Cursed with a vicious temper
and haunted by the blood-stained debauchery of his past, Flynn’s
sworn off women, whiskey, and violence, and doesn’t give a damn
about whispers of the coming war. He sure as hell isn’t in the mood
to make good on a debt when it’s called in, especially when playing
white knight outs him as a Talent, and the damsel in distress as his
soulmate.
And the last thing she wants is
to be trapped in a blizzard with a surly—and frustratingly
captivating—thug. Without the suppression meds holding her libido
in check, her biology’s primed to procreate, and Flynn’s growled
assurances that he won’t touch her doesn’t match the hunger in
his eyes.
With elite troops hot on their
heels and the border set to close, it’s a race to the North, away
from Kara’s horrific future and towards the dark past Flynn wants
to keep buried. Clinging to the shreds of his oath, he’s forced to
choose between protecting the woman he’s afraid to love and letting
out the animal he swore he’d never be again. Either may destroy
him, if Kara’s secrets don’t get them killed first.
Flynn put his book
aside and eyed the massive pile of wood Kara had brought in. She
stacked the last of the logs against the wall, pensive.
“You good?”
Her smile was
forced. “Yeah, it’s just so quiet. I’m not used to it.”
She knelt beside
him and unwrapped the compress. It’d long since gone cold. His gaze
slid over her inspecting his knee. There was a competence and economy
to her motions that gave the impression she was very good at what she
was doing. He shivered at her touch, and a muscle in his jaw popped.
She peeked up at
him. “Cold hands?”
“Yeah.” They
were, but that wasn’t the issue.
“You have to
stay off it.” She reached forward like she was going to ruffle his
hair, then pulled back when he tensed, biting at her thumb.
Goddamn it. That
kicked-dog look was back on her face. Flynn closed his eyes, fighting
the urge to pull her into his lap and tell her everything would be
okay. Wasn’t his fucking problem.
Lies, lies, lies,
lies, lies. Shit was gutting him. Why the hell he felt responsible
for her…
He wasn’t.
Couldn’t be. Couldn’t handle his own train-wreck. Adding her to
that equation would only get her hurt. Last thing he wanted was for
her to see what a monster he was. For whatever had been in her eyes
before to snuff out.
Screw her not
thinking he was a white knight; she’d despise him.
His stomach
churned, sick over it.
“Mind if I put
on some pants?”
Kara stared at her
hands, fingers laced together. “As long as I can get to your
knee.”
“Grab me those.”
She got his sweats, and he moved the recliner back upright, feeling
like an absolute dick. He jerked his head at the cupboard. “Couple
cans of soup in there, if you’re hungry.”
She hopped to,
like he’d given an order. Flynn’s brow furrowed, pulling on the
sweats. What was that about? It was like a part of her had just shut
down—
He bit back a
groan. That look she had before. The one where he’d sworn she
thought she was fucking defective or some shit, and he’d been flat
out rejecting her advances. Christ, he wanted to kick his own ass.
Having an ugly prick like him say no had to be great for her ego.
Motherf—
“How do I…?”
She was turning a can over in her hands, frowning.
“Opener’s
where you found the forks,” he muttered, watching her push around
his meager supply of cutlery. God, he was an asshole, and there
wasn’t anything he could say without making it worse.
“This thing?”
She held it up for his inspection.
“Yeah, just clip
it on and turn the wheel.”
She put her back
to him, and it sounded like she was botching the job. Like she needed
another blow to her confidence. Flynn sighed, hoisting himself up. So
much for staying off his knee.
“You shouldn’t
be—”
“I gotta piss.”
Kara turned away,
flushing. He limped the six steps to the table and steadied himself
with a hand to one side of her, grinning before he could help
himself. She was so frickin’ adorable fumbling with the damned
thing. How could you be clueless about operating a can opener?
“Here, just—no,
not like—come here.” He moved behind her, adjusting her grip, and
firmly clipping it onto the side of the can. Damn, she smelled good.
As in there-goes-taking-a-piss-right-away good.
“Go on, turn
it.” Her fingers were long and slender beneath his. Smooth.
“Like this?”
she asked, peeking over her shoulder at him, all innocent and sexy as
hell. It twined around him in that heady musk. Flynn’s eyes dropped
to her lips—
Fuck, he couldn’t
do this.
“Yeah.” He
reached past her to grab a stout stick leaning between the cabinet
and the wall. Woman was killing him. “Next one’s all you.”
He lurched into the bathroom, cursing himself.
Kara’s bra hung
limply from the curtain rod, mocking him. He ran the water, splashing
the glacial iciness over his head, hard-on throbbing for the
umpteenth time today. Pretty soon frostbite wasn’t gonna be a
deterrent to jacking off.
And he was
supposed to take her north.
Fucking Cal.
Nothing had gone
right since he’d answered his call. And now he was stuck with her
and a mandate hanging over his head. Keep his dick in his pants. The
hell he would, she wanted him, and if she kept offering it up, who
was he to say no?
Flynn blew out
noisily, scrubbing at his face. No. That wasn’t him. Not anymore,
and she deserved better. Emotions running riot, he doused his head in
the sink, soaking his shirt in the process.
Whatever. It
stank, just like the rest of him. He peeled it off and chucked it
onto the pile in the corner, sponging himself down. A Binder. Why the
hell did she have to be a Binder? Bred for talent and beauty. They’d
done a bang up job with her. Her in that lacy bra flitted across his
mind’s eye. Shit, those halos. He’d never seen—Christ, he
needed a cold shower. This goddamn knee. He wouldn’t be able to
keep his balance in there…though sitting in six inches of freezing
water held a certain appeal. He grimaced, grabbed his scissors, and
snipped a few errant hairs off his upper lip—
What am I
doing?
He threw the
scissors back behind the mirror, disgusted with himself. He’d keep
his hands off her. Ducking his head, he sighed, staring down at his
tented sweats, then at the dirty laundry pile, and finally, the
walking stick.
Fuck my
life. How the hell was this gonna work? He snorted, trying
to remember the last time he’d had to hide an erection.
Oh yeah, about an
hour ago.
