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Stark hunger—and not for hot water or food or drink—drew features that were now familiar to her in strange and exciting lines. And this triggered something for her, something in the back of her mind… that was just out of reach.
As Anne frowned, he rubbed his face like he wanted to scrub off his own nose. “Sorry. And you don’t have to do that for me if it’s too much.”
Shaking her head, she went to speak—and promptly forgot what had been on her mind. Something had happened downstairs when he’d been gone, something significant and shocking… and as that fog came back to her, she watched from what seemed like a vast distance as her hands went to her lower abdomen—like they were cradling something precious.
“Anne?”
Opening her mouth to respond, she fought against the amnesia, knowing she had to tell him about what she’d seen, what had been said. Reaching down deep into her memory, she tried to pull whatever it was to the forefront—and it was almost there, nearly within grasp. It had been in the parlor, when she’d been alone in the house. Someone had come, and had…
“Are you okay, Anne?”
She shook her head. Then corrected herself. “I mean, yes, I’m fine. Sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
Darius cursed. “If you want to go, I don’t blame you.”
No, she thought. She didn’t want to leave. Even though Bruce should have taught her a lesson about trusting strangers… she had to stay with this man who stood before her. In fact, being here with him now was… important.
And besides, Darius had almost died tonight, and she had almost died two nights ago. Life was so very fragile, and that made a person not want to waste time.
“Let’s get you over to the bed,” she countered in a husky voice. “I’ll take care of everything.”
* * *
Funny how his back didn’t bother him much anymore. And not because it had completely healed up already.
It turned out all he needed as a painkiller was the prospect of Anne’s hands on his bare skin.
As Darius stretched out faceup on the king-sized bed, it was a damn miracle. He couldn’t feel anything of the agony that had nearly left him passing out down on the kitchen floor—and this was even after he allowed the full weight of his torso to sink into the mattress.
But was she sure she wanted to do this?
Tilting to the side, he looked through the open door into the bathroom. The female he was so desperate for was at the sink, running water until it grew warm, getting towels and soap, finding a bowl somehow. From time to time, the mirror caught her reflection, and what he saw in her face made him want to kick his own ass. She seemed way too tired to do anything other than curl up in her own bed and sleep for twelve hours straight. She was determined, however, and maybe it didn’t reflect well on his character, but the idea that she was actually going to touch him?
Well, he was seriously disinclined to argue with her agenda.
And on that note—even though nothing seriously sexual was going to happen, not at all, not when she was running a hot hand towel down his naked chest, nope, nope, nope—he shut the door out into the hall with his mind. Then he willed the overhead light off and flared up the lamp on the inlaid bureau across the way. If the night had been a couple of degrees colder, he would have lit the fireplace on a mental cue as well.
Except he’d kind of had it with flames this evening, and even more… he hated what he was keeping from Anne. He really did.
Running a hand down his face again, he thought back to Vishous’s vision. The brother was positively eerie with the prognostication stuff, but fortunately, at least when it came to tonight, he’d been wrong. Darius hadn’t died. Almost, but ultimately, no.
They’d both most certainly seen the sun, though. That second floor set of fireworks had been an explosion and a half.
So Vishous had been wrong. Sure it hadn’t been raining, but… maybe the vision had served its purpose. Thanks to what the brother had seen, V had been primed to do the saving thing, catching Darius and carrying him after he’d gotten his boot stuck in that hole—which was kind of ironic, all things considered, given that Darius had gone out there in the first place to make sure the other fighter made it out alive.
Then again, he supposed that was the interconnected nature of fate, everyone’s individual choices, and if-this-then-that’s, colliding in a way that only felt random to the participants in their separate timelines. Destiny, if you believed in the Creator’s master plan, provided that the sum of events wasn’t chaotic at all. On the contrary, everyone’s billiard balls were set up precisely in a triangle, and the stroke of the cue was done by a world-class player who knew which pockets would receive which rolls.
