Ocean Kills (Ocean Breeze) (36 page)

I growled, “Don't get too relieved. I'm not done with you yet.” Then I wrenched open the door.

“Luggage, sir,” an elderly bellhop chirped.

“Just put them there, thanks.” I allowed the man to deposit our two suitcases and gave him a tip, before closing the door and launching myself at Ocean.

She didn't stand a chance. I grabbed her around the waist and scooped her up. She yelped, writhing in my grip. “Ouch! I have an arm full of stitches, you moron.”

Shit!
“God, I'm sorry. I forgot.” I put her very carefully back on her feet. “I'm sorry. Are you alright?”

Her face was white, hand gripping her left shoulder. I was so stupid. How did I forget she was injured? She just made me so mad. All I wanted to do was wipe that cold look off her face— make her hot and willing.

I brushed a strand of hair off her cheek. “Will you forgive me?”

She pouted. “No.”

For some reason I grinned like an idiot. She played with me.

Not touching her, I ducked my head and captured her mouth. She froze. I pressed firmly against her lips.

She didn't respond, and a lance of uncertainty filled me.
Kiss me, go on
.

Ocean put her hand on my bare chest, pushing me away. Her touch melted me. It took all my energy not to crush her to me.

“What are you trying to do?” she whispered, dropping her hand.

“I told you. I want to figure out if there’s anything between us other than lust. If there is, then I want you forever. If there isn't, then we can get it out of our systems and move on.” It sounded so callous coming from my mouth. So heartless. But I said it because I was too afraid to tell her straight up that I was falling for her.

She sighed explosively, plonking on the bed. “Fine. You win.”

What?
I took a tentative step and sat next to her, keeping my distance for now. “What did I win?”

Dropping her eyes, she said, “You're right. It's best to get the desire out of our system. We both don't want the forever thing. We both have other passions and commitments in life. I'm willing to treat this holiday as a casual friendship, with benefits.”

Was she not listening to me? I just admitted I wanted more than a casual fling. Was she deliberately being obtuse?

She looked up, face unreadable. “After the week, or however long Maurice has imprisoned us, I'll go my way, you go yours.” She stuck out her hand. “Deal?”

She couldn't have cut me more if she'd hacked my knees with an axe. Was that all I was to her? Sex? Or was she playing me the same way I attempted to play her?

I clenched my jaw. This was my fault. I backed her into this. I didn't want a week of sex and then to say, “see ya later, nice knowing ya.” I wanted a week of romance. Of wine and food and making love.

Ocean shifted, about to clamber off the bed. If I didn't agree she’d leave—her demeanor told me that. Why did she insist on running? What was she so afraid of? Taking a deep breath, I captured her hand and shook it. “Deal.”

No deal.

Chapter Thirty-six: Ocean

I
made some lame excuse about needing the bathroom as soon as Callan shook my hand.

His green eyes burned me as I bolted and locked myself away. He agreed to enjoy a week of sex then go our separate ways. I wanted that. I made him
promise.
So why were tears streaming down my cheeks?

I clutched my head, fighting the strange thoughts and the feral rage bottled inside. It wasn’t me. I didn’t want to be so mean to him. Everything that came out of my mouth was horrid. Yes, I wanted to push him away, as he deserved better than a woman who lived to kill, but it didn’t give me the right to be a bitch from hell.

I stood panting, leaning against the wall. I wanted nothing more than for him to pound on the bathroom door and demand I stop being so cold-hearted. To command me to give him what I so desperately wished I was strong enough to give.

I slithered down the wall, sitting with my head in my hands. This was a complicated mess. My fundamental belief that I was strong enough to handle anything—kill any monster, save any victim—was decimated. I wasn't strong. I was
weak.

I effectively signed up for a week of amazing sex with a man who saw into my Icelandic wasteland of a soul. A man who could help me in future missions. A man who wanted me as
me
. The thought of having a week with him, then sending him off, was heartbreaking. He’d fall for someone who wouldn’t cause him heart attacks every time she went to work. She’d be something I could never be.

