Page 29 of Love the Way You Lion
A new image blooms in my mind, vivid and ridiculous: me, lounging like a well-fed cat in velvet; her, in full death gear, glaring down anyone who so much as looks our way. The contrast is delicious. I send it to her without a word.
Her lips twitch. “So you want me to hang out with you? I don’t want to assume. I mean, I don’t look like the others at this damn thing in that pic.”
The honesty in her voice pulls me upright. I set the pad down, my fingers smudged in charcoal, and meet her gaze. “You’re a perfect contrast to me, love. Nothing wrong with that picture, except maybe you’re standing way too far away from me.”
She smiles—just a little, but it’s the kind of smile that makes me feel like I’ve won something rare. She sends the second blade flying—it hits the first with a musical ring, like twin tuning forks vibrating with tension. “If you want me to, I’ll go.”
My mind snaps back to the vision, only now she’s sprawled across my lap, the same glare in her eyes, but possessive, defiant, even. It shows that I’m hers. I push it towards her and grin. “That’s much better,” I say, reaching for a fresh sheet. “I’ll let you help paint me into the latex.”
She makes a face. “Is that what I’m supposed to wear? Hell, I don’t even know what one wears to that kind of party.”
“Leather, feathers, latex, fishnet—anything can be a fetish, baby.”
“Since that covers most of my daily wardrobe, I think I’m good.”
I grin. “The cat’s wearing the better part of two jars of liquid latex, some leather, and not much else, I think.”
She groans. “Christ, the bird will have his feathersallover her.”
I shrug because that doesn't bother me. “I’ve seen the picture. We won’t see them much, I think.”
Her gaze darkens, and she saunters closer, all sin and shadows, flashing a grin that promises danger and delight. “Baby, if I do it right, you wouldn’t notice them if they were sitting on your lap.”
Gods, I love her.
“I like the sound of that.”
“I’ll think of something, and it won’t be subtle. You have trouble with that. Maybe blood body paint?”
I make a show of looking scandalized. “That would only draw drooling hordes and cramp your body guarding gig.”
“Hordes?” She arches an eyebrow, intrigued for half a second, then shrugs. “Eh. Not if it interferes with my job, alas.”
“Hell, yes, hordes. I would get lost in a sea of chits trying to remove my pants with their sodding teeth.”
Okay, so maybe a dramatic exaggeration. But the way her eyes slit and her smile curves—yeah, she’s picturing it. She sends the image right back: blood-drenched females, rabid-eyed, crawling toward me like I’m dessert. I bark out a laugh. Only Talia would think that’s the appropriate reaction at a social event.
“That’s not the besssst idea for their health.”
“There are two chits I want to keep a distance from, so it’s good you’re going to be there,” I add, serious now.
She stops, narrowing her eyes. “Who? I need them on my list.”
“Heather. Tamara. Amanda. All of them hit on every clone and droid that moves, and my girl kept me away from them in groups. But Amanda’s the worst, given her connection to Constantine.”
She slides into my space, her skin brushing mine, warmth grounding me. “Deli hooking up with him puts you in Amanda’s sights?”
“Think so. Amanda was kind of… involved with Alistair too, maybe. She got hurt—not like us, but still. I think she’s trying to fill a void.”
“And now she sees you as a replacement for something she lost.” Her voice is steel under silk.
I nod. “Probably. But what I told you before was true—I never move fast. I’m not in the market to be anyone’s emotional bandage.”
Her legs straddle mine now, her hands on my shoulders, grounding both of us. “Why me?” she asks, voice low and thoughtful. “Why did you move fast with me?”
I stare up at her, and everything that ever made sense slips into place. “Because I trusted you,” I say simply. “You weren’t looking to use me to patch a hole. You didn’t want a distraction. You wanted me. For me. That’s… never happened before—not really.”
She’s quiet for a moment, processing. I love this about her—how she doesn’t rush the answer, doesn’t pretend she already knows everything. She listens. She thinks. “I’m not large on conquests or headboard notches, no,” she finally murmurs.
