Black and Blue

Four

BLUE SNAPPED OUT OF the most spectacular sensual daze of his life. Used to having to think and act fast, he took stock of the situation in an instant. Moonlight filled a spacious, femininely decorated bedroom.

Evie Black’s bedroom.

Every piece of furniture hovered over the floor, even the bed.

With a sharp mental command, every piece crashed into place. The bed shook, and Evie almost tumbled over the side. He grabbed her by the waist to steady her—such a slender, perfect waist. His palms flamed at the contact.

He’d noticed their fit before. Somehow, it was better now.

She slapped at his wrists with enough force to let him know she meant business, just not enough to actually break his hold. He released her of his own volition. But rather than reward him for good behavior, she glared at him.

“What’s going on?” he demanded. He’d been living with her, he recalled, and she’d been taking care of him. “Why are you on top of me?” Why was his body already aroused to a fever pitch?

“You made a pass at me,” she spat at him. “Put your hands right on my wee breasts.”

Horror filled him. Horror . . . and a more intense arousal. “No way.”

“Yes way. Want me to write up a review of your performance? Done. First line: Mr. Blue’s rendition of Grabby Hands did not earn a standing O.”

“O as in orgasm?” Annoying baggage. “You’re lying.”

“Are you suggesting you did give me an orgasm?”

“Filthy-minded girl. No.” But I’d like to. “I’m saying I didn’t grab you.”

“Let’s look at the evidence. You have a python between your legs, and it’s poking at me right this very second.”

He bit the side of his tongue. To keep from cursing or laughing, he wasn’t sure. A python? Thank you. “That’s not evidence I touched you. That’s evidence I’m a man. What disproves your grabby hands theory? You aren’t my type, and my fingers aren’t suffering from frostbite.”

For a moment he felt the sting of rejection and frowned. She hadn’t rejected him, so—

Her sting of rejection, he realized. He tried to turn off his empathic ability, but still the sense of rejection remained, hurting him. But . . . she was an emotionless harpy, concerned only with the destruction of all mankind. Nothing he said should bother her.

“Well,” she announced, her tone now flat. “I can honestly say that’s the first time I’ve ever been rejected for being too awesome. Because your type sucks. Blondes with breasts so big they can be used as flotation devices, and heads so filled with air they’re comparable to balloons. Cliché!”

Yes, he did prefer that type of woman. Even though one had never turned him on the way Evie did. And why the hell did he want to beg for her forgiveness? She’d dished worse to him.

And damn it, why was he now focusing on her perfect teacups, practically salivating, definitely desperate to draw her hard little nipples into his mouth? As if her “wee breasts” were the sweetest treats he’d ever had the privilege of touching.

They were. He knew it soul deep.

All right. So there was no denying he’d touched them . . . or that he wanted to touch them again.

Danger. He gripped her by the knees and shoved her to the side of the bed, away from his mouth, and, worse, his throbbing erection.

“Lights,” she said, and golden light cascaded from the overhead lamp.

He sat up and looked himself over. He was completely healed and dressed in a pair of large sweatpants. Men’s sweatpants.

To whom did they belong?

His gaze arrowed to Evie, and his chest constricted. She wore a pink tank top and a pair of men’s boxer shorts.

Did the boxers belong to the owner of the sweatpants? A . . . boyfriend?

For some reason Blue suddenly wanted to punch a wall.

Odd reaction. One he didn’t fully understand.

She tucked her long, slender, and so lusciously pale legs around her, sitting in that crisscross way only a female could manage. Hair of the deepest jet hung wildly around a face he used to tell himself wasn’t really pretty, as he’d first assumed. But he couldn’t tell himself that anymore.

Maybe, after their first interaction, he’d never let himself look past her attitude; but now, in this moment, that prickly layer had been peeled away and he could see her, really see her. Large velvety brown eyes drew him in and refused to let go. Lush porcelain skin flushed to the most erotic shade of pink. Heart-shaped lips red and deceptively kiss-swollen, practically begging for more.

He had to fist his hands to keep from reaching for her.

