Authors: Eve Langlais
For just a moment, Viktor let her hug him, the spontaneous embrace not something he could refuse. But her enthusiasm, and his pleasure at her closeness, couldn’t completely eradicate the leftover emotions from her earlier request and admission.
A burning anger filled him at her wistful expression when she asked if he would teach her how to fight. Then a deep pity followed as he caught just a hint of how her captivity must have sucked. She’d languished for so long in the mastermind’s prison, she didn’t recall even the most basic things, things he took for granted like carpeting for swamp’s sake.
Sure, he would teach her to fight. And help her overcome her fear of the sky. He’d taken on the role of teacher in the past, mostly with grunts who needed to learn the basics of survival and combat. Drawing on his knowledge, he’d train her like he trained those men. Of course, he’d never wanted to do dirty things with them, but he could use the temptation she posed as an exercise in control. He just hoped he didn’t flunk.
While the knowledge she lacked about the real world bothered him, the thing that still irked him most was her lack of a real name. Since he couldn’t exactly lose his mind about her treatment, in other words, kill something to calm himself – and to provide dinner – he could do something about her name. “I’ll teach you how to fight if you choose a name other than Project.” He blurted out a compromise before he could chew his own arm off and beat himself with it for acting soft.
“Oh. If you say so. I’ll change it if you think it’s that important. But to what? How did you choose your name?”
“I didn’t. My mother did, and my father, knowing what was good for him, nodded his head and agreed. She’s Russian, and what she says tends to go in my house,” he explained at her blank look. That just seemed to confuse her further. He sighed. “You’ll understand eventually. Now as for a name, since you can’t remember the one your parents gave you, let’s come up with something temporary until Jessie figures out who you are.”
She chewed her lip. “Like what?”
“Surely you’ve heard some names you’ve liked over the
happy nor did she volunteer any.
“What’s wrong? None of them pretty enough.” “It’s just…” She paused. “The names I know all
“Is a stupid, bloody idea,” he groaned. He wanted to slap himself for being an idiot. “Forget I said that. You know what? How about, I recite some names and you stop me when you hear one you like.”
She smiled.
“Um…” Faced with her expectant eyes, his mind went blank. Something pretty, but unique. Damn, that was harder than he thought. The most obvious names already belonged to people he knew. He focused on his rescued fox, from her tangled mop of red hair, to her bright eyes. “Annie?” As soon as he said it, he fought not to hear that stupid rainbow song as it automatically made him think of the orphaned girl his sister watched a zillion times in his youth. “No, forget that. Tammy?”
She shook her head.
“Melanie? Patricia? Amanda? Katy? Lisa?” With each shake, he scrambled for more names. A fox? What to call a hot fox? “Cherie? Renee?”
Her lips parted and her eyes brightened. “Oh, I like that last one. It seems familiar, almost.”
“Then Renee it is. Okay, now that we have a name, let’s finish making our way to your room. It’s got its own bathroom so you can bathe and get the smell of the dungeon off your skin.”
On her own, not touching him at all, which he sickly enough missed, she entered before him and stopped dead. He bumped into her, and despite the doorframe he could have used to brace himself, chose instead to steady himself with his hands on her hips, their shape more round than the shapeless gown she still wore would have led him to believe.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“It’s so big. And pretty,” she whispered.
Was he in the right room? He peered over the top of her head and saw the spare room he’d decorated for when his mother or sister came to town and insisted on visiting. Done in tones of green and grey, it looked rather plain to him with only a pair of gleaming daggers over the bed.
“It’s yours until you get something better.” Which, given the quality of the items in the room, even if plain, could take a while. Viktor didn’t skimp when it came to decorating his home. Often in the field, in less than pristine conditions, he liked his amenities at home to compensate by being over luxurious.
“Mine? Really?” She spun and smiled at him, her golden eyes alight and for a moment, he leaned forward, almost able to taste the happiness on her lips. He caught himself just in time, and instead, moved past her to open a door.
