Damn he smells good. Why does he smell so good? I wonder if he tastes as good as he smells, I thought as I fought against the urge to bury my nose in the crook of his neck and drown in the smell of him. I was distantly aware of him moving away to a respectable distance, though my elbow still buzzed with energy where he had touched me.
“Fetch her a glass of water,” I heard Johnson say, but the words made little sense to me as I stared unseeing at the fireplace, the warmth of the fire unable to pierce the cold that had descended on me, seeping into my bones.
Samson Reed. Escaped from prison.
My brain replayed the words over and over again, each repetition feeling like a nail being hammered into my coffin.
It was a name I’d hoped I would never hear again, and hearing it now was the worst kind of invasion. Even though I bore the physical scars of what had happened eight years ago, I’d managed to lock away the emotional ones, refusing to examine them. Just thinking his name sent ice cold fear flooding through my veins and made my stomach twist with nausea.
“Ah, is there a reason why there’s a dead rabbit in your sink, ma’am?” Holbrook called from the kitchen, his warm, honeyed voice momentarily distracting me from my fear.
Still dazed, white crackles dancing at the edges of my vision, I murmured, “Furry bastard kept eating my cabbages.”
“I see,” he drawled, making it obvious that he didn’t.
A few moments later he reappeared at my side with a glass of water. I was glad that my fingers only trembled a little as I took a small sip before setting it in my lap, immediately forgotten.
“Ms. Cray?” Johnson asked, and from the impatient tone of his voice, not for the first time. “Ms. Cray, do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?”
“Hmm? Yes…I understand,” I said, my voice sounding distant and hollow to my ears, as if someone else were speaking. “Samson Reed broke out of a high security supernatural facility, and is no doubt on his way here to kill me,” I finished, turning my gaze up towards both agents, something in the depths of my eyes making them flinch.
Chapter 2
“WE DON’T KNOW that for sure, but we would recommend that you—” Johnson began, his tone pitched low to reassure me. It wasn’t working.
Waving a hand at him I cut him off mid-sentence. “I’m sorry, would you gentlemen excuse me for a moment?”
Rising from the couch before either of them could respond, I pressed the glass of water into Holbrook’s hand and made a beeline for the bathroom, where I fell to my knees and vomited the meager contents of my stomach into the toilet.
After heaving for several minutes, I slumped against the edge of the toilet, groping blindly for the handle to flush away the evidence of my fear. Gradually I became aware of a presence behind me, the weight of his gaze palpable on my back. Rather than asking if I was okay—which I obviously wasn’t—or if I was done puking—which I wasn’t quite sure I was—Holbrook plucked a washcloth from the tub and ran it under the faucet.
Wordlessly he extended the damp cloth to me, waiting until I accepted it before stepping back to the doorway, giving me room to try and pull myself together. Wiping my mouth, I folded the cool cloth in half and then pressed it to the back of my neck, my skin clammy and feeling a couple sizes too small.
“Thanks,” I murmured, raising my gaze to his face, glad to find it devoid of pity.
“No problem,” he replied, crossing one foot over the other as he rested a shoulder against the doorframe, his hands in the pockets of his slacks. Somewhere along the way he had removed his overcoat, revealing a dark gray suit and crisp shirt with a faint blue on blue stripe. He looked utterly comfortable except for the ruddiness that lingered in the naked tips of his ears and the end of his nose.
“Better?” he asked after several moments of silence.
“Not really,” I said, removing the cloth from the back of my neck and tossing it into the bathtub, wishing that I could just climb into it and hide away from the world.
Extending a hand towards me he said, “Better not keep Johnson waiting. He’s not known for his patience.”
Slipping my hand into his, my fingers looking pale and petite against his lightly bronzed skin, the jolt of electricity passed between us again—this time stronger as his bare skin rubbed against mine. Judging by the almost imperceptible widening of his eyes he had felt it too, but chose not to comment on whatever feelings were racing through his body.
Steeling myself against the sudden and unexpected flood of warmth that settled between my thighs, I let him pull me to my feet in a smooth and effortless motion, bringing me wonderfully close to his solid chest. He seemed taller up close, dwarfing my five foot five and making me feel small and delicate. I swayed on my feet as the woody scent of his cologne washed over me, making me think of a forest, damp from a recent storm. The lingering scent of warm molasses that I assumed was his natural scent made me lick my lips. His grip on me tightened, holding me firm against the long line of his body, once against stirring the wolf within.