“That’s old news,” Tiago said. “Plans have changed.”
Just like that? Plans have changed? She scowled at him. “Hey, cowboy, I’m gonna be Queen. I don’t think you get to boss me around like that.”
He rubbed the back of his head and raised his eyebrows at her. “How are you going to stop me?”
“Screw you,” she said.
“You’ve said that already,” he pointed out. “I’m getting bored now.”
“Yeah, well, it’s the only thing I can think of at the moment,” she muttered. With a Herculean effort she managed to keep from looking at his crotch again.
“The game’s changed. Deal with it.”
Her gaze bounced around his dark, saturnine features. The force of his presence was such that the tiny hairs on her arms rose. It cremated the numb state she had managed to achieve with the alcohol. He had the extreme physicality of a Wyr who was an apex predator, his body tempered by years of fighting, the thick muscles corded with sinew and veins. His Power was a heavy sulfurous force that pressed her into the mattress.
She struggled to sit up. Suddenly he was bending over her. He eased one huge arm underneath her shoulders to help her upright. Damn it, don’t be nice to me! She sniveled. “Look, you can’t stay, and that’s all there is to it. I’m all right. I handled everything.”
He snapped, “You have a knife wound between your ribs!”
“You should have a look at the other guys,” she told him.
Her words hit a stone wall. “We’re done discussing this,” he said. He walked over to the other bed. “What do you want to take with you?”
“All of it.” She spoke in an absent tone of voice as she stared at his ass again. Really, it was the sexiest ass she had ever seen. First she got a close-up of his front, and now she got treated to the back view. Tight, taut, and clothed in black like it had been gift-wrapped just for her. She patted him on the butt and told him, “Nice buns.”
As he started gathering up her packages, she opened up his wallet.
A plain white card was just inside. Strong masculine writing slashed across it. It said, “Put me back.”
She drooped. Rats. He must have talked about her with the other sentinels who were much better versed in her character flaws. She tucked the wallet into his back pocket. He reached back and patted her hand. “I’m taking the bags out to the car,” he told her. “Be right back.”
He walked out. Just like that she lost what little control she’d had over her life. She tobogganed right out of the fun bit of the drunk and plunged into the snowdrift labeled the sorry stage.
He came back and scooped her into his arms. He was such a mean barbarian and he was being so careful with her, so gentle and nice. And she couldn’t let herself rely on him. She couldn’t let herself totally rely on anyone ever again.
Her head fell against his arm as he carried her out of the motel.
She sang, “Sad, sad, sad, sad.”