Lucidity (11 page)

As if that behavior wasn’t stupid enough, he’d lurked like some lowlife outside her door. Waiting, long after she’d gone silent again. Not only out of concern for her but, disgustingly enough, because he’d fervently hoped she might want more, might let him in, that she might toss the rules to the wind, because he was too fucking anal to do so himself.

He’d done everything but ask directly if he could open the door, climb on board and screw her silly.

And she’d made it clear it was not what she wanted.

Enough
. This silly drama ended now. He would stop fantasizing and stop encouraging hers. He’d pass her safely on, let the next series of bodyguards deal with the blue balls, and lose himself in a different sea of nameless nightgowns.

Forcing himself to turn away from the sunrise, he placed his favorite pistol on the pillow beside him and closed his eyes. Small, cold comfort after a long, chilly night. But they had a history, he and this gun. He knew what to expect from it, knew how to handle it. He could relax, knowing it was there.

And tomorrow, after he’d made arrangements, he was going to sleep well for the first time in weeks. Damn the phantom asteroid. His world had been blown apart three months ago. It was the woman who would be the death of him.

Once Carly was safe and temptation out of his way, there was nothing to keep him from resting easy from here on.

Chapter Ten

The smell of hot coffee and sizzling eggs woke her early, and, fresh from the shower, Carly joined Parker. He was sprawled on the compact sofa in the common room, bare to his chiseled waist, eyes fixed on the small television broadcasting the national news. He smelled of soap, reeked of barely contained masculine power—and barely seemed inclined to acknowledge she was even there. “G’morning, Ms. Phelps.”

“Mr. Munroe.”

Huh. Apparently the bond they’d formed when she told him the truth had
also
been a product of her vivid imagination. Or he was still pissed about the drugstore caper. Was it her fault he’d missed an opportunity to slaughter someone? His greeting was as chilly as the first three minutes of her lukewarm shower.

She made for the coffeemaker and poured herself a steaming cup. Morning hadn’t come soon enough. She’d tossed and turned for a couple more hours following the nightmare and felt all fuzzy around the edges.
Discombobulated
. If she’d been like any normal doomed human being she could’ve phoned a friend for comfort, maybe gotten dressed and taken a walk to clear her head.

Here, she felt trapped, in every way imaginable.

Hell, the slinky black peignoir she’d unearthed for the daily morning’s temptation hadn’t earned a second look from her chaperone. Yes, he’d seen it before, but she hadn’t bothered to unpack her collection. The closet door of her bedroom was stuck closed, and they’d been through so much in the past two days she hadn’t wanted to bother him about it or other pending necessities. They’d both need access to a washing machine soon. She was running out of clean clothes. If Munroe had a problem with her nighties, he probably wouldn’t approve of her running around naked.

She warmed her hands with the coffee, wandering around the common area of the suite. Her new cell block was, obviously, not going to do much to improve her mood. Hardwood floors and rugged, exposed beams made it seem sturdy enough, but nothing had been done to personalize the place. It needed a woman’s touch. A pillow, a painting, even a silk flower arrangement would’ve done wonders.

She tried the terrace door for a jolt of fresh air and found it was also stuck. Apparently, the house needed a workman’s touch too. Looking out the window didn’t help, only made her want to go back to bed and cry. More freezing rain, with a side helping of cold, dreary fog. Maybe she should dream up a little sunlight, since she was so freaking divinely gifted and all.

And beneath all the thoughts of mundane details, she wondered if they’d actually live to see spring. It wasn’t just about her and how desolate and alone she often felt on days like this. It was the idea of having so many lives possibly depend on her, and the idea that she might, somehow, fall short. What if Munroe and all the naysayers were right and everything she believed in was some kind of wish-fulfillment fantasy?

“Early rising, Carlotta.”

“Lumpy mattress.” Was that a small smirk tugging on the lips that had turned her to mush in her sleep? And this was the man she’d confided her most important secret to? She clutched her cup so tightly her fingers began to burn. He had every right not to believe in her, but she was feeling shaky enough. She was not in the mood to be mocked.

