Chapter 53: Inseparable

Nash

I don’t know what it was about Daphne Redhawk. As much as I heard the alarms in my head signaling danger ahead, as much as I kept telling myself to keep a distance, I also kept circling back to her. And it wasn’t enough just to watch her from afar, I had to keep engaging her. It was a dangerous game.

I followed her to the scene of the attack. I could have stayed in the shadows, and simply kept watch, if concern for her safety was really my motivation. But she was right, there was little danger in broad daylight with a fair crowd of morbid rubberneckers and legitimate mourners milling around the place.

But I felt I had to talk to her, I had to touch her. Every time I was within a hundred feet of the woman, I felt a compulsion to touch her, even if it was only to put a hand on her arm. Something strange happened when our skin connected, it was almost like an instant drug. I felt calm, I felt peace, I felt connection. I felt possessive and protective all at the same time. It defied explaination.

The werewolves talk about fated mates, but that's some mystical woo-woo that only happens in their species. Even they admit that its such a rare occurrence that it's practically the stuff of fairy tales now. And as a bonafide human, I don’t believe in love-at-first-sight or soul mates. That shit’s for selling chocolates on Valentine's Day. Real life relationships are built on mutual attraction, trust, compatibility, and time-tested friendship. Not some moon-and-stars hocus pocus.

So whatever I felt when I touched her, it was a fluke. It was my imagination. It was a starved libido that had gone too long without a woman.

I snuck into the room, curious to see what she was doing when she was all alone and no one was watching. But, far from doing something devious, she was studying and preparing to eat a sandwich. A massive sub-sandwich that could have fed four adults, easily. I decided to help myself, not because I was hungry, but because it gave me a little thrill to annoy her.

And I didn’t know why. It's not really in my nature to mess with people, just for the sake of messing with them. But, gods, it was worth it. Her blue eyes snapped, like there was lightning in their depths, and her chin lifted like she was spoiling for a fight. I took another big bite, just to annoy her.

She made a grab at the sandwich, and although she was uncannily fast, I was faster, holding it up and out of her reach. She was tall for a woman, but not nearly as tall as me. She made a jump for it, but it was futile. Her fury was more than beautiful, it was captivating. It was making my groin tighten in response.

As I held the grinder aloft, a pickle slipped out of the sandwich and plopped onto my shoulder. And then, as quickly as her rage had mounted, it dissipated into a throaty laugh. “Allright, if you want it that badly, you can have it.”

She plucked the pickle off my shoulder, and unbelievably, popped it in her mouth. “But just so you know, you should never touch a girl’s food. You could lose a limb.” And although she'd said it in jest, her expression sobered a little bit, as she no doubt thought about the girl who had, just recently, lost a limb..and a head, and all the rest of her parts.

“Hmm, I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, and I perched a hip on the edge of my own desk, and continued to eat her sandwich, which was, incidentally, a very good grinder.

“Do you have to work tonight?” She asked casually, as she opened her soda.

“I work every night.”

“Every night?” She asked doubtfully.

“Mostly.”

I realized that I had just basically admitted that I have absolutely no social life. Sure, I was on assignment, but even when I wasn’t working undercover, I preferred to spend my hours on the job, rather than sitting home alone with the ghosts from my past.

Keeping busy kept me sane.

“When do you sleep?” She asked, and strangely, her expression and her voice were twinged with genuine concern.

“I grab it when I can.” I almost choked when I watched her open her mouth wide enough to take in that massive sandwich. For some reason my mind immediately thought of something else she could take in her mouth, something else that would stretch those beautiful lips. I swallowed hard and eyed her soda.

She followed my gaze and snatched it up. Then, after a moment’s consideration, she took a long guzzle and passed it to me. “You don’t know what germs you might be taking on,” she warned.

“We’ve already swapped spit,” I pointed out, and was gratified to watch her cheeks flush, whether in remembrance, or embarrassment, I wasn’t sure which. “But thanks for sharing your dinner.”

“Yeah, well, now you owe me,” she gave me what I think was meant to be a stink-eye, and then went back to devouring her sandwich. I didn’t think she could put away even a third of that monster, but she quickly ate it down to the last crumb. And then she started munching her potato chips while she leaned her head over her books.

