Chapter 3
Tori brushed out her wet hair, letting the mass drop to her shoulders. After a very warm shower, a much-needed one, she’d found a pair of running shorts and a tank top in a drawer. They’d do while her clothing dried. The small bathroom sat off a cozy bedroom complete with a queen-size bed. She tried to ignore the red satin bedspread and plump pillows. The place really did feel like a whorehouse from the fifties.
It was one thing to stare at Adam Dunne across a room. Quite another to share a bed with his hard body.
She shook her head and maneuvered past the bedroom into the main room.
Adam overwhelmed one of the two small settees, his boots up on the table, his gaze on the multiple screens. His short hair had dried, but wet patches marred his jeans. He’d hung his T-shirt over one of the two kitchen chairs.
Her mouth went dry—partly in shock as she had time to truly look at him. As she’d noted before, his chest was even better than his bare back. Oh, she’d expected the width of his torso and the chiseled muscles, even the bronzed skin that covered his ripped abs. What caught the breath in her throat was the tattoo, the one inked over his left pec that wound down his rib cage: a series of jagged, sharp swords, all seeming to dance together in what felt like a warning. Words, maybe Gaelic ones, flowed along the design.
Adam Dunne had two tattoos. She would’ve bet her entire savings account, all fifty dollars of it, that he wouldn’t have any tats.
Her borrowed panties dampened. Who was this guy? She faltered and then straightened her shoulders. “The shower is all yours.”
“Thank you.” Even half-naked, he epitomized class and style, his voice cultured and smooth.
He took a sip of his drink, his dark gaze wandering over her outfit.
She fought the urge to fidget. “These were all the clothes I could find.” Darn it. She didn’t need to explain anything to him. Why he made her feel like a kid from the wrong side of town, she didn’t know. Well, maybe she did. Compared to him, she was a kid from the bad end of town. She’d even downed the expensive whiskey like it had been Mad Dog 20/20.
“I just returned to the country this morning, or I would’ve made sure you had clothing,” he said, his gaze thoughtful. “I searched the cupboards, and there’s nothing to eat here. If you’re truly hungry, I can slip out and secure supper.”
The word hungry shot unwelcome thoughts of his body against hers through her brain. Man, she needed a nap. She shook her head. “I’m fine. Managed to eat before the last kidnapping attempt.”
His cheek creased. “That’s good. The Guard is searching every corner, and I’d rather not have to hurt any of them. They’re just doing their jobs.”
She couldn’t help it. “What do the words on your chest say?” It was none of her business, but something in her craved to know.
He didn’t look down at the ink. “Family, Fate, and Forever.” He tipped back his glass and finished the amber-colored liquid, his jaw visibly tightening. “It’s a mantra.”
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, unwillingly touched by the simple vow.
“Thank you.”
She faltered. “You’re kind of an all-in or all-out type of guy. Right?”
Now amusement fully tilted his lips, and he stretched to his feet. Even so, tension radiated from him. “I guess you could say that.”
What would it be like to have a guy like him, smart and powerful, be totally into her? She shook her head. Impossible, that was what. “Why the Celtic swords all around Family, Fate, and Forever?” The design was stunning, but the choice of deadly and wicked swords had to have been deliberate.
He moved toward her, all grace. “Because weapons are required to protect all three.” He reached her, his scent washing over her and weakening her knees.
She cleared her throat. “What’s that cologne you wear?”
He brushed a wet tendril of hair off her forehead, his touch gentle yet sizzling. “I’m not wearing any.” He towered over her without even trying. “You look about eighteen years old without all the purple makeup.”
Her war face? Man, she’d kill to have her face done up right now. Armor to confront him was a necessity. “I’m twenty-eight, Adam,” she said, crossing her arms.
“’Twasn’t an insult. You’re beautiful, Victoria.” His thumb traced her cheekbone as if he couldn’t help himself.
Her gaze slashed up to him. “Would you care to explain why you’re touching me?” She tried to sound authoritative.
He paused and straightened, his hand dropping. “I, ah, don’t know.” His gaze darkened. “I apologize.”
Yeah. That sounded right. Most people in her life would’ve muttered sorry. Not a classy I apologize. She drew on strength and met his gaze. “What about the CE9 tattoo? What does that mean?”
“I’m an Enforcer for the Coven Nine,” he said, his voice low and rough.
She shivered. “How old are you, anyway?”
“Over four centuries.” He moved into the bedroom.
Her knees wobbled. She let out the breath she’d been holding. He’d lived for so long. What did his scent remind her of? She used to go camping in the mountains by the river with a bunch of friends, often during the fall. His scent was like the air in a forest right before a raging storm broke. Was there a name for that smell? If so, he probably knew it. He most likely knew all the words out there. Her two years of community college, where she’d studied music, probably didn’t come close to his education. Of course, if she had four centuries to study, she might go for a couple more years. Or maybe not.
