Last Kiss Goodnight (Otherworld Assassin) (34 page)

Solo met her gaze. “I have to put a stop to our extracurricular activities. We can’t risk any kind of distraction, and besides that, we’ve got a big day ahead. Sleep.”

“No.”

“Yes.” He relaxed into the stump and pressed her head into the hollow of his neck.

“Fine. Night, Solo,” she said with a bead of frustration, warm breath caressing his neck.

“Night,” he replied, even knowing she couldn’t hear him.

Only a few minutes later, she melted against him, signaling that she’d fallen asleep, as ordered. But just as he was about to rise to hunt the morning’s game, she began to toss and turn, before jolting upright, gasping for breath.

“I’m here,” he assured her. “Solo’s here.”

“Solo,” she said, sighing and settling back against him. Once again she drifted off. This time, she remained motionless, quiet.

She felt safe with him, trusted him, and he was glad—even though holding her was the sweetest and the worst sort of torture, her decadent scent in his nose, her soft curves pushed against the hardness of his body.

But this was what he’d always wanted, wasn’t it? A woman in his arms, happy to be with him. And that the woman happened to be Vika . . .

Despite everything else, Solo grinned.

Twenty-five

Awake, sleeper, and arise from the dead.

—EPHESIANS 5:14

L
IGHT PIERCED THE DARKNESS
in Vika’s mind, and she stretched, roused from the most peaceful sleep of her life. The smell of roasting meat filled her nose, and her mouth watered.

She eased up, rubbed at her eyes. Right away, she noticed a few startling facts. She was warm, draped by a thick, furry blanket she hadn’t had last night, and except for the diamond choker locked around her neck, her jewelry had been removed.

Solo crouched in front of a small fire, turning a skewer of meat he’d rigged across two sticks he’d planted in the ground. On her own, she probably would have starved. But Solo was beyond capable, beyond resourceful . . . and far more beautiful than her necklace as golden rays shone and danced over him, highlighting his strength, his utter masculinity.

“Good morning,” she said.

He turned toward her, looked her up and down, a heat every bit as fiery as the one in front of him blazing in those baby blues. “Morning.”

Her heartbeat quickened as she recalled the sheer mastery of his kiss. And when he’d cupped her breast, oh, sweet mercy, the reaction he’d sparked had been unexpected, the sweetest sort of pleasure, the most agonizing sort of pain.

She’d needed more. Wanted more, yes, that, too, but
needed
was the better word. When he’d stopped, she’d expected to die. She would have traded her next breath for one touch.

And all right, okay, she’d understood his reasons, she had, but she’d still wanted to growl with dissatisfaction. She’d never experienced so much pleasure, and he’d just taken it away.

You’re pouting,
she thought, and sighed. Solo deserved better than a whiny female more concerned with lovemaking than safety—especially since that very same female had stopped
him
from continuing a time before.

“Solo,” she said.

“Yes. That’s me. What’s with the snotty tone?”

Snotty tone! “I don’t have a—Fine, I do. I’m sorry.”

“Still frustrated?” he asked her.

“Maybe.” She glanced down at her hands; her fingers were wringing together. “I want you to know . . . feel like I should explain . . . why I wouldn’t let you do more than kiss me that time in the cage.”

“You told me. You weren’t ready.”

“And that was true. It’s just, when I was younger, just a girl, the things I witnessed in the shadows . . .” she said, and a shudder raked her. “Then I ran away and I was captured by a group of drunk boys and barely managed
to wiggle my way free to hide. The things they did before I got away . . . they squeezed and it hurt, and I was so afraid, so happy when my father showed up and rescued me, and I’m rambling, I know, but that’s one of the reasons I stayed with him so long. He saved me from a terrible fate. At the circus, his name offered me some sort of protection.”

Solo moved to crouch in front of her. “Vika—”

“No, don’t say anything. It happened. I learned, and I grew. I’m okay. I just wanted you to know.”