“Here’s the bathroom. There’s soap and shampoo in the cabinet, along with fresh towels. I don’t exactly have clothes for a woman here, but I’ll scrounge up a clean shirt and pants for you to wear until someone can take you shopping.”
But she didn’t seem to take note of his words as she wandered around touching everything; the cool marble of the vanity, the handle of the toilet which she flushed, giggling as the water swirled away.
“Yell if you need me.” Leaving her to explore, and bathe, something he wouldn’t allow himself to imagine, he crossed over to his own room, leaving the door slightly ajar to hear her if she called.
Stripping, he put his clothes, filthy from the mission, into the laundry hamper. His cleaning service, shifter owned and operated, wouldn’t say anything about the blood or stench of gunpowder imbuing them, not with the money he paid.
Naked, he stepped into his bathroom and cranked on the water, cold, briskly so. He needed the deep chill to dampen his inappropriate ardor for Renee, victim and mystery, who out of all the people she could have chosen to trust, selected him.
It boggled the mind. Didn’t she know he was a predator? He could eat her for lunch and still have room for dessert.
Mmm, a dessert of creamy flesh sweetened with womanly nectar.
Viktor groaned and banged his head on the wall. Wrong. So wrong. Sure he’d not taken a woman out in a while, but still, he and his hand took care of business daily. Why, oh why, did one foxy lady, whom he’d known for less than a day, attack his cool control?
Even with the water arctic in temperature, and her in a different room – naked under her own watery spray – his cock bobbed, aching for something he shouldn’t want. His fingers curled around his shaft, tightening and stroking in a familiar rhythm that soon had his hips jerking in time.
Forget coming though, he heard a shriek, and without thinking, he dashed out of his shower and across the hall, grabbing a gun from the dresser on his way.
The impossibility of an intruder, or even danger in his home didn’t penetrate his need to protect. He heard her call, and he had to answer.
The shower curtain pulled back with a fierce rattle and Renee whipped her head to the side to see why. She gaped. Ogled. And just about slumped to the bottom of the tub in a boneless puddle.
An extremely naked Viktor stood there, his muscled skin, so many tanned inches of it, glistening with moisture. Her eyes roved the length of him taking in the breadth of his shoulders, the tight pectorals and well defined abs. Her gaze dropped further noting the distinct v from his waist which led down to…
Cheeks heating, she whipped her startled gaze back to his face, his low growl of warning not needed. The bobbing erection was enough to remind her to mind her manners and not stare. However, the image remained burned in her mind. The sight of him also caused the strangest reaction. Heat flushed her body and her cleft throbbed.
“What’s wrong?” he asked through gritted teeth. “Nothing.” Unless, he counted the fact she now possessed a burning urge to touch him. Would his skin trail smoothly under her fingertips? Was he hot or cold at the moment? Her gaze drifted down.
“Renee!”
Oops. Caught. She tried to focus on something other than his marvelous physique. Only then did she notice the gun in his hand. “Are we under attack?”
“No.”
“Do you always wash your weapons in the shower?” she asked with a creased brow. Didn’t metal rust when it got wet? The bars of the cells did from the tears of the prisoners who hugged them while they cried.
“No. I’ve got a gun because I heard you scream and thought you were in danger.”
Understanding dawned and her cheeks heated further. “Um, sorry. That wasn’t a cry of fear, but joy.”
“You yelled because you were happy?” He didn’t sound impressed.
She nodded her head.
“Am I going to shoot myself if I ask why?”
“I hope not. Blood is hard to clean.”
Viktor closed his eyes and Renee could have sworn he counted to ten. “Let’s try this again. Why were you screaming,
she turned her face into it, luxuriating in the decadence. “Of course it’s hot. What did you expect?”
“Cold water, of course. When they hosed us off, or the
few times I was allowed the use of a faculty shower, the temperature was never anything close to this. This is beautiful.” She sighed as she tilted her head back enjoying the still running
don’t need me?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Have you washed your back and hair?”
