I lifted a brow at her, but asked the waitress, “You got anything from Sweetwater?”
She nodded and rattled off a few, but since I didn’t hear what I wanted, I told her, “Darkest thing you have from them.”
When she was gone, I eyed Ice a few minutes before saying, “I’d begun to wonder if you even drank, Buttercup. Never known you to, before.”
She shook her head. “Not when someone’s chasing me, and I’m careful when I do, because I have to make sure I’m safe and there’s no chance I’ll need a clear head, later. You seem dead set on treating me with kid gloves, even though you won’t just go the fuck away. I don’t want to deal with you sober, and if I fall captive again while you’re supposed to be taking care of my drunk ass, I’ll never forgive you. So… fuckitall. I’m drinking.”
My heart warmed, and I told her, “Thanks for trusting me.”
She shook her head, “Fuck me over and I’ll fuck you over, Thurston. The media seems to have forgotten about the black sheep of the family, and while your family might be able to make the mainstream media keep quiet, if the tabloids and gossip blogs got the right kind of juicy info, even the main news outlets would have to say something about you.”
My wolf wanted to lash out at her for the threat, but I knew she just needed to be sure I knew she had leverage. I’m bigger, stronger, faster, and just as smart — she needed to even the playing field. So, I merely nodded and said, “Not going to fuck you over, so it won’t be a problem. I’ll warn you, though, if you decide to go that route, cover your ass so my father and big brother can’t find you. They can be brutal, and I don’t want you hurt.”
“Even if I get hurt by going after you and your family?”
I nodded, and hoped she could see the sincerity in my eyes. “Even if.”
She sighed and asked, “Buttercup?”
“You aren’t sure what I should call you, I’ll come up with something on my own. Deal with it.”
I grinned at her mock glare, but searched my head for a way to change the subject. She needed to be reminded of what we had in common, and I wanted to lighten the mood, so I brought up some of the latest hardware advances, and what I thought I could do with them when they hit the market. We talked for an hour, and she had three Long Island Iced Teas during our spirited, geek-infused, barely-English conversation.
As I noted she was getting too tipsy and should probably back off, she ordered yet another, and I asked, “You sure?”
She nodded, and I told the waitress, “I’ve got her. Bring her what she wants, and get me another beer, please.”
With my werewolf metabolism, I couldn’t even get a buzz from beer, no matter how much I drank, so I was safe to imbibe and still take care of her — and I had a feeling I’d be holding her while she puked before much longer.
When I finally got Ice into her room, she sat in a chair, held a foot in the air, and said, “Take it off. I’m hot.”
Deliberately misunderstanding her, I took my vest off, draped it over the back of the sofa, and then pulled my t-shirt off.
I smelled her arousal, and… something else. This drunk, she shouldn’t be wary and concerned, but she was. I’d need to go slow, find out what she was worried about before I pushed somewhere I shouldn’t.
When she’d told me the Russians knew she was a girl, her smell had been acrid, bitter. Not fear so much as a horrible memory, something deep in her psyche. The memory of unimaginable pain, agony, humiliation, and utter desolation.
Now, she rolled her eyes and said, “No, fuckwad. Take my boots off. Sheesh, do I have to spell everything out for you? Thought you were s’posed to be smart.”
I grinned and went to one knee, bracing her shoe against my leg as I unlaced her kick-ass boots. She’d worn feminine clothes when she didn’t think I was watching. The fact she’d felt the need to look tough, and not girly, should probably tell me something.
Hell, I knew what it said. She didn’t want me to see her as a weak girl, but a strong, smart, hacker who was my equal. I worried it might say more, though.
I took her boots and socks off, sat back, and gave her a foot massage. I’d originally thought I’d take the opportunity to seduce her, but she was sloppy drunk, not just tipsy, and it felt wrong to take advantage. I have nothing against fucking women who’ve let themselves get to this point, but… not Ice. Not my Buttercup.
She slouched lower and lower in the chair, and I finally picked her up and moved her to the sofa. I sat on the other end, propped her feet in my lap, and kept up with the foot massage.