The Bastard (12 page)

She climbed from bed and searched for her cell. It was nine-thirty-two in the morning. Her battery was dangerously low. She couldn’t even complete a call to Annie before it died. She didn’t see a landline anywhere.

Anxious to find Erik and his cell phone, she headed toward the open bathroom door. The bathroom was slightly less disgusting than the one she’d stumbled into last night, but she eyed the toilet with trepidation. Nature forced her to lower her standards.

Her image in the streaky mirror took her back. Her scrapes and bruises were gone. Ripping her tee shirt off, she stared at her stomach. Smooth, unblemished skin. She ran her fingers over her ribs. They didn’t even twinge with her exaggerated inhale.

“What the hell?”

She craned her neck, searching every millimeter of her skin. Not one tiny greenish-tinged bruise remained. No pale pinkness from her forehead scrape. Not even a zit on her chin. Darting back into the bedroom, she checked her cell. It glowed a split second, just long enough for her to check the date. She hadn’t slept two weeks away, just about twelve hours. Twelve hours of deep, blissful, dreamless sleep that had begun when she passed out in the bathroom.

Her brain cramped. Sela’s kiss. It had felt different. Not different in that it’d come from a woman, but different like she’d kissed a battery. Every injury she had, that she now
didn’t
have, had tingled. But nobody could cure with a kiss, could they?

Lacy shook her head, shoving off her fears. She watched too many movies. Her lifestyle was pretty healthy. Maybe her injuries weren’t as bad as she’d thought. At least she was alive, something that nine other people couldn’t claim. Guilt weighed down on her shoulders but physically, she felt great. Energy pumped through her veins and her muscles nearly crackled with health and vigor. She needed to move.

The pounding water was like nirvana and she lathered and rinsed, shampooed and managed to avoid gagging at the soap film on the shower walls. She even managed to not cringe at the less than sanitary clean towels. If she was going to stay with Erik, her first order of business was going to be cleaning this damn bathroom. Maybe she couldn’t stop whoever was after her, but she sure as hell could wipe out a few million germs.

Ignoring the niggle of bad manners, she dug through Erik’s dresser until she found a tee shirt and a pair of sweat shorts. They were too big, but she pulled the drawstring until it hung to her knees to tighten the waist. She’d have to get into town sometime and pick up some new clothes. At least her purse sat on the dresser, spared from the flames because it had been locked in his truck while she worked the fair. She had her wallet and her credit cards and about sixty bucks in cash.

Unshed tears stung her nose. Her life had been reduced to the contents of a knock-off handbag.

A note perched on the bedside table caught her eye.

Lace,

Kitchen is on level one if you’re hungry. I’m working down in the basement, but will come up and check on you later. Rest. Remote’s on the couch.

~Erik

Rest was the last thing she wanted, but a cup of tea would be wonderful. Her grumbling stomach could use some food, too. She tied her damp hair back into a ponytail and bounded out of the room barefoot.

The outer room held the same panel-draped wall, a couch and an entertainment center that rivaled the one downstairs. A gorgeous ocean print took up the entire wall above the couch but there were few other personal touches. A pair of skis and a set of snowshoes were piled in one corner. The coffee table looked like it had clock parts strewn across it.

A bar separated the room from a tiny kitchenette in basic white. The small refrigerator held nothing but beer and ketchup. Lacy curled her lip. How did bachelors live this way?

She didn’t have a key so she left the door unlocked and went into the hall. Looking left and right, she saw nothing but white walls that stretched for what seemed like a hundred yards. She turned right for no other reason except she was right-handed. At one point, the wall angled and there was another nondescript door. This same bend and stretch continued. Each segment contained two doors, which she assumed meant two apartments. A silly thought about leaving a trail of breadcrumbs struck and she snorted. That required bread, something Erik didn’t have in his apartment.

There had to be a set of stairs somewhere. She stopped beside a third door with a frown. It was cracked open so she pushed on it. Laundry room, nothing exciting there and no way downstairs. She tucked her bottom lip beneath her teeth and tapped on another door. When there was no answer, she turned the knob. She stuck her head inside and light from the hallway spilled in. It was someone’s apartment and, although the layout was exactly like Erik’s, this one was so colorful it hurt her eyes.

