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Aw, the hell with it. She kicked the door open and carried the two mugs out, just as they were. He was as mean as a snake. It was the cup of coffee that he deserved.
She picked her way on her bruised feet out over the warped, peeling porch, and ogled the bulky breadth of his back and shoulders, the way his torso tapered sexily down to lean hips. Finally, she was close enough to check out the tattoos. Hypnotic designs that looked somehow martial and menacing, despite their sensual grace.
His gun was stuck in the back of his jeans, a chilling reminder of what they’d just gone through together.
She averted her eyes from it with a shudder of distaste.
The pearly dawn was cool and damp. Too cool for the silk robe. His dour silence damped down the normal sounds of morning. No traffic, voices, airplanes taking off—even the birds were afraid to twitter and cheep when Nick was moping.
She set the coffee down beside him with a thud that made the liquid slosh over the rim and sat down a couple of stairs behind him.
He reached for the cup and took a swallow without acknowledging her. She waited. Nothing.
“You’re, uh, welcome,” she prompted.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t nod. Wow. Breathtaking. It took balls to be that rude. But balls he had, in abundance. No doubts there.
She cast around for another starting place, wrapping the robe more tightly around her quaking body. “Aren’t you cold like that?”
He shook his head, took a last drag on the cigarette, and ground it out. “My body temperature is a couple notches higher than normal,” he said, his voice distant. “Like I’m always running a mild fever.”
Then why are you so cold?She wanted to scream the words.
She didn’t. Dignity was all she had to cling to, but anger bubbled beneath the surface of her rationalizations and justifications.
“Did you hear anything those guys said to each other when you were serving dinner?” he asked abruptly.
She winced. “Do I have to think about it now?”
He turned, stared at her. “Yeah,” he said. “Right now.”
She closed her eyes, trying to remember. “Lots of general chitchat, about economics. And then the country club guy said—”
“Country club guy?”
“That was how I thought of him. Rich, handsome, privileged, Ivy League type. He said something about the structure being outfitted and the waiting list growing. That he wanted to conduct more testing. Then the Spider interrupted him, and told him they’d talk business later.”
He nodded, and turned away.
She was sick of being dismissed. She grabbed a handful of his hair. “You look like a caveman, with your hair snarled up,” she said.
He took a gulp of coffee. “I am a caveman,” he said.
She rolled the matted lock between her fingers. “You might want to rub some conditioner into that before you try to comb it.”
“I’m not going to bother combing it,” he said. “I’ll just buzz it off. I’m sick of looking like a St. Bernard anyhow.”
She was startled. “I can’t imagine you with short hair.”
He shrugged. “Got to change how I look. The more change, the better.” He looked back over his shoulder at her, eyes narrowing. “So do you. Go blonde, maybe. Go short for sure. Get colored contacts. Today. Better yet, leave town for good. That’s the best idea of all.”
She was startled. “I can’t do that! I work! I have responsibilities!”
“Who cares? Re-order your goddamn priorities. If you want to stay alive, anyway. You can’t fulfill your responsibilities when you’re dead.”
“Oh, great. So we’re back to the inspiring theme of how I’m destined to die a horrible death? Early in the day for that.”
He glared back through the tangled caveman hair. “I’m not trying to bum you out,” he said. “I’m trying to make you face reality.”