Arousal he could comprehend. But straight-up attraction? To her?

Really, Blue? Really?

The very idea appalled him.

Michael was more than a boss. Even more than a mentor. Blue considered the man a surrogate father. Michael had found him at his lowest, picked him up, given him friends, a purpose. A reason to go on. And he’d never forgotten Michael’s warning to leave Evie alone.

What father would want his daughter to be with a man like Blue? Not a good one, and Michael was better than most.

It stung to be considered completely unworthy, but that’s just the way things were. The way they would always be. He got it.

Blue wouldn’t destroy his relationship with the man just because his treacherous body wanted to spend a bit of quality time inside the Black Plague.

More than that, Blue hadn’t suddenly started liking her.

And more than that, he was engaged, and Evie wasn’t a job.

“Update,” he demanded.

She gaped at him. “Seriously? After everything I’ve done for you, you can’t start with ‘Thank you’? Instead, you have to bark a one-word order as if I’m a robo-dog that’s just supposed to obey?”

Could she never just let things roll? Did she have to make everything a freaking challenge?

“Thank you,” he gritted.

“You aren’t welcome,” she reported—and, strangely enough, it doused his irritation.

Despite everything, she sometimes amused him. The little spitfire was as unpredictable as a storm.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’d like an update, too, you know.”

“I’ll tell you everything,” he said with a nod. “But me first. Please.” He had to know.

Her eyes narrowed with suspicion as she said, “I have a feeling you say ‘me first’ to a lot of girls. And in this case, I doubt you know anything, anyway. But, fine. I haven’t heard from my father, but I do know a man was found at the explosion site and taken to the nearest hospital. That same man was soon moved out without any civilians knowing how, why, or where.”

“You think that man is Michael?”

“Yes. I also think he’s at a government-owned medical facility—”

“I know the one,” Blue interjected. “If he was taken there, he wouldn’t have stayed long, because he wouldn’t have known who to trust. The moment he was stabilized, he would have found a way out.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose, a wave of despair drifting from her. “I haven’t let myself worry about him—much—because I know he’s wily and strong and unbelievably determined, but it’s not like him to leave me in the dark.”

Yeah. That didn’t bode well. “Have you heard anything about John and Solo?”

“No. I’m sorry.”

She sounded sincere.

He nodded to let her know he’d heard her. Then he told her everything he remembered about the explosion. As he spoke, she turned her face away from him, as if she couldn’t bear for him to see whatever emotion shined there. He didn’t tell her that he could feel her sadness.

Was she thinking about her father in pain?

“So how’s the security here?” he asked, changing topics as an act of mercy.

She drew in a deep breath, and when she next met his gaze, he thought he saw a hint of gratitude. “It’s amazing. Of course. You haven’t been ambushed once, have you? You’re welcome, by the way.”

Don’t respond. You’ll only encourage her. “What do you use?”

Her shoulders squared with pride. “A system of my own creation.”

So . . . she was a skilled killer and a surgeon as well as a wire tech? Why was that so sexy? “Honey Badger, you’re clearly not as good as you think you are. I managed to get through your window without any problems.”

“ ‘Honey Badger’? Did you just call me ‘honey badger’?” She waved her fist at him. “Do it again and I’ll cut out your tongue to wear as a charm on my necklace. And I’ve already fixed the flaw that allowed you to break in.”

“So there was a flaw. Meaning . . . what? Say it with me. You’re not as good as you think you are.”

Her gaze threw daggers at him. “Anyone on Michael’s payroll was flagged in the system as permissible, just in case someone ever needed to come in and hide while I was away.”

A bona fide act of kindness. He didn’t want to think of her as the caring type, but did so anyway and responded accordingly, expression and voice softening. “That’s an excellent excuse for a subpar system,” he teased.

She hissed as if he’d stabbed her. “How dare you sink so low and insult my software! You take that back.”

Wow. She actually looked capable of murder just then. He realized he’d just found the line she’d drawn. The one he wasn’t ever to cross. Or bad things would happen. “Fine. I take it back.”

