Dangerous Games (Aegis Group, #3) (8 page)

“I’ll get with Miranda. Get employee records.”

“It’s someone I know.”

He should stay away. She was strong. She’d pull herself together.

Then why was he moving, sitting next to her? It was like his better judgment was now a backseat observer to his more reckless self.

Zain pulled her almost into his lap and held her. Because it felt right and she was alone. Because he knew how tough it could be on clients to go through these betrayals. But mostly because he couldn’t take any more of her tears.

This was going to go very, very wrong.

Speckle’s text was a single emoji. A thumbs up.

Well, what did he expect? It wasn’t as if this was Kevin’s first time ruining someone’s life. He’d learned an awful lot about how to do it right since they’d offed their parents.

Kevin checked the back part of the suite. Everywhere people were clustered, chatting, laughing. It was a fairly average party. Nothing they’d be talking about tomorrow—except the fliers.

Which were now gone.

But they’d done their job. And more would be in circulation tomorrow. He was practically guaranteed that it would be whispered about in all corners of the con. The D7 game had put Andrea’s face out there, and now so would the rest of her. Teach her to trash up a perfectly good game. Speckles had worked far too hard on them for a stupid woman to go and ruin a good franchise.

All in all, it was a good night’s work.

He checked his watch. The whole plan had unfolded much faster than anticipated. The idiots he’d hired to do the handouts had outdone themselves. It was amazing how much hatred could motivate some people. Even more than money.

A
ndrea clung to the slightly-fuzzy feeling clouding her brain. If she were to admit she was merely exhausted instead of drunk, she’d lose her nerve. So long as she could blame these moments on alcohol, she could power through.

Once they’d devoured the pizza and breadsticks, she hadn’t wanted to leave. Or maybe Zain hadn’t wanted to let her go. Either way, they lay in the dark watching
Captain America
, but she could barely focus on the much-loved movie because of the man next to her.

Zain sat against the headboard, his arm brushing hers every time he breathed or shifted. She didn’t dare move. They’d done a single shot of some pre-packaged, fruity drink thing before the movie started. The new infusion of alcohol had her head buzzing and palms damp within moments. That, or it was just her nerves. Blaming it on the shot was far more convenient.

He was a lot closer than he’d been before the movie began, a fact she couldn’t stop focusing on. She didn’t know if she should sit up, lie down, or remain frozen in an awkward reclining position that was starting to give her a crick in her neck. The worrisome part was his complete silence.

Part of her was shocked she wasn’t more focused on the pictures. The fliers. All of that. But what could she do? The images were out there. She couldn’t stop them. There was no reason to go on agonizing about that when Zain was next to her. Hunky-hot-Captain-America-material, Zain.

Yeah, she had it bad for the guy she’d just met, to the point she couldn’t even pay attention to the movie. Not like she should be, anyway.

In her imagination, she reached over and grabbed Zain with the same tenacity Leia had when she stole a kiss from Luke to get to Han. Andrea wanted to kiss him like that, with all the confidence in the world. Instead, she was completely immobilized by just sitting next to the man.

He glanced down at her, his mouth moving.

Crap. He was speaking to her and she hadn’t heard a word.

“Hm?” Her body flashed hot and cold in ever-shortening increments. The TV cast shadows across Zain’s face, but it could do nothing to hide the intensity in his gaze. Her tongue stuck to the top of her mouth and her nails dug into her palms.

“Andrea?”

“Hm?”

She needed an answer, but her brain slowly mired in mental mud. Her thoughts stopped while her entire focus settled on one thing: Zain’s lips.

He could have blown her off. Taken any of the girls back to his room tonight. Instead, here they were, staring at each other.

Andrea knew what her fear told her to do, but what would Leia do?

She lifted her hand, trembling as though she were hauling a fifty pound weight on her wrist, and cupped Zain’s cheek. She swiped her thumb over the puckered end of the scar and the rasp of his stubble was louder to her ears than the TV audio.

Her intent couldn’t have been clearer, and he wasn’t putting the brakes on.