School hadn’t been her thing.
She rubbed her still-tingling face. Why had he touched her? More important, why did her entire body feel electrified? She had to get herself under control before she looked like a complete idiot. Plus, she had a job to do, one that definitely would piss Adam right off—as the very best scenario. At the worst . . . he’d want her dead.
She had a feeling that if Adam wanted somebody dead, they ended up underground.
Clearing her throat, she hustled into the kitchen and took another quick shot of the expensive whiskey. The potent brew exploded in her stomach, spiraling out, heating every nerve. Okay. Maybe not the best plan for dealing with her attraction to the witch. She poured another glass and wandered into the living room, studying the screens.
She had to get to a phone. This place was so well set up, there had to be a phone somewhere. She scrambled through the cupboards inset beneath the screens. Computer towers and a bunch of electronics were in the first. The second held guns. She felt one, tugging it free. Green and rather heavy. She didn’t have anywhere to put it, so she placed it back in the cupboard. She could get to it easily if needed.
The third cupboard held a box of phones. She knew it. Taking one out, she studied it. No brand name . . . and a larger screen than she’d seen before. It figured the witches would have advanced technology, right? Where was the on button? She twirled the black device in her hand, running her finger along the side. Nothing. Squinting, she held it to the light.
Come on, damn it.
She pressed along the screen, and it lit up, bright blue and glowing. A series of squiggly lines took form right before a keypad came up. Relief rushed through her.
“Put the phone down, Victoria.”
She gasped and looked up. Adam stood in the bedroom doorway wearing nothing but a pair of black shorts, his hair wet, irritation sizzling in his eyes. The swords danced across his torso as he moved.
“Um, no.” She straightened up, clutching the phone. “There are people I need to check in with.”
One of his dark eyebrows lifted. “Your sister knows where you are, and she has reassured Junie, who’s still on her cruise.”
“Jennie,” Tori corrected automatically.
“Huh?” he asked.
She cleared her throat. “Our mom’s name is Jennie Juniper, or Jennie Junie. Some people call her Junie, but her name is really Jennie.”
“Oh.” He frowned. “My dossier on her said Junie. Interesting.”
“She goes by both,” Tori said, wondering why the hell they weren’t fighting about the phone. This was just weird. “I have other people to call besides my family.”
He shook his head. “No phone calls out right now. Sorry.”
The man didn’t sound sorry. She held the phone, not sure what to do. Oh, she had to call in to the DEA, but she couldn’t let him hear the conversation anyway. “Fine.” At least she knew how to find a phone. She put it back into the box and shut the door. “Happy now?”
His head lifted just enough to look threatening. “Yes. We need to get a few hours of sleep before moving tomorrow. You can take the bed.”
She glanced at the settees. “You won’t fit on either of those.”
“I barely fit in the bed.” He sighed. “I’ll sleep well enough. Don’t worry.”
His high-handed manner annoyed the crap out of her. Oh, it probably wasn’t proper for them to share a bed, since they weren’t married. Or mated. But if they were going to outrun the bad guys tomorrow, she needed Adam at full speed. “We can share the bed.”
A light flared into his eyes. One that sent tingles through her abdomen. “I don’t think so.”
Her temper ignited. She wasn’t some dumb mutt trying to get laid by a purebred, for Pete’s sake. There was no doubt they came from different worlds, and she wasn’t even considering the difference in species. “I’m not propositioning you, dumbass.”
His chin lifted now. “Name calling?” he murmured softly. Way too softly.
Her breath hitched. “Yes. You’re a prissy snob from Fifth Avenue, and I just want you in fighting shape, believe me. Other than that, I don’t want anything to do with you.”
He moved fast.
She found her arms restrained and her butt against the wall. Her ass had already hit before she could even get out a shocked breath. “Wh-what are you doing?”
He leaned into her face, tension sizzling along his hard jaw. His strength in holding her only matched his speed in grabbing her. “Lying is not nice.”
“I’m not lying,” she spat. “Not at all. Apparently you have a colossal ego, classy boy. But let me tell you, I don’t want you. Not even in the slightest.”
His face lowered until his nose nearly touched hers.
All the air left her lungs. Heat washed over her, through her. If she moved forward millimeters, her mouth would be on his. What would his kiss taste like? She couldn’t even imagine.
He breathed her in. “See, that’s the problem, Victoria.”
She blinked. “Problem?” she whispered, her focus captured more solidly than ever before.
“Aye.” His gaze dropped to her lips. “Because . . . I do want you.”