Warrior Betrayed: The Sons of the Zodiac 3 (11 page)

“This Great Agreement.” She held up the book as if he somehow didn’t know where she had gotten her information from. “You’re a result of that?”

“Yes.”

“And that’s why you and your brothers felt the need to translate this book for posterity’s sake, even though the volume looks hundreds of years old.”

“Yes. Because it
is
hundreds of years old.”

“And you’re the Taurus Warrior? And an immortal?” And probably married, her conscience added for good measure.

“Yes on both counts.”

From somewhere deep inside her, an ember sparked to life with each successive affirmation coming out of Quinn’s mouth.

It wasn’t reasonable. But it felt damn good to have a target for the confusion roiling around inside of her.

“How dare you sit there calmly and tell me all this?” She leaped from the couch, those embers flashing to quick anger without any warning.

“I’m not calm, Montana.”

She knew it wasn’t rational—this frustration and anger and wild rage that continued to gain strength, like a hurricane gathering force over the ocean. “You could have fooled me. You’re sitting here telling me all this bullshit, you drag me in here after kissing me senseless and let your wife take care of me and then you act like all of this is just some matter-of-fact thing I should just sit here and accept. Well, fuck you!”

If she weren’t so angry, the look on Quinn’s face—dropped mouth, widened eyes and a flush of red creeping up his cheeks—might have made her laugh. As it were, it only fueled the fury inside of her.

“My wife?”

Mortification crept up her chest in swelling waves, but Montana kept on. There was no way she was backing down now. “Callie? That woman who took care of my back. I heard her reaction when you called her the housekeeper.”

“She’s not my wife.”

“Fine. Your girlfriend, then. Either way, she was clearly pissed you didn’t even acknowledge who she was to the strange woman you brought home. And really, who can blame her? The
housekeeper
is the best you could come up with on short notice?”

“Is that why you’re so upset? But Callie’s not my wife, girlfriend or any other thing that implies we have sex on a regular basis.”

“Oh. Well. That doesn’t change anything.”

Even as the words left her mouth, her conscience leaped up and taunted her that it made a heck of a lot of difference. Which didn’t diminish her anger, but merely complemented it with a massive shot of hormones because the man standing across from her—all broad shoulders and thick body and luscious hair and big hands and long legs—was doing a serious number on her libido.

Down, girl. Down.

A smile played at the corner of his lips. “So is that why you’re so upset? Because you thought Callie was my girlfriend?”

“No. I’m upset because you lied to me.”

“I did what I had to do. And, assuming I could get in, take care of the problem and get out, you never needed to know.”

Anger, sadness, fear, longing—none of them came close to the mind-numbing disappointment she felt in that moment.

All her life, like a song that just repeated in your mind until you wanted to scream in agony, everyone did things for her own good.

She never had a voice.

Never had any say.

It was always for her
own good
. Someone else always knew best. She was the little rich girl who needed protecting.

And
this
man—this stubborn, smug, self-serving stranger—thought he could come into her life and do whatever he damn well pleased.

“You incredible asshole! You’ve lied to me and kept me in the dark and you have the nerve to insult me and tell me you’d have gone on that way if you hadn’t been found out?”

“Yes.”

Just like everything else in her life, this was one more thing she had no control over. No say. No ability to affect the outcome.

“Get out.”

“Montana?”

“I’m serious. Get out and leave me alone.”

Quinn paced the hallway outside the library. He wanted to walk back in—wanted to rant and rail and scream—but nothing could erase the image of her as she turned away from him.

She held the long length of her body perfectly still, her willowy frame as unbending as an oak tree.

Fuck it all, he was an idiot.

“I did what I had to do. And, assuming I could get in, take care of the problem and get out, you never needed to know.”

Their conversation replayed in his mind, those smug words hitting him over and over.

The stubborn bull, always doing what he felt he had to do. Always ensuring his fucking obstinate pride had the last word.

His
decisions.

His
choices.

His
way.

He leaned his forehead against the heavy wood of the door to the library. Her soft sobs filtered through the door, a ringing reprisal for his idiotic words.

For months now, he’d felt helpless against the choice he’d made for Kane and Ilsa and none of those self-recriminations had anything on this moment.

He’d hurt her. And he’d been cruel.

Without stopping to think, Quinn opened the door and barreled across the room, Montana’s huddled form in his sights.

At the sound of his footsteps, she whirled from her position on the couch, coming to her feet in a rush. Tears stained her cheeks, but her anger quickly added color as she stared him down. “I told you to get out.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve got a listening problem.”

“No shit.”

Hunger unlike anything he’d ever known flared to life from deep inside. Gods, how he wanted this woman.

He didn’t deserve her. Didn’t deserve to take anything from her, but damn it if he could stop himself from wanting her.

He should go.

He really should.

And then she made the decision for both of them.

With slow, purposeful movements, Montana closed the distance between them. She ran the edge of her tongue over her lips and Quinn couldn’t have stopped gazing on her lips if his very life depended on it.

