“They pay us to identify threats and know what to do about them,” Lucas snaps.
“Oh, excuse me. Did I trip over your ego?”
A muscle tightens in his jaw. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he says, and lets himself out. The click of the door sounds ominous in the sudden stillness.
Alex comes to me. “We handled things badly this morning,” he says. “I apologize.”
He’s standing so near, looking down at me, and part of me wants to just melt into him. I know better, but I’m not going to be a total ass and reject his apology, either. “Thank you,” I say stiffly.
“It means something to a man, to have a woman respect the work he does.”
Shit. I close my eyes again, this time against a sharp twinge of guilt. “You’re right. I’m sorry; I’ll talk to him. He just … he pushes my buttons.”
“I know.” Alex is too close for comfort — inside my personal space — but he’s conspicuously not touching me. It’s a mixed signal that I understand perfectly. “You’re off limits,” he goes on, “so long as we’re protecting you. But, Zoe … that won’t last forever. And when it’s over, you’re going to have to deal with us.”
He goes to the door. “One of us will stay here at night until we get your new system in place. Lock the door behind me. Don’t open it for anyone but me or Lucas.”
When he’s gone, I stare at the door, wondering how long this is going to last and whether I can survive it with my sanity intact. I already know the Wolf brothers live up to their promise in the bedroom. If I’m lucky, they’re just as skilled at their work.
The door opens again and Alex sticks his head in. “Lock the door, Zoe.” He closes it as I move to obey. When I’ve turned the lock in the knob and thrown the deadbolt, his voice comes through the wood paneling. “Thank you. We’ll be back in five minutes.”
I rest my head against the door for a moment, then sigh and go to get the sheets for the sofa bed. It’s going to be a long night.
17
Pathetic
Alex
Sleeping on Zoe’s couch is torture. Oh, it’s comfortable enough as sofa beds go … but having her in the next room is driving me crazy.
We’re professionals, Lucas and I. We know how to put aside our feelings and concentrate on what needs to be done. And we’ve got everything in motion to handle this situation of Zoe’s, or rather her father’s.
But right now, lying in the dark, there’s nothing for me to do, nowhere for me to direct my energies. Which are, let’s be honest, considerable. All I want is to go into Zoe’s room, slide into bed with her, and fuck her brains out.
I’ve never felt this way about a woman before. I enjoy them, appreciate them, show them a good time. Needing them is something else altogether.
Craving one particular female like this is as foreign to me as the surface of Jupiter. But try telling my cock that. I’ve got a raging hard-on that believes fervently in the absolute necessity of us — me and my dick, that is — getting busy with the woman who’s sleeping, all unsuspecting, just a few feet away. I’d laugh at myself if I weren’t so damn frustrated.
If I were home, I’d give my fantasies free rein and release the pressure, but that’s hardly good manners here. Trying to ignore my blue balls isn’t working, though, and I’m afraid I’m going to have to go wank off in the bathroom so I can get some rest. Sleep deprivation won’t do any of us any good.
After a few more minutes struggling with myself, I give up. But just as I’m about to throw off the covers, Zoe pads past me toward the kitchen. I catch a trace of her scent, clean and feminine with just a hint of something floral, and my hunger for her goes into overdrive. She’s wearing some kind of silky two-piece pajama set that shows off all her curves and makes things even worse.
I watch as she opens her fridge, pulls out a container of juice, and pours herself a dainty little glass of it. Absorbed in her movements, drinking in the contours of her body, I forget to pretend I’m asleep and it takes me half a second to realize that she’s turned and is looking at me.
Our eyes meet and there’s a long silence. She finishes her juice, rinses out the glass, and sets it in the sink before walking back toward me. At least it’s mostly dark in here. Please don’t let her turn on a light … good thing I didn’t go commando or I might be tenting the bedcovers.
She stops by the side of the sofa, looking down at me. “Sorry I woke you.”
“No problem; I was already awake. Couldn’t sleep.”
“Me either,” she says.
We’re close enough that I could reach out a hand and touch her, take hold of her wrist and pull her down on top of me, roll us over and be between her legs in half a second. Part of my brain — the part that remembers all too well how she responded to us last night — is convinced she wouldn’t fight me. That she wants it as much as I do.
“Are you all right?” Zoe asks. She must have picked up on the tension emanating from my body, the sheer willpower it’s requiring for me to lie here quietly.
Despite my surname, and my military experience, I’ve never felt especially predatory. Until now. There’s an animal pulsing under my skin, primitive, feral. Wanting nothing more than to claim her, and certain that she’s ours for the claiming.
Definitely not information I should share. “I’m fine,” I say, and I don’t sound convincing even to myself. “Lots to think about.”
“Yeah.” She hesitates, and for a second I get the feeling that she’s fighting the pull too, that she’s tempted to invite me back to her bed. If she does, I won’t hesitate — professional ethics be damned.
But all she says is, “Good night.” And then she walks on past me, and I hear the rustle of sheets as she climbs back into bed.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I fight the siren song calling me to her. Ten seconds, twenty. Thirty. It feels like an eternity.
Finally, I decide it’s been long enough. I don’t hear her tossing and turning, so with luck she’s asleep again. Getting out of bed as stealthily as I can, I haul ass to the bathroom so I can take care of myself like a pathetic teenager.