Zain continued to watch her, his gaze heavy-lidded, lips parted. She watched his tongue slowly slick over his mouth. He could take over, kiss her until she didn’t know her own name, but then again, it wouldn’t cost her anything either. It was easier to be kissed than to kiss.

She leaned closer and he bent his head, angling just right. Her pulse beat in her throat, threatening to cut off her oxygen, but she wasn’t stopping now.

Their lips met in a soft brush of skin. The barest moisture clung to her lips.

Instead of pushing her away, his hand came to rest against her waist, aligning their bodies. He leaned in closer and kissed her again, setting his lips firmly against hers. She inhaled the scent of him, sliding her hand around to cup the back of his head. Need washed over her, so potent her hands trembled. All at once, the kiss took on a new hunger. She slid her tongue past his lips and he dragged her body to his.

Instinct won out and she curled her left thigh over his. She pushed her fingers through the short strands of hair on the back of his head with her left hand and gripped his bicep with her right. Her senses were on overload—from the taste of his kiss, to the scent of his aftershave and the feel of his body against hers. “Wanting” was too tame a word for how her pulse raced for him.

“Andrea.” Her name was a plea.

“Hm?” She kissed his lower lip.

“We...we...”

“Yes.”

“Not that—I mean, not now.” He pulled back, the flickering light of the TV illuminating his face.

Was he saying no? To kissing?

Passion’s flame went out, leaving her cold and aching. She recoiled, drawing her hands against her chest, trying to curl in on herself.

“Andrea.” Zain pinned her to the bed, his body on top of hers.

His breath was warm against her cheek, his mouth so close. She couldn’t control the way her nipples tightened or the desire curling low in her belly. It was almost scary how overwhelming her single-minded want of him consumed her.

But he didn’t want her.

“Forget it.” She pushed at his shoulders.

If they were going to have this conversation, she wanted a little dignity.

“Andrea, I
want
you.” The single sentence confession sounded ripped from Zain’s lungs, his breathing ragged. Vulnerable.

She blinked up at him but this time it was all shadows.

Was he serious?

Could someone fake a statement like that?

Probably, but that person wasn’t her.

“Then...” She couldn’t bring herself to speak, to say more.

Zain kissed her cheek and shifted, settling his body over hers, his weight supported on either elbow. Every couple of moments, flashes of red and green light allowed her tiny glimpses of his face.

“Then why am I stopping when all I want to do is peel your clothes off?” His voice had the low, husky tones of arousal dripping off each syllable.

She gulped, but her brain had completely blue-screened. Nothing was firing.

He lowered his face to hers, their lips touching, his tongue sliding into her mouth. She circled his chest, mapping his back with her hands until he broke the kiss.

“You still taste like mango,” he said against her cheek.

“O-oh?” And why was that important?

“We’ve drank way too much to do anything else.”

Was he serious?

Alcohol was the only reason they’d gotten where they were.

Zain continued to frown at her, or she assumed he was frowning. She got the frown-vibe pretty hard from him, even without seeing his face, so it had to carry some strong mojo with it.

“Andrea, say something.” His voice was more of a growl, laced with frustration and the more delicious notes of—need.

“What am I supposed to say?”

“Anything.”

“Anything.”

“Seriously?”

“What? It’s what you told me to say.”

He snorted and dropped his face to the crook of her neck. She stared at the ceiling, her brain on the brink of shorting out again. He nuzzled her shoulder, up to the ticklish spot just under her ear, dropping little kisses here and there.

“Why, exactly, was drinking a bad idea?” She closed her eyes, drunk on the euphoric high of lust.

“Because.”

“Why?”

“You might regret it in the morning.”

“Regret what?” Sex? She was pretty sure Zain would blow any previous experience out of the water and leave her wanting for a very long time. He didn’t strike her as the sort to do anything half-assed.

“Being with me.”

All her insecurities stuttered to a stop and she looked at him. Really studied him. Not just what she could see, but what she knew and felt about him. She saw him as this strong, capable soldier who could solve her problems with one hand. Literally. But was that what he saw?