She was still mad, he could see that. Her back was still arrow straight and large tears still rimmed her eyelids. “I’m not ready to forgive you yet.”

“I’m not either.”

Oddly, none of it mattered standing there in the heat that arced between them.

He had to have her.

Now.

His gaze roved over her, reminding him she still wore the blanket Ilsa had draped over her earlier. Her bottom half was still clad in her skirt, pantyhose and heels. With a lift of her shoulders, she allowed the heavy blanket to slide down her arms and pool at her feet.

Putting on her best boss voice, she pointed across the room. “Close the doors. Both of them.”

He didn’t need any prompting, practically leaping across the room to complete the task. Before she could even catch a breath, Quinn again stood in front of her.

His heated gaze resumed its travels, following the line of her throat to roam over her breasts. His hands followed as he reached for her and ran one finger over her right breast, the nipple hardening under the thin material of her bra.

He might be an immortal, but he was also a man, and the light hiss that escaped her lips rocketed through his system like gasoline set to flame with a match.

“If you don’t kiss me in the next two seconds, I’m going to make you very sorry you ever met me, Mr. Tanner.”

Fortunately, he only needed one.

Quinn didn’t need any further encouragement as he reached for Montana. Somewhere deep inside he knew this was only staving off the inevitable showdown—the one where he had to tell her that her mother was a fallen immortal—but gods help him if he could resist what she offered.

Bending his head, he ran his tongue over the edge of lace that ran along the rim of her bra, delving under the silky material. He heard her breath exhale on a long whoosh and used one finger to tug the thin barrier down, exposing all that luscious skin to his mouth. Without looking up at her to gauge her reaction, he moved in and ran his tongue over her nipple, satisfied as the tender tip grew ripe under the heated suction of his mouth.

Montana’s fingers threaded through his hair as she held him against her body, a moan rumbling through her chest cavity as he drew long and deep. With his fingers, he reached for the other silky cup of her bra and drew it down over her lush, full breast, baring her other nipple to his questing palm.

Her body was perfect. All long, supple limbs and taut flesh. He shifted his attention, wrapping his arms around her and splaying his hands across her back to move her toward the couch when he stopped suddenly. Like a blast of cold water, he felt the flat gauze bandage Callie had placed temporarily over her wound.

The image of her hurt and huddled on the couch not all that long ago filled his thoughts, pulling him up short. “Montana? Am I hurting you?”

“Hmmm?” Her gaze slowly cleared as she focused on him. “What?”

“Your back. Am I hurting you?”

The lingering effects of passion cleared completely as she focused on his words. “No, actually. Not at all.”

He dropped his arms to her waist and tried to turn her. “Here. Let me look.”

With gentle movements, he lifted a corner of the gauze where Callie had taped it to her back with surgical tape.

“It really doesn’t hurt, Quinn.”

Her words registered, but he already knew the truth. With a slight tug, Quinn pulled the bandage free of her skin. The taut lines of her back and the graceful arch of her shoulder blades were smooth and silky. As if she had never sustained an injury at all.

“Quinn? What is it? Is it that bad?”

“No, it’s not bad at all. It’s gone.”

“Gone?” Montana twisted, her gaze roaming over her back as she sought some proof from her peripheral vision. “What do you mean it’s gone? Callie pulled thirteen spikes from my back.”

Damn straight, she did. And he had watched her remove each and every one of them. “Do you feel anything?”

“Well, no.”

He ran his fingers across her shoulder blades, in the same spot he felt for injuries in the park. “What about now?”

“No. Nothing.”

“That’s because nothing’s there.”

Montana’s gaze caught on a large mirror on the far side of the room and ran toward it. Clearly ignoring her half-naked state, she turned to look at her back in the mirror.

“Oh my God. I don’t believe it. It’s not possible.”

Not possible? Of course it was possible, based on who her mother was. Here Montana was, an immortal all along. What a merry chase she’d led him on, those wide blue eyes smacking of innocence and ignorance.

Ignorance, his ass.

Quinn came to stand behind her, his face visible over her shoulder in the mirror as he gripped her to hold her still. “Now who’s the one playing games, Montana?”

“Games?” She whipped around so fast he fumbled his hold. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It looks like you’re an immortal, too, just like your mother. Cut the crap, Montana. Clearly you’ve known about Eirene all along.”

Her thoughts whirled through her head in a jumbled mess. Like the speeding images you saw when you rode a roller coaster, she couldn’t focus on one.

Her mother was an immortal?

And how did Quinn know that?

And he thought
she
was an immortal?

Through all the noise, one thought finally penetrated above the others. “You don’t believe me?”

“It’s an awfully handy excuse, don’t you think? You’ve got this big, global conglomerate and you can come and go as you please. You’re about to take the company public. You’ve probably set this entire thing up to your benefit. A little bit of drama to build up support for your ideas.”

“What? You can’t be serious.”

“Look at it from my point of view.”

“Quinn.” She shook her head, willing him to slow down and listen. “Quinn!”

He stopped and his body stilled as she placed a hand on his chest. “What?”

