Page 60 of Love the Way You Lion
“Mmm hmmm. You took out a target all by your lonesome. I’m very pleased.”
“I was all worked up and thought I’d jump you when I got home, because of all the energy and stuff, but this is good, too.”
I fall back against the bed and groan. “I’m cursed with bad timing, love.”
“Bad timing?”
“Yeah. I missed a jumping moment, and you got all clean and soft like.”
“You have been seducing me since we sat down, so I don’t think it’s all a write-off.”
I grin. “True enough. Jumping notwithstanding, I’m having a right good time with how we are.”
“It’s a pleasant change from all the ugly.”
“Being drama-free is nice; I’ll give you that, minx.”
She goes still for a moment, and I realize she hears her mate in her head. Of all the bloody times for that git to drop a line, he does itnow? “Bloody hell. What now? Sampson can’t give us a night off?”
Her eyes roll up at me and she snorts. “Oh, yes, because he bothers me every night while we’re shagging or killing.” She listens again and sighs. “No, it’s Talia. It seems like there’s a problem with her arm. Nothing serious, but it needs the healing touch.”
I straighten while I connect with my primary, verifying what the artist told my wife. She apparates a bottle out of—somewhere, hell, I don’t know. She’s getting eerie with the magick and disapparating. I’m not sure where anything comes from anymore.
“Shall we away, then? This one shouldn’t take but a few. Nothing I can’t do, barehanded and all.”
“Let me, love. Save your strength for the strong-willed and daft.” I take her hand and sigh. “I’m going to hide that woman, I swear it.”
“I was planning on letting you do the work, baby. I’m saving myenergy for the workout afterward.” Her eyes dance as she pulls my arms around her.
I grin, admiring her pluck and groping her bum, then disapparate us both to her other house to find our mates.
And kill them if it keeps me from getting laid tonight.
The Artist Sends An SOS
RAFE
I’m in the studio, working on an interesting sketch while I watch for her to get home from work. Since I’m not burdened with that responsibility, I’m relaxing in my big comfy chair and sipping bourbon. She strides in, clad in low-rise jeans and a tank top, her bronze skin glowing against the purple of the sling her right arm is—wait a minute.
Like a thief in the night, she heads to the closet, trying to hide that she’s shucking a brace and wincing. I see Precious on her left thigh instead of her right, and I know it’s bad. She never throws lefty with Precious unless she has to. I keep quiet, pretending not to notice that she’s struggling with unbuckling her sheath one-handed.
If she’s going to pretend, I’ll let her.
I head to the bathroom to wash the charcoal off my hands and arms. “I feel that, you know. Don’t think you’re fooling anyone, love.”
A flurry of mental images about snooping mates and death fills my head, and I chuckle. “You’re not supposed to feel me when I’m blocking you, damn it. Only Taurus has ever been able to.”
I feel her glowering in the other room and I snort, coming into the room. I have on low-slung track pants and I’m bare-chested with my hair undone. It’s her favorite look outside of naked, so I give her a minute to stare before I speak. “You only say that because I caught you trying to pretend that it isn’t killing you. It could get you killed in a nasty scrape and you are being hard headed as hell about it. It’s not snooping if I feel it without thinking about it.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “What do you mean; you could feel it? You’re not—that’s not supposed to—are you empathic?”
“Not last time I checked,” I shrug. “I could feel you hurting and then heard you hiss. Then I felt you hurting again. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was hurting.”
She stomps her foot, and it makes me grin. Cats of a feather and all that. “You’re not supposed todo that. I’m empathic with full shields to keep from bleeding into people. If you feel my pain when I’m blocking everyone, that means...” She stops, her brow furrowing and looking as if she’s contemplating something deep.
“It means what? It doesn’t happen all the bloody time. I guess I’ve always been kind of intuitive about people and feelings. I’m a sensitive bloke, that’s all.”
“Oh. Okay. Maybe it didn’t mean what I thought. That’s good. You’re intuitive and nothing else. Good.” She frowns again, and it takes everything in me, not to mention the big ass shiner on the right side of her face.