A moment passed before she got herself under control. “You may live.”

“Thank you.” He meant that. “Now, would you mind if I had a look around, checked things out?”

Though her expression remained blank, he felt a thrum of anger radiate from her. “Do what you want. But I’ll expect breakfast and a full report about how impressed you are when you’re done.”

“Breakfast I can do. I guess I owe you.”

“You guess?”

“And a report . . . why not? I just hope you can handle an honest critique—since you certainly know how to dish them.”

Hot color spread across her cheeks, and he once again had to deal with a throbbing hard-on.

Gotta stop reacting to her. Especially over stupid crap like that.

He rolled from the bed—and what the hell. It was difficult to leave her. First he swept through the entire house, inspecting it for cameras and bugs as well as any indication an uninvited guest had come through unnoticed. All was well. And, okay, all right, he had to give Evie props. Her system was utterly badass.

So was her home. There were four bedrooms and an office. She preferred bold colors, antique furniture, and modern finishes. She had hung pictures of her father, her sister, Claire, and her adopted sister, Eden, all over the walls. Blue had always considered Eden one of the most gorgeous women in the world, but just then he would have said Evie was the sexier of the two. By far. Something about the fragility of her bone structure, the humor lighting those mysterious, dark eyes. The mischievous curve of her smile.

A mischievous curve never more apparent than in the photos of Evie and Claire. . . . The girl died three years ago, yes? Yeah, he thought. Three years. Shortly after, Evie left the agency to work at the hospital.

He’d always wondered why.

Michael kept details about Claire’s death hush-hush, so Blue had no idea what had happened. And he didn’t like that he didn’t know, he realized.

Frowning, he turned away from the pictures and entered the game room. There was a pool table and a poker table, a dock for a large-screen television, and a huge sectional couch. The smoked-glass door in back led to a massive greenhouse.

Lucky girl.

From what Blue understood, the earth was nearly destroyed during the human-alien war. Plant life was compromised, animals were almost wiped out, and huge bodies of water either dried up or turned to sludge. Now all three were expensive commodities.

Had Michael paid for the greenhouse, spoiling his precious princess just a little more, or had Evie? As one of the most skilled surgeons in New Chicago, she had to make bank. Not that he’d kept track of her career or anything. He’d just saved a few articles. In case Michael wanted to read them. No big deal.

“Agent Dallas Gutierrez requesting an interview,” a computerized voice said over an in-house intercom system.

Blue exited the game room and headed toward the bedroom. Evie, in the process of anchoring the length of her gorgeous hair in a high ponytail, met him in the hallway. She’d pulled on a long-sleeved tee and a pair of figure-hugging jeans.

Hello, erection.

He looked down at the Python. Keep it up, I dare you, and I’ll hack you off. I won’t even hold a funeral. Because no one would . . . come.

One day, I’ve got to mature. “What’s going on?”

“The agent is at the door,” Evie said, pink color flooding her cheeks.

Had she checked out his package? Wished for a special delivery?

Idiot.

“Any idea who he is or what he wants?” she asked.

Was her tone breathless? “Who he is? Yes. What he wants? No.”

“Come on, then.” She led him back to the game room and flipped on the TV. “Record and reveal from the living room cameras.”

“What—”

“Not you,” she muttered, as if he were a few brain cells short.

No. Her tone was not breathless.

A large holoscreen appeared above the dock, the air crystallizing to reveal a picture of the living room he’d just searched. “By the way, I’m ready to give my report,” he said. “Cool.”

She rolled her eyes. “One word to describe my home’s utter magnificence? You’re usually more eloquent. But I shouldn’t be surprised, I suppose. Sentences hard for caveman,” she said, banging her chest like a gorilla. “Just . . . stay here. Watch and listen. And who knows? Maybe you’ll learn something.”

The little witch always had to have the last word, didn’t she. Well, not this time. “You might want to take a breather before you face the agent, Miss Black. The more time you spend with me, the harder your nipples get. I’m beginning to think you don’t hate me as much as you’ve always claimed.”