“Pleasant dreams?”

“Screw you, Parker.” Well, actually, that part of the nightmare hadn’t been so bad…

He reached for his cigarettes, slouching deep into the cushions. “I see we’re wearing the always-popular black silk today, complete with plunging neckline and barely there spaghetti straps? Don’t you ever get cold, woman?”

“Why bother? You’re cold enough for both of us.”

She hadn’t meant to snap. It wasn’t as if he’d done anything wrong. She probably owed him her life a few times over. He took care of her efficiently and well, just as he’d been paid to do. And it wasn’t his fault he’d only wanted her in a dream. “Sorry. Must’ve gotten up on the wrong side of the bed. But for what it’s worth, mister, I don’t wear the nightgowns just to tease you.”

“
Torture
was the word I had in mind, actually.”

Carly hid her flushed face behind her cup. So he wasn’t angry. That was
definitely
a compliment, and nearly enough to make her forget her nightmare. “I don’t suppose you’d understand. But dressing as I please is one of the few liberties I have. I have no say in where I go, what I eat, how I live—not even when I sleep. Trying to get an occasional rise out of my bodyguards may not have been sporting, but it’s the only power I haven’t been forced to surrender.”

As if reconsidering, he tossed the cigarettes away, his gaze intent on hers. “You don’t need to explain, babe. If I’d been in lockdown all this time, I’d find a way to rebel too.”

He was being understanding. That and the seeming surprise in his eyes made her a little too uncomfortable. “Heard from Shepherd?” she asked briskly.

“Yeah. A quick text message.” His mouth twisted into a wry smile. “Said we’re to head west, the gun I loaned him was made for sissies, your enemies ran away like weenies, and he was dangerously low on condoms.”

“Oh, I’m glad. I was so worried. Not about his condoms,” she quickly added, catching the glint in his eye. “I mean, I’m glad he wasn’t harmed. Any news about Apothos?”

“Nothing on the tube. Maybe the scientists have saved the day.”

“I think I would’ve heard if the deflection had worked. But we should know something within the next twenty-four hours or so.” Carly sniffed the air appreciatively. “I smell bacon and eggs.”

“That’d be Vic, working his magic in the kitchen. He’ll bring it up in a minute or so. You should eat hearty. I’ve got a couple of calls to make, but we’ll probably leave around sunset.”

Another move. Another ride to Nowhere, USA. Another strange bed. More isolation. Once again came the urge to weep. “So soon?”

“Yes. This was just a stopover, and—hey, here’s the food.”

Vic delivered the hot dishes with his usual grunt as Parker gallantly blocked his view of Carly. Within a minute or two, he’d left, and they gathered around the bistro table to enjoy the feast.

The omelet, complete with mushrooms and bacon bits, was as delicious as the previous one. But her appetite was lacking this time. She took a few bites and spent the next five minutes watching her companion enjoy his. Geez, he put the stuff away like there was no tomorrow.
Ha
. “Who the hell are you, Munroe?”

“Come again?”

“I said who
are
you? Here I am, letting you run me all over the country, and other than the fact that we both take orders from the same shadow segment of the government and you’re trying to keep me alive, I don’t know a damn thing about you. I’m sitting here with chilled, knobby nipples in front of a complete stranger. Does that sound right to you?”

His gaze went directly to her bosom, and for a moment, he actually seemed to lose interest in his food. Carly’s breasts swelled and tightened, aching to have his hands on her.

“I…um…” He wiped his mouth with a paper towel, eyes still fixed on target. “Er—what was the question?”

She took a deep breath, a make-believe sigh that deliberately thrust her chest forward, and he squirmed in his chair. Served him right for being so snarky this morning. Maybe she wasn’t so impotent after all. “What did you do before you became a bodyguard?”

“I started out as a marine. Overachieved. Moved on to Delta Force, then assignment with the NSA. I took different jobs here and there. Moved around a lot. But mostly I was assigned to protect visiting dignitaries here and abroad before I went freelance.” He managed a grin with a grim edge. “You have your gift. I have mine.”