Layers of silk drapings, tufted pillows and ornate gold candleholders created a rich, exotic feel. The walls were a deep plum and the heavy fragrance of incense lingered. Light winked off something silver and she craned her neck for a better look. Three curved swords lay on the counter. One had tassels streaming from the hilt, one rested on a sharpening stone and one held dark smudges.

Who the hell lived here? Genghis Khan?
She shut the door quickly.

Near the fourth door, she found an elevator. She pressed the down arrow and watched the numbers above the doorway light up. She made a mental note of her path for when she returned. She was going to have to put a marker up somehow or she end up walking into the wrong apartment.

The inside panel of the elevator intrigued her. An unmarked button sat at the bottom, beneath the basement garage level. It was black where the others were normal white with numbers. Ignoring the whisper of curiosity, she pressed One.

Noise assaulted her when the steel doors slid open. Both televisions were blaring, one an Arabic news station, the other a soccer game. On one of the long couches, two men studied stacks of papers and compared them to separate laptop screens, not bothering to glance up. Vike had spewed off names last night but she wasn’t sure…

The dog stretching reminded her.
Omen bites
. Omen belonged to the swarthy-skinned man with the beard wearing the “You! Out of the Gene Pool” tee shirt. Holey sweatpants and dingy socks didn’t mesh with the intense intelligence in his eyes as he scoured a page.

What was his name? She couldn’t remember. He pushed thick dark brown hair out of his eyes then dropped his hand and gently scratched the dog’s back. Omen wiggled closer to his touch. Any man who loved a pet that much couldn’t be too big of an asshole, she thought.

The notion vanished when he suddenly looked up. His scowl seemed sliced into his craggy face. The spreadsheet in his hand crinkled as he nudged the man beside him.

This one she recalled. Myth. The snake tattoo was a hell of a calling card. He pointed a remote at the sound system and the television volume lowered. “Good morning, Lacy.”

“Morning.” Clearing her throat, she stepped closer. “Erik said there was a kitchen around here.”

He motioned behind him. A long counter separated the kitchen from the living area. She’d been so out of it last night, she’d missed it. “Ah. I see, said the blind chick.”

Myth chuckled. “Sela made sure there were fresh groceries. Help yourself.”

Sunlight flooded the room. Only half the kitchen was open to the living room. The other half, the functional half, astounded her. It was a cook’s dream kitchen with industrial grade appliances, granite countertops, and rows of cabinets. She ran her fingertips over the cool marble top of the center island, perfect for dough prep. She hurried to a stove with six gas burners. The hinges moved soundlessly as she cracked open the double doors below. She exhaled slowly. There was a warming drawer.

Unlike the other rooms, this one was spotless. The ovens looked like they had never been used and the refrigerator was pristine and filled with fresh food. Wildly opening cabinets, Lacy mentally cataloged every item. There was enough food for an army and then some. Front and center, she found the Holy Grail.

She sucked in the fragrance of imported English Breakfast tea. She didn’t recognize the label but the scent alone invigorated her. In minutes, she had a kettle heating and was digging for the makings of the breakfast to end all breakfasts. She’d never been so hungry. Her hand paused on a sack of potatoes.

She poked her head over the counter. “Hey guys?”

Nomad, that was his name. It hit her like a bolt of lightning when he looked up.

“If I’m cooking, it’s just as easy to cook for a couple more. Do you want some brunch?” They glanced at each other. Irritation shot through her. “I do this for a living. I promise it will be edible.”

“Sure, if it’s not any trouble.” Myth nodded.

Nomad shrugged. Her spine stiffened. Well, he could eat or not, she was fixing it. And what the hell was with their names? Nomad? Myth? What kind of names were those? They had to be call signs or something, like in the military movies her dad used to love. What was the problem with plain old Bob or Tom or Joe?

Surrounded by her world of kitchen harmony, she was barely aware of other voices in the adjacent room. She glanced out the window over the sink. Nothing looked familiar. The mountains were exploding in the autumn colors of russet, gold and persimmon, but they were steeper than she was used to. The noise level increased. A quick glance showed Erik and two others had come in. Lacy chewed her lip.

