How Beauty Met the Beast (11 page)

Whitney huffed an offended breath and hopped up. “Please. I’m younger than you. I know how to use technology.” She headed for the door then turned back, eyes narrow. “Wait a minute, why are you sending me off? You want a private moment with boyfriend number two here?” She smiled again. “Is Travis boyfriend number three? You are so cool.”

“Travis is not boyfriend number three. Paul isn’t even boyfriend number one. I have no boyfriends.”

“Whatever. Well, just don’t kiss this one while he’s unconscious, ’cause that’s weird. And not cool-anomaly weird. Besides, I’m sure he’d rather you do that while he’s awake.” She scrunched up her nose. “I’m going to go out on a limb and say he doesn’t get kissed a lot.”

Jolie threw a pillow at her.

Whitney chuckled as it bounced off her shoulder and hit the floor. “Don’t be too long, or I’ll wonder what you’re doing.” She glanced down the hallway, a frown darkening her face as she hesitated. It would be the first time Whitney was alone since the kidnapping, and Jolie felt for her. But she was a strong girl. It was good for her to face any lingering fears quickly.

“Hey.” Jolie grinned encouragingly at her niece. “You did great today. I’m proud of you.”

Whitney flashed her a crooked smile. “Yeah. We all did pretty good.” Straightening her shoulders, she marched down the hall.

Jolie made a quick call to Catrina, explaining the barest details of their success and Hauk’s injury. Assured that help would be on the way, she hung up and contemplated Hauk again.

Comforting silence cocooned them in a little bubble of peace. She
had
kissed him tonight. Thoughtlessly, almost instinctively, when everything seemed lost. He’d barely responded before she’d been yanked away, but he had responded. Molded his lips against hers for such a brief moment filled with heat and naked want.

Paul never kissed her like that...like she was salvation.

Feeling like a thief, Jolie reached out and stroked a finger down his forehead, tracing the head of the phoenix tattoo. It didn’t feel as strange as she’d thought it would. Smooth. A little tough, maybe, as if the skin was thicker than normal skin.

He rumbled something unintelligible. Jolie jerked her hand away, afraid of being caught.

Ridiculous. He’s in one of his blackouts. He’s not waking up.

But maybe she shouldn’t be touching him; it was an invasion of his privacy. She thought about the toes-to-neck clothing he wore, the gloves and jackets even indoors, the hoodie. Sure, she’d woken up in his arms and that morning he’d let her see quite a bit of him, but he’d been in one of his fits when he’d grabbed her, and the morning’s awkwardness had shocked them both into unusual behavior. Since then he’d been covered up and hands off unless necessity or surprise dictated otherwise. He’d stiffened like a cat when she clapped him on the shoulder at lunch. And the joy on his face when she’d grabbed his arm in front of Dr. E, well, that had been angelic.

The realization hit her.
He never got touched.
Not anymore.

She could see the vicious cycle. He feared people’s reaction, and when he finally trusted someone enough to reach out, they reacted, because it was a natural thing to do when confronting something unusual...which confirmed his fear that he shouldn’t let anyone touch him. Well, she’d taken a good look at him while he was asleep to get over her first reaction without worrying over his feelings. Invasion of privacy that it might be, maybe she should get a feel for him as well, in case she was ever one of those people he trusted enough to reach out to.

Besides, she was hella curious.

Fortified that she was doing more good than harm, she scooted next to him. After a brief thought for the glorious musculature beside her (marred by more scarring, but still,
g’damn
) she crossed her arms and stared down at him. He grumbled, and she frowned, worried he might be muttering instructions to get away from him.

His hand meandered across her thighs to rest on her knee, and he pressed her leg tighter against him.

Okay, unless his mouth and hands were at odds with each other, those were definitely not instructions to leave him alone. Taking his movements as an invitation, she picked the linear scar on his cheek to start with. She placed her fingers on the skin right next to his lips, lightly touching, then smoothed up the unnatural crease.