Turning, she presented him her back and peered over her
shoulder. “I rinsed them. Do they look clean?” She didn’t understand the tightness of his jaw, or the heated look in his eyes. Was he angry that she knew so little? Or was she inadvertently using all his hot water? Too bad. She wasn’t getting out yet.
“You should use the soap and shampoo to really get clean.” He pointed to a corner where some miniature plastic containers sat in a row.
Holding up a little bottle, she eyed it dubiously. “How does it work?”
“You’ve never washed your hair before?”
She shrugged. “If we got too dirty, and the hose didn’t work, they shaved it off.”
A low noise, half growl, half unknown, rolled from his throat. “We’re not cutting your hair. Give that to me.”
Snatching the bottle, his hand briefly touched her skin – ooh, that sent a tingle through her – as he turned and positioned her facing away from him. A moment later, she felt his fingers in her hair, kneading the strands, massaging her scalp. She rose on her tiptoes, and a happy rumble poured from her.
“I think that should be good,” he said in a voice gone
“Don’t be such a baby. It’s just the soap. Close your eyes and rinse your face. It will stop in a minute.”
“But it burns,” she moaned, her eyes scrunched tight, prickling unpleasantly.
A rustle of movement and he was behind her in the shower. She turned blindly, seeking the safety of his chest, and met bare skin. It instantly comforted her.
“Give me a second to rinse it out.” He manipulated her head under the streaming water, his fingers weaving through her hair as he murmured. “Just a little more soap left. Keep your eyes closed.”
Water flowed over her face. The pain in her eyes ebbed. She allowed herself to relax and took note of their situation. Unique didn’t come close to defining it. Naked, skin to skin with Viktor, a strange heat flooded her veins. A tingle hit her between the legs and it seemed only natural to cuddle closer to him, the tips of her nipples pressed against his chest. His shaft, pinned between their bodies, swelled, and there was nothing cold about it.
His hands dropped from her scalp to skim over her back, down to her waist. For a moment he held her and the heat inside her grew. She tilted her head back, not far given her height, and opened her eyes. Her lips parted when she caught his gaze. Hooded and intense, his frank stare fairly devoured her. Pinned her in place with its intensity.
He leaned toward her, and she caught her breath, waiting for him to kiss her. Wanting him to.
“I think you’re clean,” he said in a low voice.
Stepping out of the tub, he grabbed a towel from the hook on the wall and draped it around himself, hiding the lower part of his body. Dazed, confused, and longing for something she couldn’t define, Project –
No, I’m Renee now –
numbly turned off the taps and took the towel he offered. He disappeared while she wound it around her frame.
What just happened?
Or more like, what didn’t?
He’d almost kissed her. She knew it even despite her lack of experience.
Why did he stop?
The hardness of his erection said more than words he found her appealing. But, he walked away. And darn it, she had to find out why. Wanted to understand what she felt. And why.
Was it normal for her to want to touch him again? To crave him against her, skin to skin? To long for his lips to touch
feelings coursing through her body and mind. Her meager knowledge of the world and people never prepared her for someone like Viktor, a man who woke her senses in heretofore unknown ways.
Viktor paced his bedroom. He’d dressed in jeans and a tshirt, more clothes than he usually wore at home, but he needed the fabric. Needed it like an armor to try and cover up the remembrance of how Renee’s body felt pressed against his.
He’d gone dashing into the bathroom intent on saving her. Instead, he’d almost lost a battle with his body. He couldn’t erase from his mind the delectable view of her pale body. Its womanly shape – heavy breasted, wide-hipped, glistening with moisture, begging for a lick. Her hair, slicked back from her face, defined her delicate features, making her seem like a water nymph. He wanted to fall to his knees in worship.
He should have known then and there to run. Run far and fast. Called for a replacement. Done anything but lay his hands on her under the guise of helping her to wash her hair. She just about purred at his touch, and he’d so easily imagined her making that noise for a completely different reason. A carnal reason.