“Are you going to stare at me all night?” She asked, without looking up from the pages.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No. Yes.” She snapped the books closed and stood up abruptly, rolled up her trash into a neat and compact ball, and then tossed it into the trash bin near the door. Then she went out, and I listened to her feet moving down the hallway toward the bathroom.

“Pull yourself together,” I growled at myself. I sat down on the edge of the bed that was altogether too small for my body and started pulling off my boots. I’d slept in a lot worse places than a college dormitory, and a mattress, even a small, narrow twin, was practically a luxury. I shucked off my cargopants and my t-shirt, and then, out of respect for the delicate sensibilities of my roommate, pulled on a pair of shorts.

When I laid down, I angled my body so I could continue to watch her, while I feigned sleep. She returned a few minutes later, wrapped in only a towel, her soiled clothes tucked under one arm, and a second towel wrapped around her wet hair like a turban. I kept my eyes nearly closed, watching her through my eyelashes as she stopped and looked at me for a long moment, like she was trying to decide if I was really completely asleep.

She stepped closer, until she was just a few feet from my face, and waved her hand in front of my eyes, then waited for a reaction.

I remained perfectly still, didn’t move a muscle or bat an eyelash, and kept my breathing slow, shallow and even.

She shrugged one small, slender shoulder, and turned around, went back to her side of the room. Opened the small wardrobe that held her clothes, and pulled out a pair of pajamas. I held my breath, sure she was going to carry those clothes back to the bathroom to finish preparing for bed.

She didn’t.

With one more cautious glance over her shoulder at me, she uncinched the towel that was tucked between her breasts, and let it slowly slide to the floor. Her body was…nothing short of perfection. She had her back to me, and I admired the small muscles between her shoulders as she moved. Her long, graceful spine ended in a perfect ass, with round cheeks that begged for my palms. Below that, her tanned thighs seemed to go on forever, into slim, muscular calves and petite feet. She looked like a dancer.

She was flawless. I almost cried when she bent over and stepped into her underwear, shimmying her hips as she pulled them up and snapped the elastic waistband into place around her taut belly. Then, she reached up, and pulled the fluffy white towel out of her hair. Her water-darkened locks fell down her back, and as she turned slightly to pick up the towel that had fallen on the floor, I got an eyeful of her breasts. Neither small nor large, but perfect, perky, and tipped in dusky pink nipples that my mouth longed to suckle.

There was one part of my anatomy that refused to be still, as my c.ock twitched eagerly. I knew I was being an asshole, staring at her like one of those barely post pubescent boys that were drinking downstairs. But I couldn’t make myself look away.

Not for anything.

My peep-show was short lived, because next she pulled a simple night shirt over her head. It looked like a man’s t-shirt, faded, stretched out, well worn, and it skimmed her thighs, covering everything important.

But I was very bothered by the fact that it was, in fact, a man’s t-shirt. Who had it belonged to? An ex-boyfriend? A lover that she pined for, so she slept in his shirt to hold on to the memory of him?

Or worse. A current boyfriend.

A woman this beautiful, it could even be a fiance. Or a husband.

Jeezus, she was too young to be married, wasn’t she?

But if she had a boyfriend, would she have locked lips with me as she had out in the forest? We had touched on my relationship status, but she hadn’t actually revealed hers.

Clever, clever girl.

She grabbed a brush and started working it through that long hair, until it passed through easily without catching any tangles. When she left it, the damp ends began to curl, and I had an insane urge to wrap those curls around my fingers, and to lift her hair to my nose, to smell the sweet scent of her shampoo, and the essence of her.

This girl was like a drug. Potent and irresistable.

She set the brush aside, and then to my surprise, she crept close to my bed again. She crouched down, so that her face was level with mine, almost nose to nose, and her fingers reached out, and lightly traced the line of my jaw. “Nate,” she called out, her voice soft and breathy. “You can open your eyes now.”

I lifted my lashes and stared straight into her blue eyes, noting that the color shifted constantly, depending on her mood. Now it was dark, like a midnight sky, just barely illuminated by the moon. I reached out an arm, and snaked it around her, finally bringing my hand to test the delectible curve of her ass. “Who said my eyes were ever closed?”