“Listen to me. Please. I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about. I haven’t set anything up for my own benefit. And, might I remind you, you’re the one who sought me out, so you can’t blame this all on me.” She stopped short and stared at him. “Speaking of which, why
have
you been following me?”

A pained look crossed his face and for a moment she thought he wouldn’t answer her. “There’s been a lot of activity in your sector.”

“My what?” Good God, she sounded like a fucking megaphone, echoing back each word he said. But seriously. What was he talking about?

“I monitor…things. The streets. Manhattan. Farther than that, really. I look for patterns. I’ve written algorithms to watch for paranormal activity and I can usually find it within all the technology that monitors our lives nowadays.”

Montana knew it was silly—knew the last thing she needed to do at this moment was laugh—but she failed miserably to keep a straight face, or the laughter from her voice. “You’re a geek?”

“I most certainly am not.”

“You most certainly are. And this monitoring you do? What does it have to do with me?”

“About a month ago, I started to get a sense that there was a lot of activity in your sector. Your quadrant.” When she only stared at him, he continued. “It’s the way I monitor all the data. I narrowed it down to your block and, since your building is the entire block, I began looking into the tenants. It didn’t take too long to figure it was you.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“I can see patterns, Montana. Things that most others don’t. It’s why I’m a good security expert. And it’s what I do as my role within my Warrior brothers.”

“I thought you were an ass kicker.”

“I’m that, too. But we’ve all evolved through the years. We all do more. Than kick ass,” he added.

He could call himself anything he wanted, it still didn’t explain why he’d followed her. “So why did you start focusing on me?”

“Like I said, the paranormal activity around you was off the charts. Then I started—”

“Whoa, whoa. Stop there. What paranormal activity?”

“Everything has an essence. A life force. I can see those forces.”

She shook her head, his explanation too fantastical for words. “You’re like those weirdoes on TV. The ones who claim they’re following ghosts and whatnot.”

“It’s not exactly like that, but it’s not far off. I look for energy patterns. Humans give off energy patterns. Supernatural humans give off even more.”

Oh holy shit, he actually believed this stuff?

The urge to put a few additional feet of distance between them crossed her mind, but even as she felt the urge, it was swiftly followed by another.

A desperate desire to believe him.

Because maybe if she believed him, some of the things in her life would finally make sense.

He held his hands up in a “don’t shoot” gesture. “Can I finish? Please?”

She nodded, curious to hear what he had to say despite herself.

“After I got the”—he broke off as if searching for the right word—“
sense
that something was going on, I looked into your background, your father’s death and your recent ascension to the head of Grant Shipping. Couple it all with the fact that you’re taking the company public and my instincts went off.”

“But I still don’t see how they’re related.” She saw his skepticism in the raised eyebrows and the hard set of his shoulders, but she continued. “No, really. Explain it to me. I think I have a right to know.”

“I didn’t know what to think about you other than the business reputation your father built and you’ve inherited. Then you start talking to me about your mother and her reappearance, so soon after you take the helm. It all seems rather convenient.”

He couldn’t be serious. He thought her
mother
was involved? That the frail woman afraid of her own shadow was someone setting this all up to her benefit? Whatever pain Eirene’s absence had caused her over the years, Montana refused to believe the woman was playing her.

To what end?

If Eirene had wanted a piece of the company, she’d have had much better luck sticking around and playing the long-suffering wife.

“So you think what? That my long-lost feeble mother is up to no good? At a time when she doesn’t have to fear my father anymore, which is likely the reason she never returned in the first place.”

“And you never questioned that maybe she was back for a different reason? Something tied to the company your father founded.”

“But my mother hasn’t mentioned one word to me about taking the company public. Not one single word. Don’t you think if she were trying to set me up she’d say something about it?”

“She’s been around a long time. I’m sure she knows how to be more subtle than that.”

“I’m serious, Quinn. The two things aren’t related. They’re just not. There has to be some other connection.”

“You can keep thinking that all you want. But I want to know more. Like this healing thing. You’ve never noticed that before?”

She’d nearly forgotten about that in the midst of their argument. With the reminder from his words, the shock of it all came rushing back. “I’ve never had any healing powers like this. I bleed, like anyone else. And I heal like anyone else. Here. Look.”

Another thought hit her as she made her arguments. With quick movements, she tugged at the waist of her skirt, lowering it to show him a scar from her appendectomy. “Appendicitis when I was twelve. See. I’ve had physical problems during my life. Disease. Surgery.”

She watched his eyes roam over her skin, saw him reach out and touch the thin white scar that was proof of her surgery. “I had to
heal
from that. I was out of school for two weeks.”

“But this doesn’t make sense.”

“Let’s slow down for a minute. Talk to me and tell me what you think you know.” She shook her head. “No. Tell me what you know. Come on. Please.”

He nodded and they walked back toward the couch. Was it possible he was softening? Montana reached for the blanket the women had covered her with earlier. Although she could still feel the brand of Quinn against her skin—could still feel each and every agonizing sweep of his tongue on her breast—she covered herself from his view.