“I have a lot of regrets, but you would never be one of them.” By some miracle, her voice didn’t waver.

He kissed her again, slow and sweet.

Zain rolled away and threw his legs over the side of the bed putting his back toward her. The movie had finally run its course, leaving them in silence. Unlike when he’d said
not now
, she didn’t feel bereft of his presence.

He peered over his shoulder at her.

“Do you mind if I take this off?” He held up his left hand.

In the span of a couple hours, the prosthetic had become...normal. An extension of him. Something she didn’t even think about. Not even when she’d held onto his bicep with the juncture of plastic and skin under her fingers.

“No.”

He grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it off.

Sensor pads dotted his back, and wires connected them to the arm. He reached around and peeled off first one, then two of the pads.

“Can...I help? Or is that rude?”

“It’s not rude, but I got this.”

She curled up, unable to look away and unsure if she should even be watching. The moment stretched on, intimate in a way that had nothing to do with her throbbing body. There were other scars and marks on his back and shoulders, but none as deep as the one on his face.

Zain carried the now lifeless arm to the dresser where he arranged its parts and pieces. When he was finished, he turned and held still a moment, as if giving her the chance to look. To stare. To change her mind.

More scars laced his body together, as if he’d been torn apart and put back together again. Without the prosthetic, his left arm ended maybe two or three inches below his elbow.

He was beautiful in his brokenness.

Emotion clogged her throat. She’d gone from horny to...feeling a thousand nuanced emotions all at once. Respect. Empathy. Desire. She couldn’t begin to know what it was like to be him. But he was sharing this one piece with her.

Andrea patted the bed. As if that were the signal he was waiting for, he crossed to the bed and lay down next to her until they were face to face. The movie forgotten.

“I’m losing my ability to be objective.” He made the statement like she should know what it meant.

“Is that a bad thing?” She shoved the pillow under her head, the better to see him, and prayed she didn’t look like a hot mess.

Zain smoothed his hand over her hair and down to her cheek. She held her breath, not quite convinced this moment was real.

“Maybe not? When I find out who’s done this...”

She swallowed. Yeah, she might feel sorry for the creep. Maybe.

Why was it, the threat of violence made her feel all breathless and tingly?

Zain leaned in, his hand on her cheek, and set his mouth against hers. The way her head spun—maybe she was still inebriated? Or was that just what lip-locking with a good kisser was like?

He pulled back enough to break the physical connection, his fingers still lost in her hair.

“You should sleep,” he said.

“Here?” Or was this his subtle way of getting rid of her?

“If you want.”

Oh, she very much wanted to stay where she was, but was that a good idea? He made her feel safe, and she’d met him—how many hours ago? Someone she’d likely known for years had just exposed her to a couple thousand people and she thought she had a good handle on whether or not Zain was someone she could trust?

She couldn’t find fault with her logic but it didn’t change her gut feeling that Zain would not hurt her.

“I can go if you want.” She said it because it was the right thing to do.

“Should you go? Probably. Do I want you to go? No.”

Ho-boy.

If she didn’t know any better, she might think she had a fever.

“Then I guess I’m staying here,” she said.

“Do you want a shirt to sleep in?”

Did she want to wrap herself in his manly-smelling clothing like some comic book vixen?

Yes, yes she did.

“That would be nice.” And probably allow her to breathe. The jeans fit like a second skin and the tank top was made for someone with much smaller boobs.

Zain rolled out of bed again and went to the dresser. He dug around for a moment before holding up a red Star Wars shirt featuring an X-Wing. The offering made her smile as she scooted out of bed and accepted the shirt. He held onto it for a second, his shadowed gaze locked on her. After a long pause, he released the shirt and backed up.

She turned and managed the four or so steps to the bathroom without her knees giving way.

Alone, the door between them, she pressed her palms to her heated cheeks.

She—Andrea—had kissed Zain. A really badass, real-life superhero kind of guy.

And he’d kissed her back.

And if things were different—if someone weren’t trying to harass her—tonight could have gone very differently.