“You were a child,” he said. “A child who grew into a guarded woman, desperate for a way out, yet still taking care of those less fortunate than herself. I understand that now.” He sighed. “I threatened you during our first meeting, and I’m not proud of myself for that. I wish I could go back and do a thousand things differently.”

She ran her fingers through the chilled locks of his hair, entranced by the softness. “Typical Solo, trying to make me feel better.”

“Always.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Listen. I revved you up last night and failed to finish you because watching you climax would have pushed me over the edge. I know you don’t blame me for deciding to wait, but your body doesn’t get it, and that’s understandable. When we’re finally together, it will be in a bed and you’ll be safe. We can do whatever we want to each other.”

“Yes, well . . .” Even talking about what they could and would do was revving her up again. She hurried to change the subject. “What’s that we’ll be dining on?”

“Don’t ask, and I won’t tell.”

“Well, how did you manage to kill this mystery meat?”

“I stumbled upon a group of hunters, waiting in a blind, and confiscated their weapons.”

She wouldn’t ask what he’d done with the hunters themselves.

“Speaking of weapons . . .” He straightened and walked to the other side of their tree trunk bed, where he lifted two rifles. “Have you ever used one of these?”

“A gun? Yes. Something that big? No.”

“I’ll give you a mini lesson before we head out. And you don’t have to worry about using it and drawing Jecis to our location with the noise. See the ends? I created a special paste to muffle the boom.”

“Oh, well, that’s great, but I already have a gun,” she said, and dug inside the bag until she found it. “It’s even loaded and everything.”

He looked at the weapon, shook his head, then looked again, a strange light entering his eyes. “The safety is off,” he said through gritted teeth.

“What safety?” She turned the barrel toward her face and—

The weapon was swiped from her grip. Solo fiddled with it, and she heard a click. He checked . . . whatever it was called, the little round center that spun, before saying, “I’ve been carrying this thing around, Vika.”

Now probably wasn’t time to say “duh.” “I know.”

“I could have shot myself. Or you! And I thought you said you’d used a gun.”

“I had. My father put one in my hand and forced me
to squeeze the trigger. And guess what? I’ve got some good news for you. You didn’t shoot yourself, or me.”

He ran his tongue over his teeth. “Let me guess. This is X’s doing?”

“It was a suggestion of his, yes,” she said, not wanting to get the little guy into trouble when he’d only wished to help.

“What else did he tell you to bring?”

“I’ll show you.” She withdrew a fork, toothpaste, lipstick, a condom, and scented body spray. “He told me that each one of these things was a necessity.”

“O-kay. So why the fork?” he asked.

That was the first question he had? Really? “X says we aren’t savages, and we aren’t to act as if we are.”

“And the lipstick?”

“That, he didn’t say.”

“No bottles of water? No food?”

“No. But I’m guessing that’s because we can melt and drink the snow, and X knew you could catch”—she waved her hand toward the fire—“things.”

“And the condom? The
single
condom?”

Annnd
there was the question she’d assumed he would ask at the start. “It’s not my fault,” she said, fighting a blush. “I’m embarrassed, too, but he said to grab it, so I grabbed it.”

“Yeah, but we probably aren’t embarrassed for the same reasons,” he muttered.

Why was he embarrassed, then?

He took the fork and stomped back to the makeshift kitchen, where he placed juicy chunks of meat on
a large, flat stone. “There’s a river a few yards north, and I’ve already cleaned the stone,” he said, handing it to her. “We aren’t savages, right, and I won’t have you eating off a dirty plate.”

A beat of surprise as she absorbed his words. What a sweet, sweet man, considering her in all things, even the little things. “Thank you,” she said with a bright smile.

“Welcome. Now, here’s the fork.” He held out his hand.

She shook her head. “No, thank you. That’s for you.”

“I’m not going to use a fork while you’re stuck using your fingers. Take it.”

“No.”

