Night Whispers: ShadowLands, Book 1 (27 page)

She shook her head slowly. “No privacy.”

“Jules…” He shook his head, not sure where to start.

“Are you really here?”

“Yes.”

She edged to the end of the porch and stopped. Looked up at the sky. Came a step off the landing and looked up again at the gray, overcast day. A small sigh released from her lips, and she walked more confidently toward him. He took a few steps, wanting to be as close to her as quickly as possible.

They stopped when they were about a foot apart, and she raised her hand to his face. There was a slight tremor in her fingers as they brushed against his cheek. Little touches, the same hesitancy she’d shown in leaving the porch. Like she was scared or unsure of her reception. Silly girl.

“You came,” she whispered.

He knew he should be questioning her about the man inside. He should be demanding to know what had happened to her. If she had been hurt, or kidnapped, or coerced. But all his curiosity melted away. He cupped her face. It felt deliciously soft beneath his fingers. “Did you really think I wouldn’t?”

It seemed strange to hear that voice coming from a mouth and not some nameless, faceless, faraway being. At the same time, it felt perfectly right. She wanted to close her eyes and savor the sound of James’s rich, dark voice. But then she wouldn’t get to see that face. That dear, dear face. “I knew it would be difficult.”

“There’s nothing that would have kept me from you.”

The words were said with a grim firmness she wasn’t sure she’d ever heard James use. She couldn’t help but believe him.

The sunlight sharpened his features. “You’re so pretty,” he blurted out. Red stained his cheeks.

She refused to melt into a puddle of goo, no matter how much she wanted to. “Thanks,
güey
.”

Jules knew she should be making important decisions, but she couldn’t stop drinking James in like a dehydrated runner. In her fantasies, she’d imagined their meeting face-to-face more than once. He looked exactly as he had in virtual reality, same tall, lean build. His face was tired now though, gaunt, with deep circles under his eyes.

And the scars. His right cheek was marked with puckered tissue, disrupting the fairytale beauty of his face. His neck had suffered from a similar burn. His long-sleeved shirt hid the rest of his body from her view, but she knew from his talking to her that it was likewise marred.

Don’t touch him. It’ll hurt worse when he leaves.

Oh, but look, there she went, interlacing their hands. His fingers curled over hers. His grip was unbelievably gentle. The skin on the back of his hand wasn’t smooth either. She turned it and peered down. The scars of burn tissue went up under his shirtsleeve.

He tried to pull his hand away. “I’m sorry. I know it’s ugly.” Exhaustion. Insecurity. His face was expressionless, but Jules didn’t need facial cues, not when she could hear every emotion he felt. She figured she could close her eyes and know exactly what he was thinking at any given moment, she knew that voice so well.

“No.” She didn’t allow him to take his hand from hers.

“I didn’t let you see it when we used the specs—”

“I know. I heard you, so I knew.”

“What?”

“I had my earpiece in. And you had my frequency tuned.”

Realization dawned. “While I was driving here, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“You knew I was coming.” He shook his head, bemused. “Jesus. All that time you could hear me.”

The edge of her lips curled. “You sound horrified.”

He ducked his head. “I’m thinking of all the things you must have heard me say. Things I wouldn’t normally have told you, not like that.”

His fears. His scars. His weaknesses. She touched his cheek. “I’m glad I heard those things, then. Otherwise I wouldn’t think you were as cool as you are for doing what you did.”

The corner of his mouth kicked up. “That’s why you left the trail. I should have known…you are so damn smart.”

Her throat felt like she’d shoved a golf ball down it. She tried to speak around it but couldn’t. Suddenly he swept her up roughly in his arms, tightening them around her until her breath felt like it had been stolen from her lungs, in a bear hug that grounded and gave her solace.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “For lying about the scars. And everything.”

Yes. Yes. In all the upheaval and uncertainty, she’d found her steady rock again, and she could tell herself that his presence would calm everything else. Even if that was false reassurance.

Since she’d already touched him, it wouldn’t compound the error too much to kiss him, would it? Easing back from his hold, she settled her lips against his. He jerked, in surprise maybe, and blinked at her. Something flared in his eyes, and he yanked her closer, his lips pressing against hers harder.

If she’d expected gentleness, she was sadly mistaken. His mouth was rough and hard and screamed of desperation. Like a conduit transmitting energy, a flip switched inside her. The worry, stress and depression of the last few days twisted into an undeniable and raucous need. She matched his fervor, sending her tongue to duel with his. Her hands slid up his arms to wrap around his neck.

When her fingers sank into his hair and tugged, he pulled his mouth away to send his lips coursing down her neck.

He got to the base of her throat and then stopped, breathing deep. “You taste better than I imagined,” he said hoarsely.

“You too.”

His left hand tightened around her while his right went questing between them to lift and cradle her breast. She arched into the contact, more than fine with them consummating their relationship there on the ground.

Before they were forced to really talk.

He stopped and lifted his head to look down at her, though she noted he was careful not to break physical contact, his hands remaining around her waist and breast. “One question answered.”

“What’s that?”

He smiled. “We have more chemistry in the real world than we did in the virtual world.”

Her laugh was quiet. “Two questions answered.”

“What’s the second?”

She leaned up to kiss him on the shallow depressions on either side of his mouth. “You didn’t make these dimples up.”

His laugh didn’t quite cover the sound of a gun’s safety being clicked off behind her. Her mind moved in slow motion compared to her body.

Placing one hand flat against James’s chest, she shoved him away from her, pulled her switchblade, turned and threw it at the new threat.