Even if I stopped my vigilante ways, gave up my reason for existing and allowed myself to belong to Callan, it wouldn't be fair to him. Something was wrong with me.

After killing Bazeer, I was cold
all
the time. My fingers were ice picks. My heart an organ of frost. Spasms of rage and hatred enveloped me more and more frequently with no warning, attacking my own thoughts, turning me into something savage. It terrified me to death—I couldn’t control it. I was turning bipolar, a psychotic mess. Was it because I touched death when I killed? Was the goodness in my soul almost consumed by coldness?

Almost an hour passed while I tumbled in my thoughts. A knock wrenched my head up.

“Ocean, are you okay in there?” Callan's voice was low. It set my jaw on edge as I fought every urge to hurl open the door and leap into his arms. To ask him to take away the evil whispers in my head, to help find the real me again.

“Yes, I'm fine. Just give me a moment. I'm going to take a shower.”

No response.

Dragging myself off the tiles, I turned the twin-headed shower on and stripped. I twisted in the mirror. My back was scabbing nicely; a few of the shallower whiplashes were pink and healing well. My shoulder was taped with waterproof padding to keep my stitches dry. It wasn’t good timing to holiday in a hot country. How was I supposed to go swimming?

The shower pounded heavy droplets on my neck and I allowed the water to whisk away my stress. Who cared what would happen at the end of the week? I had six days. Six wonderful days of being banned from teleporting, imprisoned in a room with a delicious man who was tanned, sexy, and drop-dead gorgeous.

I’d enjoy our holiday and figure the rest out later. I was strong enough to accept his friendship, to enjoy his body, and to give him my entire self for one week.
Yes, but your entire self includes raging homicidal tendencies and grotesque thoughts which aren’t your own.
Callan wouldn’t want me if he knew what was going on inside. I gasped, dropping the bar of soap.
Thoughts that aren’t my own
. The lives I stole—were they turning me into a monster?

I squeezed my eyes, forcing back crazy conclusions. I wouldn’t think that. If I pretended I was normal, I’d be fine. Callan was waiting for me; I couldn’t hide in here forever. 

By the time I dried myself, I was somewhat sane. Callan was outside that door and he wanted me. Tonight, we’d go for a nice dinner, maybe a walk on the beach, and then we’d indulge. There was nowhere I needed to be.

I gulped—that wasn't true. Murderers were killing right this moment. My jaw clenched. I wouldn't think about that either. Maurice made me promise to take a break. Callan was a good distraction.

Sucking a breath, making sure my towel was secure around me, I left the bathroom.

Callan was on the balcony, arms resting on the rail, ankles crossed, his gaze sad as he watched the sea. There were no waves, but the entire beach was bathed in orange. The sunset was perfect.

Swallowing, I ruffled my wet hair. “You can have the bathroom now.”

He spun around, freezing when he saw me. His eyes dropped to the bandage around my shoulder. His hands curled but he didn't say anything.

The room erupted with energy as he inched toward me. “You're wet.” My mind instantly went dirty and my mouth parted. Then I realized he meant from my shower. I didn't say anything as his fingertip caught my chin, tilting me to look up. “You're stunning.”

Blood rushed to my cheeks. I never blushed, and yet, this was the third or fourth time since we arrived. His effect on me was too violent. I stood on tiptoe and kissed him.

It was a match to a flame, a sizzle of gunpowder, and Callan's strong arms pulled me hard against him. His tongue darted into my mouth, while his hand fell to my lower back pushing me firm against his rapidly hardening erection.

He walked me backward to the bed. I tripped and fell onto the soft mattress. Callan pounced on me a moment later. My stitches tore a gasp from me, but I dragged his lips back to mine when he glanced at me with concern. It was sweet he was worried about me when he was injured himself. I noticed his wrist the moment he found me at the airport. Why was it bandaged?