He frowned but stuffed the utensil back into the bag. “Fine. We’ll both be savages.”

“Fine.” After she’d taken a few bites of the most delicious meal of her life, she moaned and said, “Is there anything you
can’t
do?” And maybe she
was
a savage, because she wanted to continue stuffing her face while she was talking—and she wanted to chew what remained of the meat off the bone. “You have no need for a chef at your farm.”

“And yet I still want one,” he muttered.

Did that mean what she thought it meant? That he still wanted Vika there? “Sweet” barely scratched the surface, she realized. “I want you to know, while we’re on our journey, I’m not going to let you down or hold you back. I’ll keep up, I promise.”

“Don’t push yourself too hard.”

“I won’t,” she said, which was the truth. She planned to push herself
way
too hard. He’d only helped her. She wouldn’t hinder him.

•   •   •

Solo finished eating and stuffed all the “necessities” back into the bag, as well as the blanket he’d stolen, and hefted the stupid thing over his shoulder, then one rifle, then the other. He would have given Vika one of the weapons, but no, that was never going to happen now. Not even if his life depended on it.

“I rigged a place for you to take care of any pressing needs you might have,” he said, and watched as color once again brightened her cheeks.

“Thank you,” she replied, comprehending. “But, uh . . . where is it?”

He pointed, enchanted by her unease for some reason. They’d spent six days together, trapped in a ten-by-ten cage. They’d gone over this type of thing. But his little Vika was prim and proper, he supposed—until he kissed her.

Any time he remembered their kiss, a fire ignited in his blood, and a deep awareness bloomed where primal instinct seethed. It was wonderful. . . . It was terrible. . . . He wanted her, but he couldn’t have her. Not out here, in the open, where anyone else could stumble upon them.

At least he understood a little more about her now—and how much he’d misunderstood her in the beginning and even moments before. No wonder she’d
always wanted to live on her own. No wonder she had wanted to spend the rest of her life alone. It was a miracle she’d ever allowed Solo to come near her.

Vika stood, stumbled through the snow, and soon disappeared behind a wall of winter leaves. The area was close enough that he could hear if anyone approached her, but far enough away that she would feel comfortable enough to do whatever she needed to do. Plus, a good number of trees would form a circle around her, shielding her from any prying eyes.

He dismantled the spit, put out the fire and scattered the rocks. He hid the evidence of their stay as best he could, and by the time he finished, Vika had returned.

“Are you sore?” he asked.

“Surprisingly, not too badly.”

Good. “We’re going to keep a brutal pace today. I checked our coordinates, and if we hurry, we can make it to the cabin a little after nightfall.”

“I’m ready,” she said, and she sounded as if she truly was.

He linked their fingers—something he was fond of doing. He liked knowing she was nearby. Liked knowing she trusted him enough to remain by his side.

They trudged forward, silent for the first hour.

“I have something to tell you,” she said, “but you’re not going to like it.”

“You can tell me anything.”

“Well . . . you see, there isn’t a key to the cuffs. Jecis destroyed the only one, which kind of explains why I was never able to find it.”

Kind of
explained?

“I’m sorry!” she added.

No key,
he thought, dazed by the realization, even though he should have guessed a long time ago. Jecis was just cruel enough, just smug enough, to do such a thing, uncaring about the lives he was ruining. Actually,
happy
about the lives he was ruining.

And Vika was waiting for a response from him. She expected him to rant and rave, most likely.

“Don’t worry about it,” he finally replied, and turned left, maneuvering around a small pond of ice. After a while, the drugs in the cuffs would run out. They would no longer be able to affect him. But . . . he still wanted them off. Never wanted anyone to have this kind of power over him again. Never wanted to be located by a few clicks of a computer.

He’d hoped to search for the key when he went back to rescue the otherworlders, but now, that would be unnecessary—one less thing to do. And really, this was probably for the best. Now he could remove the bands the moment he had Vika tucked safely away and knew Michael was on his way.