her soul-deep, consuming her. She loved every second of it, was engaged body and mind, swept up, lost. Happy to be lost.

He was so hot, a fire against her skin. He was so necessary. Suddenly she couldn’t imagine trying to take a breath without him. He was here, and he was hers, and this was beautiful. A beautiful kiss from a beautiful man.

His hand slid underneath her shoulders, angled up and cupped her nape. The rough texture of his skin delighted her, tickling her. He massaged the muscles there, drawing a groan of pleasure from her. Then his hand began to lower . . . stopping midway down her arm, kneading . . . angling again, this time toward her breast . . .

Her aching breast. A place that had never been touched by another. She’d caught enough illicit acts in the shadows of the circus to know that once a man got his hands on a woman’s breasts, he couldn’t stop himself from taking more, all.

Vika tensed, not sure she was ready for what “all” entailed.

He must have been attuned to her every nuance, because he jerked backward, severing contact.

As she fought for breath, her fingers sought her tingling lips. “Solo,” she said, wanting to call him back. She might not be ready for all, but that didn’t mean the kiss had to end.

His hands fisted at his sides.

Had she angered him? “I—I—” Had no idea what to say. How did you tell a man you wanted to kiss him, but you didn’t want to do anything else with him? Not yet, at least.

“When are the monsters due to return?” she asked, changing the subject.