Extreme Danger (McClouds & Friends #5)(55)

He was as much of an addict as his daddy, with the juice. He just hadn’t found his drug of choice till now.

And f*ck, was he humbled.

He pried his fingers away from hers and dragged himself up. Back turned, jeans half-fastened. Into the bathroom, to splash come off his belly. He couldn’t risk another shower. Getting naked and wet only led one place with Becca.

He was careful not to look at her as he rummaged on the floor in search of the rest of his clothes.

“So this is routine for you, after sex?” she said, her low voice drifting in from the bedroom, “Acting like an ice cube, not looking at me, not speaking to me?”

He opened his mouth to reply. Stopped himself, closed it tight. Anything he said could be used against him in a female court of law.

“What did I do to deserve this?” she asked quietly.

He found his shirt, yanked it on, and grabbed his boots as he went back into her bedroom to put them on. He owed her that much. “Sweetheart, whatever you think you want from me, you’re better off without it.”

“Would you just look at me, goddamnit?”

Her whip-crack tone startled him into doing just that. He focused on the swirly fall of her dark hair rather than her big, hurt eyes. “The hair has got to go,” he said, distractedly. “Cut it off today, Becca. Get some colored contacts, too. Dark brown. Definitely.”

“Don’t change the subject!” she snapped. “Why do I always get the feeling that you’re punishing me for something that I didn’t do?”

He shook his head. “That’s way too deep for me.”

“Bullshit.” Her voice held an edge. “There’s no video cameras in here, Nick. No bad guys watching to see if you’re evil enough to suit them. You could ease off. Just, you know, a suggestion.”

He plunked his ass down on the carpet amidst all the pillows to yank on his clammy, disgusting socks. “It’s all real,” he said. “What you see is what you get.”

She pondered that as she knelt there on the bed. In her fury, she’d forgotten all about cringing and hiding. Her chin was up, her color high, eyes shining. She was crazy gorgeous. Power shining out of her.

“Well, then,” she said. “I guess I see something you don’t.”

“You see what you want to see,” he said. “Most girls do.”

He could feel her hurt in the thick silence that followed. She persisted a minute later, tough as nails. “I don’t believe it,” she said.

“Believe what?” He yanked a boot on, tried lacing it. The damn thing was waterlogged, the leather laces swollen and stubborn.

“Your mean and horrible act,” she said. “I just don’t buy it. You did an amazing thing for me last night, and I just can’t believe—”

“No.” He struggled with the f*cking bootlace until it snapped in his hand. “What I did last night was fail. Get it through your head.”

She dragged in a hurt breath. “It was not your fault that I came over to that house. And rescuing me from death does not equal failure!”

“That’s not what I meant,” he growled. “It was my job to come up with a solution to that problem that didn’t involve f*cking my cover. I failed to do that. Years of my life, down the drain.” He shrugged, and rose to his feet, letting the unlaced boots flap. “This is salvage, babe. I’m trying to look on the bright side. Insofar as I can. At least I got some spectacular sex out of it. You burned me alive. I will never forget it.”

She swung her legs around and perched on the other side of the bed, her back to him. “OK,” she said. “I give in. You are mean and horrible and awful, Nick. You can stop trying to convince me. It must take a whole lot of your energy, and I know you must be tired. Just go.”

Her words made his stomach sink to unplumbed depths he’d never imagined. “It’s better you know that right off,” he said heavily. “That’s better than being disillusioned later. Trust me.”

She made a sharp gesture with her hand. “I tried to trust you,” she snapped. “You keep throwing it back in my face. Just leave, OK? I’ve had enough.”

Those were the words he needed to break the spell, get him moving. He reached out to touch the glossy hair waving down her back, and gathered it all into his palm. It felt warm. Slick and vibrant and alive. It made him sorry to do what he was about to do, but hey.

“You’re a sweet girl, Becca,” he said.

She shook with bitter laughter. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing? With you, I don’t dare guess.” She jerked her head, trying to shake off his hand.

He tightened his grip, slid it further down the length of hair. “It’s an observation, not a compliment,” he said.

“Let go of my hair. And thanks so much for the distinction. God forbid I should think you capable of doing or saying anything nice.”

“God forbid,” he agreed. “A girl like you should stay away from *s like me.”

“Thanks for the tip.” Her head jerked round as she heard the snick of his knife, but he was too quick. Two back-and-forth slashes with the razor-sharp blade, and a thick hank dangled from his hand.

She shrieked with outrage, launching herself at him. “My hair! What the hell? How dare you? Why did you do that?”