His fingers fumbled on the knot in my towel, managing to spread it wide. The coldness in my blood caused me to shiver, even though the room was stinking hot. Callan hadn't put his t-shirt back on, and his skin was a bonfire against mine. I clawed him, wanting to leech his heat into me. To replace the chill inside.

Callan nuzzled my neck, taking my breast in his hand. His head dipped to suck my nipple. It resonated directly with my core.

“I'm so glad you're here, Ocean,” he murmured between kisses on my chest and throat.

I wanted to respond, to tell him how happy I was to be here too, despite my cold exterior protecting me, but my stomach decided to growl. Loudly.

Callan froze. His eyes dropped from my breast to my stomach. A smile quirked his lips, then broke into a full grin. “I take it you're hungry?”

My eyes snapped shut. How embarrassing. I was a garbage disposal when it came to food. Would he be repulsed by how much I could devour?

He laughed, dropping a kiss onto my lips. “How about we grab some dinner and then we,” he kissed me again, “finish what we started?”

I bit his neck. “That would be good. As you can see, I'm starving away.” I smiled.

He clambered off me, and wrapped my towel around me. “I can't look at you if you want to eat. You're way too much of a distraction.” His eyes were tight, lips pressed together. His restraint was admirable. 

Twenty minutes later we walked through the hotel grounds. Callan's hair was wet from his shower, a darker blond with droplets. We were guided by lamps illuminating shadows of palm trees. The night air was abloom with sea salt, frangipani blossom, and the smokiness of barbecue.

The sounds of waves licking the sand, and murmur of guests around the hotel was pure intoxication. I wanted to revel in it. To bask in the tropical enjoyment and fully relax.

But I couldn't relax. I was a prisoner. First manipulated by Maurice, then shackled here by Callan. But I was the one who truly held my-self inmate. My heart wanted to spring free and run wild. To get drunk on the blond man who held my hand and looked at me with such sweetness, but I couldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair to Callan. 

The hotel hosted a seafood barbecue and the smell made my stomach behave terribly. You'd think I hadn't eaten in months. Callan chuckled but I didn't know if he found it endearing, or just plain disgusting. I hoped it was the former because if he couldn't handle my eating habits, I might not have to chase him away after all.

The hotel staff was all smiles and bows and gracious hospitality. A handsome busboy guided us to a table draped in shadows and fairy lights, sandwiched between the glowing teal pool and beach.

“I didn't tell you before, but your dress is stunning,” Callan said once we'd sat.

I looked down, smoothing the beautiful scarlet and sequined halter. “It's the first time I've seen it. Maurice paid some shop to pack for me. Everything in my suitcase is brand new and completely impracticable.” I grinned, thinking how happy Maurice was when he ferried me off to the airport with a new passport and pre-packed suitcase. Silly man.

Callan smirked. “I think he has fabulous taste.”

His expression reminded me that he and Maurice were chummy behind my back. It was as if a switch clicked in my brain. My vision oozed with a red haze; my happy thoughts were smothered in oily hatred. I froze, trying to fight against the terrible urge to scream and stab a fork through Callan’s hand on the tablecloth. Fear clawed my throat as harsh thoughts filled my mind.
He’s a prick. Fraternizing with the one man who was supposed to be on my side and turning him against me. He’ll turn everyone against me. Kill him. Stop him.

I gasped, shaking my head, trying to dislodge the thick pulse of rage. It slowly diminished and I saw light again. What the
hell
was that?

Callan’s eyes were wide and his hand reached for mine. “Are you okay?”

I shook my head one last time. Was I okay? No. I shared my mind with a diseased evil that was close to subduing me. I needed help.

Instead of answering, I nodded. What were we talking about? Oh, yes, Maurice. I plastered an annoyed look on my face, trying to act normal. “I still haven't forgiven you.”

Callan cocked his head, eyes searching mine. After a moment, happy with what he saw, he stood. “Try to forgive me while I go and gather you some food.”