Later, she wouldn’t be able to recall a single beat between each movement. They blended together in a seamless dance that lasted the space of a breath.

The whistle of the blade flying through the air ended when Erik caught it about an inch from his face. He lifted an eyebrow at her behind his sunglasses and raised the shotgun in his hands. He had dressed, at least, in jeans and a T-shirt that looked a shade too small for him. “I was going hunting for dinner, not you.”

“Jesus. Did you see how he caught that?” James paused. “Actually, how did you throw that?”

Bile rose in her throat. “I—”

“That
was
impressive, Jules.” Erik flipped the blade over and threw it back at her, as quick and as deadly as her strike had been. Once again, her body responded instinctually, snatching the blade out of air as he had done.

Erik kept his snake eyes on her as he walked past them. “I will be back in a while with game for you and Carrie. I checked on the girl, but it would be helpful if you stayed in the house so you can hear her.” He left them, disappearing into the fields.

“I do
not
like the fact that the unknown variable is armed.”

She turned to face James and discovered that he had pulled his weapon. It was still pointed in the direction that Erik had vanished. He had been covering her back.

James gave her an admiring smile. “Not that I need to be too worried, I guess. Have you always been this fast, Jules?”

No. Oh no. She had responded by instinct, like an animal. Her mind hadn’t been a part of the equation at all.

She thought of what would happen if each of her rather deadly skills amplified, what would happen if they went out of control.

What would happen if James stayed by her side?

She jerked her hand through her hair, freezing when James spoke.

“I like your hair like that. I’ve never seen it anything but brown.”

Realization. Guilt. Fear. The last emotion was the strongest, and it was all for the man who regarded her with so much affection. “You need to leave.”

Chapter Fifteen

Leave?
He knew women could be sensitive about their appearance, but he’d
complimented
her. “What are you talking about?”

Jules snapped her blade shut. The woman who had melted in his arms had vanished, replaced by a pale, rigid stranger. “You need to go.”

James would have sworn she was joking, but she seemed to consider the conversation finished, for she turned and walked back to the house. “Uh, Jules? I’m not going anywhere.”

“You have to. Leave. I’m fine, as you can see. I want to be here.”

Ha. Yeah, right.

James followed his woman into the door of the house, wary enough to keep his weapon out. “Who’s Carrie? Another…” whatever the guy was? “Another new friend?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I got time.” He had nothing but time now that he had found her. All his hours were hers.

“You won’t just leave, will you?”

No, and partially because he could tell she didn’t want him to leave. That was most definitely relief in her voice. “You can’t kiss me like you’ve been dying without me, and then kick me to the curb for no reason and expect me to comply without asking a few questions.”

She sighed. “You didn’t have any questions about being kissed.”

“Of course not. No man questions kissing.”

He waited for her to snort a laugh, but she only shook her head. James resented the fact that she had her back to him. Now that they were together, he wanted to be face-to-face at all times.

Unless…she couldn’t gaze upon him. She said she hadn’t minded his scars, had even kissed him, but perhaps his appearance and/or bleating confessions in the car really had turned her off.

Maybe his
kiss
had turned her off. The few women he’d been with had never seemed to have complaints, but what the hell did he know?

He hated the insecurity rolling deep in his belly. He stopped in the out-of-date living room. “Jules. Look at me.”

She stopped as well. Her body language was screaming at him to back off. “What?”

“Is it—? Have you rethought things because of me? Because of what you know about me now?”

That spine stiffened even more. “If I say yes, will you go?”

James considered that. “No. I’d still stay and help you get to safety. Wherever that may be.”

She pivoted. “What kind of a man are you?”

“Just a normal one. Looking at my best friend.” He took a step closer. “I understand that I have a lot of baggage. Part of me didn’t want to meet you in person because I didn’t want you to see all of that baggage. I can’t imagine many women who could deal with it, so I’m prepared for you to tell me you don’t like me like that, or whatever.” He gave a self-deprecating smile. “I’ve heard it before, really. But I’ll always be your friend. And I’ll help you if I can.”

A sheen of tears filmed her pretty brown eyes. “I don’t think you can help me.”

“I almost died for you,” he said simply. “I would kill for you. I will help you.”

A lone tear coursed down her cheek. “It’s not you. It’s me.”

“Heard that one before too,” he teased.

She laughed. It was a small laugh, but a laugh all the same. “I can’t—” She cocked her head. “Did you hear that?”

Hyper-vigilance time. “What?”

“Hang on. I need to check on someone.” She hesitated. “You can come meet Carrie, if you like. Put your gun away.”

The invitation might be grudging, but he’d take what he could get. He followed her through the dim house and up the stairs. The old wooden floorboards squeaked beneath their feet.

As he walked down the upstairs hallway behind Jules, he noted a table with a group of frames laying face-down. When she disappeared behind the farthest door, he paused and picked up one of the pictures.

James was confronted with the smiling face of an elderly couple, not too far in age from Ben and Rose. Everyone’s grandparents. She’d probably baked cookies for her loved ones, and he must have helped his neighbors.

Uneasy, he put the frame down, realizing now that Jules must have handled this particular redecoration. He’d noted it when she’d entered other residences yet never really thought of the reason behind it. It felt plain wrong to enter into another’s abode and touch their personal things, necessity be damned.

He wondered about the apartment he’d lived in in D.C., and who, or what, was making free with it. “Forgive me,” he murmured. “We’ll be out of your way as soon as possible. We thank you for your hospitality.” Foolish to think that mattered to anyone but him.