The men in the other room were strangers and scary as hell. Well, the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. She really didn’t want their hearts but still, a little bacon went a long way toward making friends. She whipped a batch of pancakes, guesstimating the portions and adding more eggs.

Erik and Dray were both soaking wet. She glanced back at the sun pouring through the window. What’d they do, run through the sprinklers?

“Brunch in ten,” she called. “Go dry off.”

Erik’s eyes widened. He abandoned his teammates and headed toward the kitchen. Grace infused his stride like a great cat, all lithe power and harnessed savagery. Water squished in his boots and trickled along his chin. He looked over her outfit with his forehead wrinkled. “That’s an interesting look.”

“Sorry, I raided your dresser.” She pulled a tray of biscuits out of the oven. “I hope that’s okay.”

Erik shrugged. “If it keeps you from being naked in front of these guys, I’m all for it.”

“Where’d you sleep last night?”

He blinked. “What?”

“There wasn’t a blanket on your couch and —” A blush warmed her face. “— you didn’t sleep with me, so I just wondered. I hate the idea I’m forcing you out of your own apartment.”

He captured her ponytail in his hand, running his fingers through it. “You’re not. And I like the idea of you in my bed. I just want to be there, too. When you’re awake.”

The skillet was hot, eggs just starting to cook, but his words sent heat through her from the inside out. She looked up at him from beneath lowered lashes. “Are you saying I have to sleep with you for a place to stay?”

A spark flared in his eyes, silver in the gunmetal gray. “I could be a gentleman and say no… but I’ve never been a gentleman.”

The playful twitch around his mouth sent a tendril of desire snaking through her belly. She rose to her tiptoes, her mouth an inch from his. “Then I’ll sleep on the couch and you can have the bed all to yourself.”

“Witch,” he chuckled. Hard arms came around her waist, lifted her and pressed her to his chest. His kiss was deep and wet. His clothes were wet, too, and soaked the front of her tee shirt.

She angled back. “Hey, you’re going to give the others a show if you don’t let me go. Why are you wet, anyway?”

“It’s raining in Portugal.”

Resignation erased her questions. More secrecy involving his job. “Okay, whatever.”

His focus landed on her mouth, his voice dropping to a sultry whisper. “Lace, you don’t have to sleep with me because you’re staying here, but I’d be lying if I said I don’t want you.”

“Same here.” She pressed at his chest, halting him when he leaned in close at her words. “But we’re practically strangers.”

One of them had to be the responsible one, even if the irresponsible choice was so very, very tempting. His mouth was inches from her skin. His wet, silky hair grazed the underside of her chin as he placed a soft kiss on her neck. The simple contact was very close to her undoing. He smelled of rain and salt and earthy maleness. His lips nibbled up to the shell of her ear and she teetered on the edge of giving in right there in the kitchen, with his team mates just outside the room.

“We might be strangers, but by morning, we’d know each other damned well.”

The low, husky promise had her nipples peaking against the soft cotton of the pilfered tee shirt, had her fingers slicking up his damp nape to thread into his hair. “Morning can bring regrets, too. Let’s just see what happens, okay?”

“That sounds like a challenge.”

Her laugh bubbled out. “No, a quest for my hero… Seduce me.”

“I can do that.” A wicked grin curved his lip.

She stepped out of his arms. “I’m sure you can, but for now, you have ten minutes if you want hot food. Go clean up.”

“Lace.” Low and private, his whisper trickled over her skin. “You don’t have to earn your keep here, either in my bed or in the kitchen. Rest, take it easy.”

The hot bread burned her fingertips as she loaded a basket, tossing a dishtowel over the top to trap the steam. Some of her contentment bled away. She’d used cooking as a soothing balm and now felt guilty, as if she’d overstepped some hidden line. “This wasn’t a chore for me. It’s something I wanted to do, that’s all.”

His fingers were cool as they slid along her cheek. “Okay.”

She wanted to turn her head and press her cheek into his palm but the eggs would burn. She stepped away and gave them a quick stir. The false-scowl she shot him was tinged in play. “You’re not eating at my table in those wet clothes. Go change.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He dropped a kiss on her lips and stole a biscuit from the basket before heading toward the elevator.