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Fit in well. Confuse the enemy.
Rubik had four units that he was working with, refining, testing. So all of his were accounted for. But someone, clearly from his program, had leaked the plans—as well as the sources of materials and know-how, including the propriety formulation of the skin and the programming of the CPU.
The loose lips was a big problem for the secret program, but it was not Daniel’s concern—and all things considered, it was nice to turf anything off to someone else. He also told himself that in claiming his favor, he’d done the man a favor in return. Rubik had had no idea that he had an independent actor on his ship.
“We’ll figure something out,” he murmured. Mostly to himself.
Putting an arm around Lydia’s shoulders, he drew her against him, and as they walked down to their bedroom, he tried to ignore the fact that he was split in half, only part of him with her, by her.The tactician in him was churning with defensive ideas and plans for the attack that was coming—maybe tonight, maybe at dawn. Maybe at twelve noon—maybe at three p.m.…
As they arrived at the foyer, he glanced over his shoulder. In that statue alcove across from the front entry, the guard standing at attention, so fit and strong, was a grim reminder that, sure-shot trigger fingers aside, the reality was he really only had thoughts to contribute to an effort he was not welcome to participate in for so many reasons.
He was totally on the sidelines, and not just of any attack, but of everything that mattered…
Regardless of what he’d promised to C.P. about going after Gus’s abductor.
Regardless of the vow he’d made to himself.
Yet here he was, a husk on fire with aggression that could go nowhere, the burn in his veins making his blood rush… a savage hunger enlivening him. This was not the healthy stuff, not the measured focus and determination to get to a goal. What he had now was the unhinged drive of combat, conflict, war.
And he wanted to release it.
Through an expression that was carnal.
At the door to their suite, he stopped and turned his woman to him. Frustration ate away at his internal organs—or at least it felt that way. “Lydia, I…”
As he struggled to find the words, she shook her head. “I know. You don’t have to say it, just kiss me.”
“I can’t. Not tonight.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want to be gentle.”
“Then don’t be.”
He closed his eyes. Things were complicated on the surface, but simple down deep, not that the clarity helped him. “I want to fuck you. Right now—I just want to fuck you. And I can’t—”
“You can—”
“I can’t!” Without warning, his anger got the best of him and he pounded on the door.“Damn it.”
Breaking off from her, he paced around in the hallway, going back and forth like a Ping-Pong ball, his hands on his fucking bald head, his bad-balance, weak body listing to and fro like he was on the deck of a boat, his lungs incinerating from emotion.
Or the cancer.
Or both.
“I’m just so fucking mad at nothing and everything.” He wanted to grab on to his hair and pull at it, but there was nothing long enough to grip. “I’m sick of this shit. I can’t do anything—it’s afuckingtriumph if I can get on my Harley and leave the driveway. I can’t fight for shit, I can’t protect you—I’m an old man and I’m useless and I’mfuckingdone with it.”
He had no idea what he was saying. So he shuthis mouth, crossed his arms over his chest, and stared at the glossy stone floor, telling himself to get a goddamn grip—
“Don’t go silent on me now,” Lydia murmured. “You need to let it all out.”
“That solves nothing.”
“Well, think of it as some exercise. Cardio is good for people, right?”
He looked up again. In the overhead light from the ceiling, Lydia’s face was stunningly beautiful, her features soaking in the illumination like she was one of those movie starlets from the forties, everything highlighted and deeply shadowed at the same time. With her hair loose around her shoulders, and her lips slightly parted—because he’d clearly surprised her with the outburst—it was as if she had been properly kissed.
