The meal progressed quietly. As she finished, Jonas removed the dishes, stacked the dishwasher, turned it on, then moved to the doorway.
"I need a shower and I have some papers to go over before the meeting tomorrow. I'll see you in the morning."
He left her sitting in the kitchen, alone.
Rachel stared at the doorway incredulously. He had just walked out, moved across the living room and entered his own bedroom as though she were no more than a guest.
She blinked as she fought to grasp this new attitude.
She would have expected to be fending him off tonight, not wondering why the hell he hadn't at least given her the chance to do so.
The knowledge that she wouldn't have minded the chance to do so had her lips quirking in a smile. The arousal that had slammed into her body the second she had seen him in that mission uniform hadn't abated.
When he had walked into the safe room, his tall, corded body outlined in the protective wear, she had nearly lost her breath. The black material only emphasized the height and breadth of his body, as well as the living mercury of his eyes. He looked more a warrior than she had ever seen him before.
Jonas's normal attire was silk suits and conservative clothing. She'd never seen him dressed outrageously, as some Breeds were prone to. No skintight leather or combat boots. He was every inch the conservative politician if one cared to ignore the dangerous aura that surrounded him. Or the gorgeous body. Or the sheer sex appeal.
She breathed, wishing she had better control over her attraction to him. For more than seven months she had fought the heated longing she felt each time she saw him. As she learned more about him, she'd had to fight it even harder.
And what she had seen tonight had made her see even more of the man he was.
The monitors in the safe room covered every area outside the safe house. She had seen him when he had met his sister in the entrance to Sanctuary.
The tenderness he had displayed toward her, the sheer agony on his face as she had cried in his arms had broken Rachel's heart. There were facets to Jonas that would take lifetimes to figure out. And there were others, such as his love for his sister, that were clear to her right now.
So many saw him as manipulating, calculating: A man who deserved little respect because of the pure power he displayed. But Jonas was so much more than that. He manipulated to ensure the safety of the Breeds. He calculated to ensure the happiness of those close to him. He did what he had to do to provide a measure of safety to Sanctuary as well as to Haven, and to bring the Breeds into a cohesive society that projected the appearance of invincible strength.
It was the only way to survive, she knew. The Breeds were facing an uncertain future in many ways. Laws could be changed on a whim, and what was theirs now could be taken from them tomorrow. It had happened in the past to other races. Rachel had no doubt that the Breeds too faced that threat.
Rising to her feet, she paced to the living room, then to her room. She was looking at a long night. Sleep had never seemed so far away, nor had it ever seemed so unwanted.
The rest of the week seemed to progress much as that night had. The day was filled with meetings, wrapping up projects and completing the move of the main office to Sanctuary. There seemed to be very little time to actually talk to Jonas, or to figure out what the hell they were going to do after the move.
It wasn't as though they could go back to the same routine that they had had before. Yet Jonas seemed determined to do just that.
He was more distant that he had ever been, and the time they shared together became few and far between.
She found that by living in the cabin with Jonas, though, there were benefits. He began slipping into her room and taking Amber for her feedings throughout the night.
Not once during the week had she woken to her daughter's fretful whimpers for a meal or a dry diaper. Once, she had awakened to see him bending over the crib, returning her daughter to her bed, his expression caught by the light of the lamp next to the small bed.
It had been a father's face, full of gentleness. The face of a man who had claimed a child--whether by blood or by love--and now carried through with the responsibilities of that job.
For long moments he had stood watching Amber, dressed in nothing more than a pair of soft cotton pants, his chest and feet bare.
Rachel had felt such a surge of emotion, such pure arousal, that for a moment her breath caught.
He had turned then, as though drawn by the power of what she had felt, his gaze locking with hers.
Not a word had been said. He had turned and walked from the room so quietly that she wondered if he had ever been there. She had never caught him again, though she knew he fed Amber nightly. The bottles were always washed and sterilized, sitting on the counter awaiting her the next morning, and diapers were in the waste each morning.
It was a routine they had begun to fall into, and it was one that was wearing on her nerves as she felt his hunger growing as well as the arousal beginning to build within her.
No one coul
d claim this was mating heat, she thought as she watched him carry wood into the cabin for a fire that night. Not that they needed it so much for the warmth. She had learned while living on Sanctuary that the Breeds, for all their technology, preferred classic comforts. A comfortable seat, a fire, steak and potatoes, a cold beer. Many even still carried the outlawed bullet- and shell-loaded weapons from decades before rather than the laser-powered weapons that were more effective when set to stun or wound, rather than kill.
Not that their enemies didn't use the same weapons. Bullets were still preferred by many of their attackers, simply because they did more damage to the body with the same effectiveness of the new weapons being introduced.