to be something she might be able to relate to.
"I craved knowledge of every kind. Every book I could read on any subject. Every physical ability and way of fighting, and of course the use of psychic gifts—anything and everything, I soaked up like a sponge. I needed to learn all the time."
Because knowledge was power and it meant he would survive. It meant he would grow strong and invincible, that he could use his body as a weapon. That he could use his knives, guns, thin wire and anything else. That he could use his brain to stay alive. He needed to be stronger and faster and smarter than his enemies, and in the end he would see fear in their eyes instead of that little boy shivering in a corner, trying to make himself small so no one would notice him.
She caught glimpses of a small boy with dark curls huddled beneath a table. Terror consumed him, spread through her and left her close to tears. The memory was gone almost immediately.
To cover her reaction, Joley took a long drink of water, keeping her gaze above his head. What did she really know about him? Absolutely nothing. She had judged him mainly on rumors and his looks. She stole a quick glance.
His shoulders were wide, his chest thick and muscular. Dark hair made his blue eyes all the more startling. There was an innate toughness about him, and etched into his face were lines of hard experience. More than all that, danger clung to his aura, a dark, moody color and scent that felt violent and frightening, and where she might be able to ignore everything else, she couldn't ignore what her senses told her. He might be a bodyguard, but he was much, much more. That danger drew her like a magnet and yet repelled her at the same time.
"Do you have siblings?"
He shrugged his broad shoulders, a mere ripple of muscle, the movement casual, his gaze hot. "I have six brothers, but I didn't grow up with them. I've never been able to find them." And he had abundant resources all over the world—which meant they were dead—or they didn't want to be found.
"How sad for you—and for them. My family is everything to me. I can't imagine what it must be like to know you have someone but not be able to be with them."
"As I don't know them, it doesn't much matter."
She blinked. It made sense, but he wasn't telling the entire truth. He stayed close to her mind, sliding in and out at will and leaving behind impressions. He had wanted a family, and her family made the yearning all the more sharp. She didn't want to feel sympathy for him, or to picture him as a little boy with a mop of curls, scared and hungry. It made her all the more vulnerable to him.
"Why did you come here tonight?"
"You haven't been sleeping." He kept his gaze fixed on her.
She had thought his gaze cold, but the piercing blue had turned into something altogether different—glittering, hungry, almost like a very cunning animal waiting to leap and devour prey. She shivered and willed her blood not to surge so hotly in her veins. "You stopped talking to me."
"Is that why you can't sleep?"
"I wasn't sleeping when you were talking to me," she pointed out. "And I'm too exhausted to have a battle of the wits with you. What do you want?"
"I'm going to lie down with you and get you to sleep."
She nearly snorted water out her nose. "Are you crazy? I'm not getting in a bed with you. We wouldn't be sleeping."
"One of us has discipline."
"Really?" Her eyebrow shot up, and deliberately she slid her gaze over his body in a long, slow perusal. Her tongue touched her bottom lip while her fingers instinctively stroked the mark—his mark—on her hand.
He moved. It was a subtle shift, but there was no doubt in her mind he was easing the sudden tightness of his jeans. She could see the thick evidence in the front of his lap that the stroke over the mark affected more than just her. Dark lust glittered in his eyes, and the hunger grew ravenous.
"You're playing with fire," he said softly. "I came here to help you
"I craved knowledge of every kind. Every book I could read on any subject. Every physical ability and way of fighting, and of course the use of psychic gifts—anything and everything, I soaked up like a sponge. I needed to learn all the time."
Because knowledge was power and it meant he would survive. It meant he would grow strong and invincible, that he could use his body as a weapon. That he could use his knives, guns, thin wire and anything else. That he could use his brain to stay alive. He needed to be stronger and faster and smarter than his enemies, and in the end he would see fear in their eyes instead of that little boy shivering in a corner, trying to make himself small so no one would notice him.
She caught glimpses of a small boy with dark curls huddled beneath a table. Terror consumed him, spread through her and left her close to tears. The memory was gone almost immediately.
To cover her reaction, Joley took a long drink of water, keeping her gaze above his head. What did she really know about him? Absolutely nothing. She had judged him mainly on rumors and his looks. She stole a quick glance.
His shoulders were wide, his chest thick and muscular. Dark hair made his blue eyes all the more startling. There was an innate toughness about him, and etched into his face were lines of hard experience. More than all that, danger clung to his aura, a dark, moody color and scent that felt violent and frightening, and where she might be able to ignore everything else, she couldn't ignore what her senses told her. He might be a bodyguard, but he was much, much more. That danger drew her like a magnet and yet repelled her at the same time.
"Do you have siblings?"
He shrugged his broad shoulders, a mere ripple of muscle, the movement casual, his gaze hot. "I have six brothers, but I didn't grow up with them. I've never been able to find them." And he had abundant resources all over the world—which meant they were dead—or they didn't want to be found.
"How sad for you—and for them. My family is everything to me. I can't imagine what it must be like to know you have someone but not be able to be with them."
"As I don't know them, it doesn't much matter."
She blinked. It made sense, but he wasn't telling the entire truth. He stayed close to her mind, sliding in and out at will and leaving behind impressions. He had wanted a family, and her family made the yearning all the more sharp. She didn't want to feel sympathy for him, or to picture him as a little boy with a mop of curls, scared and hungry. It made her all the more vulnerable to him.
"Why did you come here tonight?"
"You haven't been sleeping." He kept his gaze fixed on her.
She had thought his gaze cold, but the piercing blue had turned into something altogether different—glittering, hungry, almost like a very cunning animal waiting to leap and devour prey. She shivered and willed her blood not to surge so hotly in her veins. "You stopped talking to me."
"Is that why you can't sleep?"
"I wasn't sleeping when you were talking to me," she pointed out. "And I'm too exhausted to have a battle of the wits with you. What do you want?"
"I'm going to lie down with you and get you to sleep."
She nearly snorted water out her nose. "Are you crazy? I'm not getting in a bed with you. We wouldn't be sleeping."
"One of us has discipline."
"Really?" Her eyebrow shot up, and deliberately she slid her gaze over his body in a long, slow perusal. Her tongue touched her bottom lip while her fingers instinctively stroked the mark—his mark—on her hand.
He moved. It was a subtle shift, but there was no doubt in her mind he was easing the sudden tightness of his jeans. She could see the thick evidence in the front of his lap that the stroke over the mark affected more than just her. Dark lust glittered in his eyes, and the hunger grew ravenous.
"You're playing with fire," he said softly. "I came here to help you
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