Tangle of Need (Psy-Changeling #11)(61)

A pregnant pause, last night repeated.

Not turning, she pushed through.

Entering behind her, he shut the door, turned the lock.





Chapter 31





HIS CRAVING FOR her, a craving that hadn’t abated even a fraction, roared to the surface when she reached down and pulled off the T-shirt she’d been wearing, baring the long, toned sweep of her back, broken only by the lines of a black sports bra. He used a claw to shred the bra off her body, his hands sliding around her torso to close over her breasts.

Her breath hitched, her nipples tight points against his palms. When she tilted her neck to the side, the invitation was clear. Taking it, he sucked a dark red mark on the lower slope, making her twist against him. So, she was exquisitely sensitive there. Something to remember.

An acid stab of guilt, a reminder that this was not the lover he should be learning how to please, how to adore. He strangled the voice, determined to hold to his decision to move forward … but it wouldn’t quieten, the black tendrils of betrayal wrapping around his mind and twining through his blood.

Slender, warm fingers on his own. “We aren’t the only people in this room right now, are we, Riaz?”

Backing off, he shoved his hands through his hair, beyond angry at himself. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to go like this.” He’d come to her in honest need, but now that need was tangled with the caustic taste of infidelity, the chill rain of grief. The fact that he knew he had no rational reason to feel disloyal meant nothing when the primal heart of him was fighting itself, tooth and claw.

Instead of turning on him in fury, a reaction he would’ve understood from a predatory changeling female of her dominance, Adria toed off her boots and crawled into bed, still dressed in her jeans. Giving him her back, she said, “Come here. Lie with me.”

Every muscle in his body locked, torn between two fiercely opposed desires. “I don’t know if I can.” The admission was ripped out of him.

“No expectations, just two wolves taking comfort from one another.” A pause heavy with things unsaid. “I need the touch, too.”

The hidden pain of her, it smashed through the tumult inside him to touch the protective core. Kicking off his own shoes, he stripped off his T-shirt and stretched out behind her. He’d left enough space between their bodies that he could see the graceful curve of her spine, the creamy gold of her skin flawless. It was instinct to run his hand over her back, to accept the skin privileges she’d offered him, even as he petted the pain out of her for a fragment of time.

Sighing, she swept her braid off her back and over her shoulder, saying nothing as he continued to touch. Though she was the one who was ostensibly receiving pleasure, he gained as much from the contact. He’d come to her broken and lost, and with her vulnerability, she’d given him the tools he needed to reclaim the reins—to help him, this strong woman had had the courage to rip open her own scars. Driven by protective instinct, he curved his bigger, heavier body around hers, his chest pressed to her back, his hand stroking down her arm, slow and easy.

Her eyes, he saw, were closed, but he knew she was awake. So when she spoke, he wasn’t startled—but neither was he ready for her question. “Will you tell me about her?”

His answer was automatic. “There’s nothing to say.”

Her lashes remained soft shadows on her cheeks. “Of course there is, and you can’t speak to anyone else. I won’t make any judgments or offer any advice. I’m just here to listen.”

His hand clenched on her arm before he forced himself to relax his grip. The only reason he’d said anything to Indigo when he first arrived home was because he hadn’t wanted to see her mess up what he’d sensed was the right relationship for her. He didn’t regret that choice, made as it had been out of friendship, but he still sometimes wished she didn’t know—because it was his greatest weakness.

And Indigo knew the barest facts. Adria already saw too much of him … and was a woman strong enough, honest enough, to admit to her own wounds. “Her name,” he said, knowing that honesty deserved his own, “is Lisette.”

Speaking of her caused a sweet, dark pain inside of him, but there was wild joy, too. At last, he could say her name, share her with someone. “She’s French but works in Venice.” He’d seen her at an elegant ball held in one of the oldest buildings in the sunken city, its stately lower half submerged, its upper half a masterpiece of ornate architecture.

“The Human Alliance is based in Venice.”

“Lisette’s husband, Emil, is a computronic specialist with the Alliance.” He was a successful, smart man who loved his wife. Riaz had wanted to kill him on sight, been stopped only by the realization that that love was reflected in Lisette’s blue eyes—to harm Emil would be to harm Lisette, and Riaz would never do anything to cause her pain. “On the surface,” he continued, “Lisette is a business manager for an unrelated company, but I’m pretty certain it’s a cover for an Alliance communications operation.”

Adria opened her eyes. “You didn’t ask?”

“No.” His task had been to watch, to learn, to make contacts. While SnowDancer’s relationship with the Alliance had thawed enough that the pack was willing to do some business with the group that represented a vast network of human enterprises, neither party was anywhere close to ready to share secrets.