PLAY OF PASSION

“Nursery?” Shaking his head, he looked around. “Shit.” He turned on his heel, throwing a “thanks” over his shoulder.

But the interruption had reset his mind. Getting angry, he realized, would achieve nothing. Yes, Indigo was being stubborn in refusing to talk this through with him, but what he’d done … yeah, okay, she was right to be pissed.

And hurt, his conscience whispered, remembering the pain he’d glimpsed in the shadowed violet of her gaze. He’d hurt her, and it made him feel like shit. He wanted to stalk to her apartment, bully his way in, and argue with her until the ice cracked enough that he could hold her close and convince her to listen. But of course, he thought with another flare of temper, she wouldn’t fight with him like every other dominant female he knew did with her man when she was mad or hurting. No, Indigo had to go all dignified and silent, her emotions rigidly contained.

“Fine,” he muttered, pushing through his door, “then I’ll just make it so fucking difficult for her to ignore me that she’ll have to fight with me.”

Indigo found the first rose the next morning—in the locker she used to store her gear when training indoors. It was a deep, deep red. Scarlet, she thought, that was the right word. And it smelled like heaven. But beneath the lush floral bouquet lay the scent of male—wild and playful.

Heat uncurled in her abdomen, but she doused it with cold reason. This wasn’t some lover’s tiff that could be smoothed over with a rose and an apology. This went to the heart of who they were, the choices they had to make.

Dropping the rose back inside the locker, she closed the door and went out to whip her current group of eighteen-year-olds into some kind of fighting shape. “All right, boys and girls, I want two reps of the set we practiced last time. Go!”

By the time the session was over, more than one student was close to crawling, yet Indigo’s own energy level remained high, her senses on alert for any hint of Drew’s presence. But he didn’t come to her. Which, she thought, ignoring the growling of her wolf, was exactly right. Maybe the rose had been nothing but a good-bye.

A chill slithered through her veins, and when she wrenched open her locker again, she was well on the way to hating roses. Stupid, she thought, she was being stupid, acting like one of those ninnies who didn’t know her own mind. The decision was made. End of stor—

Blooms tumbled out all over her. Soft and fragrant and exquisite.

“What the—” Staring, startled, she realized her locker was stuffed to the brim with roses.

Red, red roses.

Behind her, Sing-Liu whistled as she closed up her own locker. “Now that’s what I call an apology. Man’s got style.”

“You can have them.” Indigo scowled, scooping out the roses and putting them on the bench between the lockers. “Here.”

Sing-Liu took one perfect bloom and stuck it behind her ear, the color shockingly bright against the shimmering jet of her hair. “Hey, come on,” the soldier said with a small smile, “I know he was an ass, but he should get some credit for creativity. Most men just snarl and growl and try to sex their lovers into a good mood.” A sensual smile. “Not that I mind being sexed until my toes curl. You should try it.”

Indigo snarled at the soldier. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“I guess I do.” Lips still curved in that provocative smile, the small, lean human woman who was more lethal than a large number of the wolves in the den, disappeared around the corner.

Locker cleared, Indigo shut the door and turned to leave.

Her feet hesitated.

She stared at the dark red spill of roses, felt the vulnerable heart of her soften. But she built fences around that softening as soon as it occurred. If she accepted this apology, if she allowed their relationship to progress again, then what she’d said would come to pass. Drew would attempt to dominate her wolf in unacceptable ways again, would force her to the point where her wolf would strike out. Over and over and over again.

Such a relationship would destroy them both, until the love that bound them was twisted and broken. Adria and Martin almost hated each other now. Not enough to separate, but any remaining love was tainted and pitted. Indigo didn’t know why they continued to stay together—they never laughed with each other, and there was so much dead air between them that Indigo’s wolf was hurt by the piercing silence.

She wouldn’t allow that to happen to her and Drew.

Her hand reached out, touched the petals of a rose. Snapping it back before the velvety softness could seduce her into dropping her guard, she stalked down the corridor. No one stopped her, though there were a few interested glances thrown her way. In no mood to gossip, she slammed into her room … and came to a complete halt.

The damn wolf had drowned the room in silver-foiled chocolate kisses.

Thousands of them.

She growled.