Page 27 of A Shot in the Dark
“No one’s talked to you about any of this… Have they?”
I blink.
“Who the fuck raised you?” He takes off his cap and runs his hand through short dark hair the color of a moonless night. He places the cap beside the belt on the table.
“After my parents died? I raised myself.”
“Shit. There it is.” His head drops. “Shit. You were telling the truth.”
“Of course I was. I can’t… I can’t lie to you, Boots.”
“You haveno one.”
It’s one thing to think it, another to say it. It’s even worse having someone acknowledge how truly alone you are in the universe. The pang in my heart that’s always present like a soft reminder of my loss becomes an open wound and I look away.
“Shit. To be so alone—and not by choice? Shit.” His hand lands lightly on my shoulder and I look up into the face of a man who has suddenly realized he has absolutely no choice. “That’s not the way things should ever be. Oh,shit.” He lifts his hands long enough to rub at his eyes. “Someone needs to protect you—you clearly can’t protect yourself.”
He glances over his shoulder at the door, and I worry he’s going to spin on his heel and leave the room as fast as he entered. He shakes his head, seems to steady himself, muttering, “Seven days. I can take it. I can make it work. I can do anything for seven days…” like he’s hyping himself up—but why? The little bit I know of Boots from the things he’s let slip or that I’ve extracted leads me to believe Boots doesn’t need to hype himself up.
He is fucking amazing.
“What do you mean—you can doanythingfor seven days?”
He looks up at me, cowed.
“Princess, you don’t want to know. Everything costs something… And I need to pay a price to keep you safe. So that’s exactly what I’ll do. Because I can’t leave you all alone.Shit. If I had known from the start what was being asked of me… But I didn’t. And I can’t keep you either—no matter how… used to you… I’ve grown.” He laughs bitterly. “Regardless of all the perfect gold star-worthy fucking—if I do say so myself—you and I are incompatible in all the ways that matter in my world.”
He sits on the edge of the chair, leaning over to untie the boots he’s the namesake of. So close to pristine with only the faintest scuff mark on each toe. He swipes at the scuff marks with his thumbs, his frustration clear. “I can offer you cover, at least. Play shield. Temporarily.”
“Tell me what I’m consenting to.”
He pauses, gaze pinned to the floor. “Skin-to-skin contact. And a lot of it. The hotter—the sweatier—the better.”
“So far I’m not hearing a reason for me not to consent…”
“I need to make my scent so powerful on you—mark you so thoroughly—that everyone will smell me on you.”
“I’m allowed to still shower, right? Because, although I don’t find your scent entirely unpleasant?—”
“That’s what I’ve always been waiting to hear from a woman. Somehow I doubt any manufacturer of cologne is going to start selling one called ‘Not Entirely Unpleasant’... Fuck my life. Yeah, princess. You’ll still be able to shower.” He grunts then looks up at me, fingers on his laces. “I know you like the boots, but physics requires their removal to take off my pants…”
Sprawled on the bed, watching him while I chew on my lip, I comment, “The traction has been an asset…”
He gives me a smile that I realize now is more tired than anything else.
“...but if physics dictates they need to come off…”
He nods, seeming lost in thought as he tugs one boot off, then another. Peels off his socks.
He stands and begins unbuttoning his shirt, black gloves a sharp contrast to the white fabric.
He looks down, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Also, I need to bite you. On the back of your neck.”
“What, are you some sort of vampire?”
The laugh that comes out of him is sharp and short. “Hardly.” He lifts his head again, looking at me. “I won’t bite you hard,” he promises. “More than a nip but…I won’t break skin. No blood. And I’ll do my best to time it so…” His lips twist wickedly and for a moment the exhaustion seems to lift. “…itwon’thurt.”
“Ah.” He’s already planning how to time it so I come at just the right moment. “That military precision of yours coming into play. Oo-rah,” I whisper.
