Murder Game (GhostWalkers, #7)(68)

She let out her breath, running her glove-covered fingers over her mother’s arm, feeling inexplicably sad. She wanted to touch Sharon skin to skin. To be normal. “I love you, Mom,” she said, her heart heavy. “I’ve always loved you so much. I’m sorry for all the letdowns over the years, but mostly for this. I don’t know what they want, but you got this,” she touched the bruise again with trembling fingers, “because of me.”

“No!” Sharon drew her daughter into her arms. “I love you more than anything. Your father and I both do. There are no regrets.” Surprisingly, her voice was strong, fierce even. “There never will be, no matter what happens. And I’m grateful your friends came instead of you. I would have been furious with you if you’d tried to exchange your life for ours.”

Tansy kissed her mother again and took another deep breath, before daring to look up at Kadan.

Kadan saw her breath hitch in her throat. He swore he felt her heart stop beating. The color drained from her face and her eyes went that peculiar shade of violet.

“Kadan,” she whispered his name and he felt her move in his mind. Kadan. A breath. A caress in his mind.

Suddenly for him there was no one else in the room. Only Tansy. Only that look on her face that was worth all the waiting in the world. She didn’t take her gaze from his as she crossed the few steps to him, seemingly oblivious to her parents’ curious stares. Her hand smoothed, featherlight, over his scar, then skimmed his chest, finger touching the rip in his shirt.

“Look at you,” she said softly. “Just look at what they did to you.”

He should have been embarrassed with the other GhostWalkers looking on, especially when he caught sight of Gator’s grin; the man was going to have fun tormenting him later, but nothing else mattered but that look in her eyes. All the teasing in the world was worth that moment. She was completely focused on him, soft inside, worried, her heart in her eyes. Her lips trailed down the side of his face to his chest.

How bad? Her fingers went to his shirt, dragging it from his jeans in an effort to get at his chest. I have to know how bad it is. There was desperation in her voice, in her mind, and—God help him—tears.

His heart clenched. His belly knotted. How the hell did men survive women loving them? Because he honestly didn’t know. He framed her face with his hands, unable to prevent himself from seeing the blood staining his skin and the rough, scarred backs against her smooth, rose-petal-soft cheeks. The pads of his fingers, topped with microscopic velvet bristles, brushed against her mouth. That beautiful, full mouth that terrified him when nothing else could, smiling at him, kissing him, taking him to paradise, loving him as no one else had ever done or could do. She was such a damned miracle.

He bent his head to hers, uncaring that her parents watched, uncaring that his friends could probably see the caveman desperation in him. The claiming. The possession. The love that he couldn’t hide. This was coming home. Her soft mouth, hot as hell, sexy as could be. He closed his eyes and savored the cinnamon taste of her. It wasn’t enough. It never would be. His hands slipped to her shoulders, ran down the sides of her body to rest on her hips, fingers digging deep to pull her close against him. The true miracle was—she kissed him back. She didn’t step away, she pushed tight against him, pliant and soft and yielding, as if she belonged.

Thank you for bringing my parents home safe. And for keeping your promise that you’d come back to me.

You never have to worry about that, baby. I’ll always come back to you. And God help them both, he meant it.

Reluctantly he lifted his head, searching her eyes for a moment, needing to feel the connection between them when, without her touch, he felt so much empty space between him and his emotions. He couldn’t quite bridge that gap without her.

Tansy tugged at his shirt. “Take it off. I need to see.”

If she’d said she wanted to see, he might have ignored her, but the need in her voice, in her mind, in the stark admission, had him pulling the shirt one-handed over his head and removing the vest. His chest was one black and purple bruise.

Behind him, Sharon gasped. “Watson was going to shoot me,” she whispered, her fingers going to her trembling lips. “I saw him aim for my head. I didn’t realize he shot you.”

Tansy closed her eyes for a moment, her fingers barely touching the massive bruise on his chest. For my mother?

She knew he didn’t believe in her parents’ innocence.

You took this for my mother? She looked up at him, love and awe mixed in her expression with pride and something so sexy he wanted to throw her on the floor and bury himself deep.

Kadan was so out of his depth he didn’t know how to respond. Hell no, he hadn’t done it for her mother—he’d taken the bullet for her. For Tansy. Okay, maybe it had been instinctive on his part, protecting the package, but if he had to think about it, he’d say the risk was all for his woman. He was so far from a saint it wasn’t funny, but if taking a bullet made her look at him like he was the best man in the world, he’d do it again.

It’s nothing, Tansy. I’m perfectly fine. He skimmed his mouth from the corner of her eye to the corner of her mouth, scowled, touched his tongue to the side of her mouth, and pulled back with suspicion at the coppery flavor.

“What have you been doing?”

She couldn’t help the small guilty look she shot Tucker and Ian. Kadan followed the shift in her gaze, and his hands slid up over her hips to her waist. “You’re in trouble.”