at me. I snapped my eyes to meet his, but probably a few seconds too late. He smiled, and my face felt like it might burst into flames, Gavrikov-style.
“Uhmm, well,” I said, full of wit and charm. And blushing. Lots of blushing. “I don’t, ah … know.”
“Are you checking me out?” he asked, a little coy. Not pouty, but … I don’t know. Adjectives failed me. His chest was … really muscled. And shiny. Because of the water.
“I’m trying to keep my eyes above your collarbone,” I said. Honestly I was.
“You’re failing.” Leave it to him to notice that. What a spectacular ass. Also, he was a jerk for pointing that out.
I pulled my gaze back to his face. “It’s not my fault you’re standing there all well-toned and … uh … wearing nothing but a towel.” I took a breath. “Is this Caesar’s Palace? Because I don’t remember walking into a toga party.”
He took a couple slow steps toward the bed. “I thought you were wrapped in barbed wire and coated in lemon juice?”
I cleared my throat. “You know I am. Which is why you should keep your distance.”
He took a step closer, coming to the end of the bed. “Oh?”
Part of me wanted to remind him that he’d said we didn’t have to discuss this until after Sovereign was dealt with. A very faint, fleeting part of me that I was trying desperately to find a metal box for, somewhere in my head. Too bad it didn’t work that way for my own personality. “Yeah. My touch kills, remember? You wouldn’t want to lose your soul.”
He came up to the side of the bed where I lay and sat down on the edge. I went completely still, not even daring to breathe. His fingers went to my shoulder and slid down my sleeve to my good arm. It felt … um … “I’m not going to lose my soul doing that, am I?”
“Ah, no, but …”
He leaned over and kissed me, just for a second. His breath was fresh and minty and I knew for damned sure that mine was not. He broke after just a second. “Am I going to lose my soul by doing that?”
“Do enough of it and you might.”
He leaned over me, his weight pressing me slowly to the bed. I could have thrown him off, easily, but I liked the feel of his bare chest against me. All the moisture was suddenly gone from his skin, and all I could feel was his warmth on top of me, bearing me down. He kissed me again, and I lost count of the seconds around three. He broke from me again and smiled.
“Your hand is on my ass,” I said. It was. I could feel the gentle pressure he was applying through my clothes.
“I’m not going to lose my soul doing that, am I?”
Your hand, maybe, but not your soul, Zack threw up from somewhere within me. To Scott I said, “No,” but I’m pretty sure my face betrayed me.
“What’s wrong?” Scott asked.
“Nothing,” I said. “We just … you know, there’s a time limit on these sort of things, and you’ve already spent quite a few seconds of it.” I didn’t want to be too self-conscious because, honestly, I was enjoying myself. But at the same time, the specter of possible death hung over my every physical interaction, and it was always—ALWAYS—acutely on my mind.
He kissed me again, and I lost track of time again. When we broke he was still smiling. “What’s the count?”
I blinked. “Hell if I know.”
His smile grew wider. “Feeling like living dangerously?”
“It’s your soul in peril, not mine.”
“Yeah, but you’d have to deal with me in your head from now on.” Why was he still grinning?
“After Wolfe and Bjorn, I think you’d be a picnic. On a summer’s day. With ham salad.”
His face creased. “Ham salad?”
I shrugged. “I like ham salad.”
He started to lean in for another kiss but a buzzing filled the air. He froze, and we stayed like that for a moment, staring into each other’s eyes until the realization hit me. I fumbled for my cell phone and looked at the faceplate. J.J. That little shit had a great sense of timing, that
“Uhmm, well,” I said, full of wit and charm. And blushing. Lots of blushing. “I don’t, ah … know.”
“Are you checking me out?” he asked, a little coy. Not pouty, but … I don’t know. Adjectives failed me. His chest was … really muscled. And shiny. Because of the water.
“I’m trying to keep my eyes above your collarbone,” I said. Honestly I was.
“You’re failing.” Leave it to him to notice that. What a spectacular ass. Also, he was a jerk for pointing that out.
I pulled my gaze back to his face. “It’s not my fault you’re standing there all well-toned and … uh … wearing nothing but a towel.” I took a breath. “Is this Caesar’s Palace? Because I don’t remember walking into a toga party.”
He took a couple slow steps toward the bed. “I thought you were wrapped in barbed wire and coated in lemon juice?”
I cleared my throat. “You know I am. Which is why you should keep your distance.”
He took a step closer, coming to the end of the bed. “Oh?”
Part of me wanted to remind him that he’d said we didn’t have to discuss this until after Sovereign was dealt with. A very faint, fleeting part of me that I was trying desperately to find a metal box for, somewhere in my head. Too bad it didn’t work that way for my own personality. “Yeah. My touch kills, remember? You wouldn’t want to lose your soul.”
He came up to the side of the bed where I lay and sat down on the edge. I went completely still, not even daring to breathe. His fingers went to my shoulder and slid down my sleeve to my good arm. It felt … um … “I’m not going to lose my soul doing that, am I?”
“Ah, no, but …”
He leaned over and kissed me, just for a second. His breath was fresh and minty and I knew for damned sure that mine was not. He broke after just a second. “Am I going to lose my soul by doing that?”
“Do enough of it and you might.”
He leaned over me, his weight pressing me slowly to the bed. I could have thrown him off, easily, but I liked the feel of his bare chest against me. All the moisture was suddenly gone from his skin, and all I could feel was his warmth on top of me, bearing me down. He kissed me again, and I lost count of the seconds around three. He broke from me again and smiled.
“Your hand is on my ass,” I said. It was. I could feel the gentle pressure he was applying through my clothes.
“I’m not going to lose my soul doing that, am I?”
Your hand, maybe, but not your soul, Zack threw up from somewhere within me. To Scott I said, “No,” but I’m pretty sure my face betrayed me.
“What’s wrong?” Scott asked.
“Nothing,” I said. “We just … you know, there’s a time limit on these sort of things, and you’ve already spent quite a few seconds of it.” I didn’t want to be too self-conscious because, honestly, I was enjoying myself. But at the same time, the specter of possible death hung over my every physical interaction, and it was always—ALWAYS—acutely on my mind.
He kissed me again, and I lost track of time again. When we broke he was still smiling. “What’s the count?”
I blinked. “Hell if I know.”
His smile grew wider. “Feeling like living dangerously?”
“It’s your soul in peril, not mine.”
“Yeah, but you’d have to deal with me in your head from now on.” Why was he still grinning?
“After Wolfe and Bjorn, I think you’d be a picnic. On a summer’s day. With ham salad.”
His face creased. “Ham salad?”
I shrugged. “I like ham salad.”
He started to lean in for another kiss but a buzzing filled the air. He froze, and we stayed like that for a moment, staring into each other’s eyes until the realization hit me. I fumbled for my cell phone and looked at the faceplate. J.J. That little shit had a great sense of timing, that
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