hive. But I digress.
Not Prey, we need you to find and retrieve our young, and time is of the essence. I will consult with the others as to what payment we could make for this service that you would accept as adequate.
She was gone. My head was suddenly echoingly silent; my thoughts my own. I stared out the bus windows, trying to make heads or tails of the fact that the Thrall queens actually seemed to be acting…reasonable. That was just so wrong.
6
« ^ »
The mouth-watering scents of garlic bread and Italian food wafted to me as the freight elevator rose toward my apartment. My stomach was growling audibly before the car had come to a stop. The gates opened to reveal an apartment lit by dozens of white candles.
I looked around, taking it all in as Tom stepped forward.
My eyes widened, and my breath caught in my throat. He looked utterly amazing. He wore perfectly tailored black dress slacks, and a black collarless shirt in raw silk. The matte black of the fabric was the perfect frame for the warm tanned skin of his throat and chest.
He smiled at my reaction, flashing deep dimples, the skin at the corners of his chocolate brown eyes crinkling a little.
“Glad you like it.” He took both my hands in his and pulled me into the apartment until we were next to the kitchen island. Letting go of my left hand, he reached over and plucked a wine glass from the counter and handed it over to me.
“Wow.” I took a sip. It wasn’t the cheap stuff I occasionally buy. This stuff actually tasted good. “I feel seriously under-dressed.”
“You always look beautiful, Katie.” Tom reached up to cup my face in his hand before laying a gentle kiss on my lips. Soft, warm, it tasted just a little of red wine.
I shivered, as my body reacted to his touch, my pulse racing at the thought of what I wanted to do with him.
“Dinner first,” he teased, pulling back a step and letting go of my hand. “Don’t want to waste perfectly good takeout.”
I laughed. Tom doesn’t cook. He considers it a failing of his. I don’t. If I need something cooked, I can do it myself. When I don’t, there’s always take-out, and the man does know all the best take-out joints in Denver. His grin warmed me to my toes. “Good to see you can still laugh. I was worried about you.” It felt good to hear him say that; to know that he really had worried, that there was someone in my life who cared enough to want to share not only the good times, but the tough ones as well.
I nodded. “Rough day.”
“Tell me over dinner,” he suggested. “Then after dinner I’ll see what I can do to make you forget all about it.” He winked, and I laughed again.
The timer on the oven dinged, and Tom walked over to turn it off. He started gathering dishes and silverware from the various cupboards as I watched.
“So, which do you want first, the bad news, the really bad news, or the completely horrible, unbelievably rotten news?” I forced myself to keep the tone light. He was trying so very hard to cheer me up. Hell, I wanted him to cheer me up. Then I wanted wild, passionate sex, and to curl up against him and sleep in blessed silence for the night.
“Gee, honey,” he teased, “you make them all sound wonderful. You pick.” He picked up a wine glass that matched mine and raised it in a mock toast.
I gave a snort of laughter. I started with the problems with Bryan, because they were the ones that hurt the most. It didn’t take long to tell, but before I’d finished my throat was tight and there were tears in my eyes again, damn it. My hand was shaking enough that I was afraid I would spill what was left of the wine, so I set the glass onto the smooth, tile surface of the counter.
Tom set his glass beside mine and pulled me into a hug. “It’ll be all right. We’ll think of something.” He buried his face in my hair—and sneezed. I gave a shaky laugh and pulled back a couple of steps. “I take it I didn’t get all the rotten meat scent
Not Prey, we need you to find and retrieve our young, and time is of the essence. I will consult with the others as to what payment we could make for this service that you would accept as adequate.
She was gone. My head was suddenly echoingly silent; my thoughts my own. I stared out the bus windows, trying to make heads or tails of the fact that the Thrall queens actually seemed to be acting…reasonable. That was just so wrong.
6
« ^ »
The mouth-watering scents of garlic bread and Italian food wafted to me as the freight elevator rose toward my apartment. My stomach was growling audibly before the car had come to a stop. The gates opened to reveal an apartment lit by dozens of white candles.
I looked around, taking it all in as Tom stepped forward.
My eyes widened, and my breath caught in my throat. He looked utterly amazing. He wore perfectly tailored black dress slacks, and a black collarless shirt in raw silk. The matte black of the fabric was the perfect frame for the warm tanned skin of his throat and chest.
He smiled at my reaction, flashing deep dimples, the skin at the corners of his chocolate brown eyes crinkling a little.
“Glad you like it.” He took both my hands in his and pulled me into the apartment until we were next to the kitchen island. Letting go of my left hand, he reached over and plucked a wine glass from the counter and handed it over to me.
“Wow.” I took a sip. It wasn’t the cheap stuff I occasionally buy. This stuff actually tasted good. “I feel seriously under-dressed.”
“You always look beautiful, Katie.” Tom reached up to cup my face in his hand before laying a gentle kiss on my lips. Soft, warm, it tasted just a little of red wine.
I shivered, as my body reacted to his touch, my pulse racing at the thought of what I wanted to do with him.
“Dinner first,” he teased, pulling back a step and letting go of my hand. “Don’t want to waste perfectly good takeout.”
I laughed. Tom doesn’t cook. He considers it a failing of his. I don’t. If I need something cooked, I can do it myself. When I don’t, there’s always take-out, and the man does know all the best take-out joints in Denver. His grin warmed me to my toes. “Good to see you can still laugh. I was worried about you.” It felt good to hear him say that; to know that he really had worried, that there was someone in my life who cared enough to want to share not only the good times, but the tough ones as well.
I nodded. “Rough day.”
“Tell me over dinner,” he suggested. “Then after dinner I’ll see what I can do to make you forget all about it.” He winked, and I laughed again.
The timer on the oven dinged, and Tom walked over to turn it off. He started gathering dishes and silverware from the various cupboards as I watched.
“So, which do you want first, the bad news, the really bad news, or the completely horrible, unbelievably rotten news?” I forced myself to keep the tone light. He was trying so very hard to cheer me up. Hell, I wanted him to cheer me up. Then I wanted wild, passionate sex, and to curl up against him and sleep in blessed silence for the night.
“Gee, honey,” he teased, “you make them all sound wonderful. You pick.” He picked up a wine glass that matched mine and raised it in a mock toast.
I gave a snort of laughter. I started with the problems with Bryan, because they were the ones that hurt the most. It didn’t take long to tell, but before I’d finished my throat was tight and there were tears in my eyes again, damn it. My hand was shaking enough that I was afraid I would spill what was left of the wine, so I set the glass onto the smooth, tile surface of the counter.
Tom set his glass beside mine and pulled me into a hug. “It’ll be all right. We’ll think of something.” He buried his face in my hair—and sneezed. I gave a shaky laugh and pulled back a couple of steps. “I take it I didn’t get all the rotten meat scent
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