Carly nearly shuddered. It wasn’t a pretty thought, imagining him making a career of violence. Knowing it was a necessity didn’t ease the queasiness in her stomach. She toyed with her fork, making a show of resuming her meal. “Is that why your marriage failed? You were never home?”

“Partly.”

He licked his lips, still pointedly staring. Okay, definitely a boob man. She liked the way he used his tongue. Maybe if she dumped the omelet into her cleavage, she might get a little action. “Partly?”

“After being away for so long so often, and being stupid enough to remain faithful to my wife, I’m afraid I’d vent all that charged-up adrenaline into days and days of aggressive, relentless sex when I did make it home. The woman complained that she was either husbandless or not allowed to get off her back.” He tasted his coffee, shrugging. “Kind of an exaggeration. She got snacks and bathroom breaks.”

Days and days of relentless sex
… Carly choked on a bit of bacon. “And she had a problem with that? Go figure.” Her sarcasm ran only so deep. She was so horny by now she’d pay cash money for a few unbridled
hours
with the man.

“What about you? Don’t you believe in enjoying yourself in bed, Ms. Phelps? Relieving a little stress? Couldn’t blame you if you did. All that forced dreaming must be hard work.”

Was it her imagination, or was he pushing all the wrong buttons this morning? This was one very careful guy. It couldn’t be an accident. “I’ve been playing dodge-the-bullet for two years, Munroe. That doesn’t leave much time for giving up the alien coochie. And picking up strange guys on the street isn’t exactly an option when my human shield is programmed to beat the shit out of them. I barely remember what sex feels like. But thanks for that tactful reminder.”

“Well, damn, why so touchy? Just making conversation.” He shoved a forkful of egg into his mouth and viciously chewed. “I mean, hello? Have you met me, lady? I’m just the walking muscle hired to keep you safe. If you want diplomacy, call the ass-wipes who’re probably lying to both of us.”

He finished his breakfast in silence as Carly stared. At her coffee. The table. The floor. Anything to avoid more miserable conversation. He was right. She’d chosen to be among the One Hundred. Nobody had forced her, so she had no right to complain.

Still, that didn’t mean he wasn’t the most insensitive hard-ass imaginable. Things might get ugly on the survival front soon enough. They didn’t need to waste their time hacking away at each other. Maybe it was time to contact her superior and ask for a replacement, for both their sakes.

She’d request someone older. Wiser. And time in a big city, even if it meant being confined to a single room. Enough of this. She wanted time with a real hairdresser and pedicurist. She wanted an occasional drink without worrying about how it’d affect her focus. And she wanted more than two weeks in a place where she could really, really relax. These isolated little houses were probably better securitywise, but she missed noisy cars, sirens, people—life. Yes, she’d miss Parker and spend lots of wasted time wondering how it might have been had he really cared for her. But maybe that was the best reason to move on.

When he finally spoke, she nearly jumped at the sound of silence being broken.

“What’s it like?”

“What?”

“Doing what you do with your dreams.”

It was his way of making peace. He didn’t believe in manifesting through the imagination and probably never would. But she couldn’t stay mad at him. He’d become more than her protector. He was her best friend.

She’d welcome the damn olive branch if it ended the tension between them. “What’s it like?” She couldn’t suppress a smile. “It’s like Galactic Home Shopping.”

“Pointless, extravagant and addictive?”

“You’d have to try it to understand. The trick is not to just imagine a thing, but to imagine it as you
want
it to be, in the here and now. Imagining a fine leather Coach purse down to the last stitch is one thing. Picturing that purse on your shoulder and owning the image is something else.

“We’re trained to visualize things in such fine detail our brains are
convinced
they’re real. The felt texture and fine shading on a peach, from the pit to every curve imaginable, inside and out. Moonlight snaking over the surface of a rippling creek. The large cloud crowding the skyline that looks so much like a castle you can count the turrets, see the spires.