He mumbled again. The muscles in his jaw unclenched and his whole face relaxed in an easy sigh as he squeezed her knee. He was definitely okay with this. She smiled and let her fingers wander, feeling each inch of his visible skin from the top of his head to the base of his neck, adjusting her fingers to differences that didn’t matter anymore as he sighed and muttered and tucked her closer to h cr ce base im. With a relieved laugh, she reached back and ran her hand down his forearm to the hands that weren’t so bad. His fingers intertwined with hers, and she pulled his hand up to place against her heart.

“These hands, on the other side of a sheet, were pretty damn amazing. I’m sorry I couldn’t see that before. But I can picture it now.”

The incoherent words coalesced into two distinct syllables: “Want you.”

She huffed against his hand, startled. “What? No, we’re friends now. That was just a... Wait, you’re asleep and don’t know what you’re saying. Why am I answering you?”

But she couldn’t help a curious glance down. The evidence of his arousal bulged against the front of his leather pants, and a question she hadn’t admitted to having was answered in the most physical way possible. Whatever damage he’d sustained didn’t affect his ability to make love.

“Want you,” he said again, more insistent.

She leaned forward. “Do you even know who you’re talking to? Or any hands in a dry spell?” Not that she’d blame him for the latter, but still. Used for sex was used for sex, no matter how understandable a man’s motives were. Besides, now that they knew each other, it wasn’t some game behind a sheet. It was personal. And she had a kinda-boyfriend. And—

“Aunt Jolie!” The door slammed open and Whitney stood in the doorframe, blinking as her mouth gaped. “
Aunt Jolie!
What are you doing?
”

Fabulous
. Jolie shrugged and decided to go for honesty. “I’d never touched his face. I wanted to see what it felt like.”

“So you climbed on top of him? Besides, you
kissed
his face.”

“I’m not on top of him, I’m beside him. And I kissed his mouth, not his face.” She tried to stand and found an ironlike arm preventing her escape. Again. “Hauk, honey, lemme go.”

He spoke again, wordless sounds of obvious protest.

Whitney sighed. “I told you not to kiss him while he was asleep.”

Was she getting chastised by a twelve-year-old? “I didn’t!”

At the raised pitch of her voice, Hauk’s arm clenched tighter, nearly dragging her down.

She forced her voice to calm. “Hauk, Wesley, I’m asking you to let me go please. Please release me.”

He uttered another string of noisy protests, but his arm relaxed enough that she could slide from the bed.

“Well, whatever. Just more stuff for me to tell him about how you molested his unconscious body. Now, let’s go. The nail tech’s here.”

Jolie froze. “Don’t you dare. Not this.”

Whitney looked startled and turned wide eyes up to her. “Oooookay. I just think it’d make him happy. And embarrass the heck out of you, which is about as perfect as it gets.” She squeezed Jolie’s waist in a friendly half hug. “But I’ll keep it quiet if it means that much to you.”

“Thank you.”

“Can I still tell him you carried his butt? Because that’s just funny.”

Jolie relaxed and followed her niece toward the door. “Yes, you can tell him that part.”

With a voice full of condescending indulgence, c inward Whitney shook her head and announced, “You are
such
an anomaly. You know that, right?”

* * *

Smell came back to him first, with the apple scent of Jolie’s hair. Hauk nuzzled forward and the silky strands caressed his face. His shoulder ached, but not too badly. And it didn’t matter because that arm was draped over Jolie. He opened his eyes.

Twice now he’d slept next to her and didn’t remember it. At least this time he got to wake up to the experience. She slept on top of the sheets while he was under them and apparently he’d traversed three quarters of the bed to reach where she was curled up at the edge. But who could blame him for that? Her hand clutched his hand against her, her bottom pressed into him, and she smiled so peacefully, giving every impression she didn’t mind.

What was it about sleep that made every woman so damn pretty? Not that Jolie needed the help. Long, cinnamon eyelashes graced cheeks with a hint of freckles. Her mussed hair scattered around her pillow and wrapped around her other hand, the one tucked beneath her chin. Her breath softly pushed in and out of her, filling her lungs with the gentle rhythm of life.

