Chapter 27 #2
He found himself crossing the room. Rowan didn’t back up, but she drew herself up to her full height and bit her lower lip. She wore his red sweater and a pair of jeans, and her feet were bare.
Delgado stopped himself a bare few feet from her. “Don’t apologize. I kind of think you needed that.”
“I think I did.” Her pulse fluttered in her throat. He tore his gaze away and found she was watching him, her eyes wounded and defenseless. “I want to ask you something.”
“Anything.” He didn’t bother to try to hide the way his voice caught on the single word.
Her eyes widened, but she still didn’t step back. “I was talking to Catherine,” she began, cautiously. “And she said that you’d never… never trained anyone before. A neophyte.”
“That’s right.” Goddammit, Cath, if you’ve screwed this up for me I’ll tan your hide.
“She also said that you disobeyed orders to rescue me. That you should have gotten out of there and waited to see what the… the Sigs would do.” Her lip curled unconsciously. She was well on her way to hating Sigma.
“Henderson ordered me to get out of there.” I swear to God, Catherine White, if you’ve shot your big mouth off and made this harder I’ll kick your little punk ass.
“And you said you weren’t leaving without me?”
“That’s right.” Now was the time to move another half-step closer and look down at her. She smelled fresh and clean, shampoo and soap and the cool fragrance of a woman, something pure he hadn’t smelled in a long, long time.
Like forever.
“Why?” Tilting her head back to look at him. A high hard blush on her cheeks.
Now was the time to tell her. “I couldn’t stand the thought of them hurting you.” Very quietly. “I had to get you out of there. Your father and Hilary too. I had to… I couldn’t leave you behind.”
“Oh.” Her eyes filled with tears again.
“Rowan—”
The sudden buzzing noise surprised them both. Oh, fuck. The worst possible time.
“It’s from Central.” He fished the cell phone out of his pocket. Dammit.
Then, decisively, he actually turned the phone off.
Rowan gasped. She knew enough to tell he shouldn’t do that—if Central was buzzing him instead of sending someone or just paging through the public areas, it was serious.
The moment was spoiled, but Delgado stepped close to her, looking down into her upturned face. “I don’t want you hurt,” he managed.
She blinked, as if he’d just spoken in a foreign language. “Hurt?” But she was reaching up, and when her hands slid around his neck and pulled his head down he didn’t resist her.
Their mouths met. A jolt of spurred fire lanced through him. She was so soft, and the trickling, crackling sugar-glaze of her talent closed around him, drawing him close—and she touched him, too. The surface of his mind turned still and dark, that feeling of peace flooding him.
This is home. This is where I belong.
He barely realized that he had her against the wall, her hands locked at his nape, her slender body pressed against his. He could barely remember where he was, who he was.
The only thing that mattered was that she was there—and her mind opened to his, receptive as a flower.
For the first time, ever, it didn’t hurt to use his talent.
No feedback squeal of abused nerves and a brutally torn-open mind.
Instead, he drowned in what she was feeling—a tidal wash of something clean and hot, his hands under her sweater, describing the shape of her, calluses scraping against her bare soft skin.
He sank into her like a drowning man slipping under the surface of a placid lake, and blessed relief swamped him.
The doorbell and the sound of pounding alerted him. He surfaced reluctantly, breathing heavily, his forehead damp from sweat. Rowan blinked up at him, her eyes heavy-lidded and luminous.
“Someone’s at the door,” she whispered, and he had to kiss her again, the corner of her mouth, her cheek, and would have taken her mouth again if she hadn’t turned her head slightly. “Justin?” she added.
His body twitched all the way through. He wanted her badly.
He wanted her now.
“Someone’s at the door,” she repeated breathlessly.
“Too bad,” he whispered back. “They can wait.”
She laughed, fingers pressing his nape, working a small, soothing tattoo into the flesh. “You can’t do that. Your phone, too. You’re on call.”
“I don’t care,” he said, and would have buried his face in her neck if the pounding hadn’t come again. “Christ,” he growled, frustration rearing its ugly head.
“Shhh,” she soothed. “We have time.”
He didn’t have time. He was a dying man, and he wanted her. “Rowan…” It was all the pleading he could muster.
“Not right now. Let’s find out what the emergency is. Later. I promise.”
“Promise?” His mouth found the corner of hers again, teasing, tempting. She kissed him, and his mouth explored that wonder while her gift ran through him again, leaving a different sort of tension in its wake.
“You’re so different,” she said wonderingly, when he finally released her.
“Christ,” he said, shaking, as whoever it was rang the doorbell again. “This had better be good.”
Then the door-comm crackled. “Delgado! Get your ass out here!”
It was Henderson.
“Oh, Christ,” Delgado groaned with feeling. “Just a minute. Let me get rid of him.”
Rowan tried to straighten her clothing while Delgado ran his fingers back through his hair and stalked for the door. “Open,” he said, and the door slid aside.
“About damn time.” Henderson was pale, the white patch over his temple glaring. “We need you. Get ready for jumpoff ASAP.”
Something cracked inside Delgado’s head.
The switch flipped, and his shoulders relaxed.
Nothing he could do about it now. “What’s the brief?
” His tone went hard, and cold. Rowan went still, her attention filling the room.
He barely noticed, just marked where she was and scanned to make sure nothing dangerous was in the room.
Nothing except himself.
“They’ve found Morgan and Sheila. We need an extraction. Saddle up. Is she coming?”
Delgado didn’t even think about it. “No. She’s not ready.”
“Hurry up. You’ve already wasted time.” Henderson saluted Rowan briefly. “Miss Price. We need to go quickly; you’ll be with Kenwood in Command. He’s our liaison.”
“Wait a minute.” Rowan was suddenly at Delgado’s shoulder. “I want to help.”
“No.” Delgado crossed to the closet, took his harness down from the hook and buckled it on. Then he put his bag on, tightening the strap across his body, shrugged into his coat. He had his boots on already, thank God. “I suppose Brew has ammo?”
“Of course. Come on.”
Rowan caught Delgado’s arm. “Someone’s in trouble, and you’re all going somewhere. What do I do?”
“Kenwood will keep you up to date.” He didn’t have time. Every moment he delayed, Morgan or Sheila might be sitting in a blank room, looking at an IV while Zed dripped into their veins. “Be safe, Rowan. We’re not finished.”
“Ma’am,” Henderson said, and turned on his heel. He expected Delgado to follow.
“I’ll be back,” he said quietly. “We’ve got to talk.”
She looked stunned. Her lips were flushed and ripe, almost bruised, and he’d mussed her damp beautiful hair. His entire body rose at the memory. He wanted to stay, he needed to stay.
He had to go.
“I’ll be back,” he repeated, took her shoulders.
It was a quick, hard kiss, and she still looked stunned when he let her go. “I promise. I’m coming back. Be safe.”
Then he left, before he could give in to the temptation to stay.