Predatory Game (GhostWalkers, #6)(23)

Saber, frightened for Jess for no reason she could think of, clutched convulsively at his biceps. Without taking his eyes from Chaleen, he reached up to cover Saber’s hand in reassurance.

“Okay,” Chaleen capitulated. “You’re out of it.”

“I hope so,” Jess replied ominously. “Saber, make some fresh coffee for us, baby. And drink a glass of orange juice.”

Reluctantly Saber allowed him to move away from her, across the room, escorting the blonde toward the front door. Jess never ordered Saber to do things like make coffee or drink orange juice. The juice, she was certain, was because of her fever. The coffee was a ploy to get her out of the way. She hesitated, worried about leaving him vulnerable to Chaleen, although he seemed to feel the issue was closed.

And she did feel lousy. Her head hurt, her body ached, and there was no doubt she needed aspirin. Muttering to herself, she ground fresh beans and obediently put on a pot of coffee.

Jess found her slumped in a chair, elbows on the table, head cradled in her hands. He glided up beside her on silent wheels. “Are you sure you should be out of bed, angel face?” he asked gently.

“Of course not,” she retorted, without looking up. “The place is being overrun by your women. Someone had to do something.”

His mouth twitched but he remained silent as he poured her a glass of orange juice and set it next to her elbow. “Drink.”

She lifted her head. “Chaleen? Is someone really named Chaleen?” Her voice held a wealth of scorn.

He tactfully refrained from pointing out she had an unusual name too.

Saber drank half the glass in a gulp. “How many more should I expect?”

“Now, honey,” he soothed, deliberately feeding the fire. “She’s very nice.”

“Some people probably thought Jack the Ripper was nice too. For heaven’s sake, Jesse, she wears dead animals.” She glared at him as if he’d slain and slaughtered the poor creatures with his own blood-soaked hands to make Chaleen darling’s coat. “You were actually the lover of a woman who wears dead animals. That’s so disgusting.”

He tugged at one of her wild curls. “She’s not that bad.”

Blue eyes shot violet sparks. “Oh yes, she was—is. Who should I expect next? Attila the Hun’s wife? You owe me for this, hot shot. I’ve probably saved you from a fate worse than death. That vamp had designs on your virtue.” She had designs on more than that, but Saber was going to have to take a little time to figure out what.

He nudged the juice a little closer to her, silently urging her to drink more. “I don’t know, Saber, it might have been fun.”

“Don’t give me that, Calhoun.” Saber raked a hand through her hair in total exasperation. “You were terrified she was going to throw herself at you and you know it. I could see it in your eyes.”

He grinned at her. “Hallucinations again. I’d better call the doc in after all.”

She rolled her eyes. “The last time your doctor was here, he insisted I get a flu shot right along with you, and look what happened. I’ve never been sick until now and what do I have—the flu.”

“Drink your juice.” This time he shoved the glass into her hand.

She sent him a smoldering glare, but when he didn’t wither, she took a sip. “Actually, I don’t blame you a bit for wanting to change the subject. If I had such poor taste in my youth, I wouldn’t want to dwell on it either,” she sniffed.

“So did you? Have bad taste I mean? In your youth?”

Instantly a shutter slammed down, laughter fading from her dancing eyes and leaving them veiled, shadowed, even haunted. Saber shrugged the question away casually, too casually. “Good juice, Jesse. Is this fresh squeezed?”

“Of course. What else would I do with you ill?” He ran his knuckles along her cheek in a rough caress. “How are you feeling this morning? I was worried last night.”

“Better. I’ll go to work tonight,” she assured him.

“Saber, don’t be ridiculous. You’re not well.” He laid a cool hand on her forehead. “You’re still running a fever.”

“I’m better,” she insisted.

“Uh-huh, I can tell.” He couldn’t help smiling. Sitting curled up in the oak chair, clad in his robe, black hair tousled, long lashes sweeping the curve of her cheek, Saber was irresistible. Jess had to touch her, wanted to hold her. His finger traced the back of her hand, just to keep the contact. “I am your boss, baby, and I say you don’t go to work tonight.”

She tilted her chin. “Do I get it off with pay?”

“You drive a hard bargain.”

“I’ll get your coffee,” Saber volunteered.

“Sit. I’ll get the coffee. You finish that juice and get back to bed.” Jess easily reached the coffeemaker sitting on the low counter.

“So, all right, I’ll admit I’m hooked. Does Chaleen work for the CIA, or is she some agent for another government?”

Jess concentrated his entire attention on pouring himself a cup of coffee.

Saber ruffled his hair. “Never mind, dragon king. I don’t want you to have to lie to me.”

His hand reached up to cover hers, fingers sliding sensuously between hers. Before she could pull away, he captured her hand, brought it to his chest. “I’m willing to trade, baby.”