She was precious. And he was holding her.

He briefly glanced about, and the curtains across a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows told him what he’d already guessed: they were at her place. More crazy avant-garde artwork. Wood floors. Feminine, but not girly colors.

He turned back to Jolie, as she was much more interesting than the room. Then did a double take at her bed, a metal four-poster with an empty canopy. It had the modern, clean lines of Scandinavian furniture, but something about the sturdy construction set his mind spinning in a very naughty direction.

“Hauk?” she murmured.

He turned to her and tried very hard not to picture Jolie, her bed, her itty-bitty burlesque costume and a pair of handcuffs. He was not successful.

She squirmed around until she faced him with sleepy eyes. “You moved your arm! Bad Hauk.”

Her finger waggled at him, and he wanted to nip at it. Draw it in between his lips and suck... Wait, she was talking to him. He should listen. “Hm?”

“You got shot. You should keep your arm still.” She glared at the arm across her slender waist. “It’s not going to heal right if you keep moving it.”

He grinned. “Then you shouldn’t leave temptation within reach.” A bad thought, and not the fun-kind-of-bad thought, crossed his mind. “Wait. I didn’t drag you here this time, did I? I don’t think I’d drag you to your place, but...” He’d assumed her place, her choice, but just in case he pulled his arm off her.

And did she say he’d gotten shot? That wasn’t possible. Sure, his arm was tender, but not bullet-wound tender. Maybe she meant a bullet had grazed him?

He rolled his shoulder; everything worked fine. Jolie gasped and he looked back at her.

“You can...do that? Don’t hurt yourself.” She sat up and raised her hands, as if preparing to catch him when he fell over.

He reached over and grabbed his shoulder. It felt fine to his prodding fingers. He pushed up the T-shirt sleeve (how did he get into a T-shirt?) and found medical dressing. A rip, and the dressing was off.

“Don’t—” Jolie started then stopped with a gasp.
casprip, anp>

A small wound was scabbed over. He checked the back of his shoulder and found a matching scab. But there was no way the two scrapes were a bullet hole.

“Oh my God,” Jolie muttered. “You’re healed.”

“This is not a bullet wound. This is a scratch. I’ve seen bullet holes, remember?”

She shook her head. “I have now, too. You got shot going back over the wall, but you told me not to call a doctor. I called Catrina, who sent an Underlight doctor. He came here and dressed it. He said you were going to be fine and not to worry, but I...”

She hesitated, and the concern in her eyes tempered the feelings of unease the miraculous healing gave him. He’d gotten shot? Okay. Nobody should heal that quickly, but somehow he had. It was a good thing to be healed, right? A bullet hole would put him out of the game for precious weeks. He just had to add one more thing to the ever-growing list of post-fire issues he couldn’t explain and not think about it too much.

Jolie slid off the bed and cleared her throat, as if to signal the transition from another night of sleeping side by side to another day of being just friends. Or whatever they were now that the mission was done. At least, he assumed it was completed. “How’s Whitney?”

Jolie smiled, a big genuine expression of joy that made all darkness go away. “She’s wonderful. Better than. And most importantly, she’s home. I think you have a fan for life.” She blushed and averted her eyes. “Two, actually. I can’t thank you enough for what you did.”

Heat crept into his cheeks, and he hid it by hopping out of bed. “Aw, it’s cool. I’m just glad she’s okay.” He was wearing jeans. He didn’t own jeans anymore. Did Jolie buy him new clothes? Did she put them on him? No, the doctor must have. That was better. The doctor had seen all his scars already.

Jolie had seen almost all his scars because he’d been a dumbass and walked out of the shower, back before he thought he had a chance with her. Not that he had a chance with her now.

Did he?

“Want some breakfast?” she asked.

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” He smiled. “I suppose you don’t have wheat-free pancakes?”