Wickedly Wonderful (Baba Yaga, #2)(54)

“What the hell happened to you?” Chewie barked.

“Nothing. I just got a little nibbled on by a shark,” Beka said, sinking down on the futon and running her hands through his soft fur.

“Nibbled on by a shark doesn’t sound like nothing,” Chewie said. “In fact, it sounds like a lot of something. I don’t like it.”

“Well, to be honest, I didn’t like it much either,” Beka said. “Remind me not to repeat the experience.” She wondered if she should mention the gold chain she thought she saw the shark wearing—but she had to have imagined it in the heat of the moment.

Marcus came up the stairs into the bus, shaking his head. “You know, it sounds for all the world like the two of you are actually having a conversation. Too bad I don’t speak Dog.”

“I was just explaining to Chewie what a hero you are,” she said. “He saved my life,” she told Chewie. “Shot the shark with a spear gun so I could get away.”

“Aw, shucks, ma’am, it weren’t nothin’,” Marcus said with a smile, coming to sit down next to Beka.

Chewie made a gagging noise. “I don’t think I can take any more of this,” he said, giving Beka an affectionate swipe with his tongue before heaving himself up in a mass of dark fur and dust motes. “I’m going to go out and pee on something.” He padded over and opened the door with his teeth, leaving it to Beka to get up and shut it, grateful that Marcus couldn’t actually understand him.

“Talented dog,” Marcus commented.

“You have no idea,” Beka said. She sat back down next to Marcus and gazed into his hazel eyes for a moment without speaking. Every time she looked at them they were different. In the diffuse afternoon light streaming through the bus windows, they seemed almost green, with hints of brown and copper and amber, like a piece of polished agate washed up by the sea.

“Thank you again,” she said quietly. “You know, for saving me. You really are my hero.”

“I’m just glad I got there in time,” Marcus said. In that simple statement lurked the unspoken memory of all the times he hadn’t, the men he hadn’t been able to save. She could see the pain of it in those gorgeous eyes although he never said a word. “I’ve kind of gotten used to having you around.” He reached out and picked up one of her hands, holding on to it lightly.

Beka could feel a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “I was under the impression that you thought I was a flaky tree-hugging hippie chick.”

“You mean, like you think I’m a cranky, rigid, stick-up-his-butt former Marine?” He laughed. “It turns out, shockingly enough, that I actually like flaky tree-hugging hippie chicks.”

Beka could feel her heartbeat start to race, fluttering butterflies seeming to chase one another around her belly. “Really?” she said in a teasing tone. “All flaky tree-hugging hippie chicks?”

Marcus paused as if considering. “No. In fact, there is one in particular who has somehow gotten under my skin.” He leaned in closer, as if he was going to kiss her, but then pulled back, leaving her feeling bereft. The laughter slid off his face, replaced by a serious look.

“Can I ask you one question?”

She looked down at their joined hands, pondering all the questions he might ask that she wouldn’t be able to answer—at least not with the complete truth. Looking back up at him, she took a deep breath.

“Sure, what’s the question?”

Marcus scanned her face as if he could read the answer before he’d even formed the question. “Is there something going on between you and that guy Kesh?”

Beka almost giggled in relief. Yes, there had been a point when she thought that there might be some potential there . . . but that point was long past. If she was going to be honest with herself, she couldn’t imagine being with anyone other than Marcus. She didn’t for a moment believe that there was any way that they would be able to make things work together, but he was all she thought of. Kesh didn’t even come into the equation.

“No,” she said decisively. “We’re just friends. Nothing more, in the past or in the future.”

“Good answer,” Marcus said, and then he did kiss her, leaning in to touch her lips with his, at first gently, and then with a firm and assertive pressure that urged her to return the kiss with interest. So she did, sliding forward into the protective circle of his arms, which tightened around her in response.

The heady scent of him filled her nostrils, that particular blend of salt and sea and musk that was his alone. Just the smell of him made the blood rush to her core; the feel of his strong arms, the sweet taste of his mouth made her whole body pulse with need and longing.

Marcus made a groaning noise deep in his throat and started to pull away.

“Don’t you dare,” she breathed in his ear. “If you stop kissing me, I’ll . . . I’ll bite you.”

“You can bite me anyway,” he suggested, nibbling on her neck and sending shivers of anticipation and sensation sliding down her spine. “But we should stop. You have a hurt leg.” He loosened his arms reluctantly.

Beka gazed into his eyes, so dark with desire they seemed to go on forever, capturing her soul in their depths. “My leg is fine,” she said, standing up to show him. “Look, no limp.”