He thought of his sister, curled up in her bed.
Havers was a healer by nature and profession, a male who had marked his entire life in service to others. But if Wrath were ever injured enough to come and see him, Havers would be tempted to let that monster bleed out.
Or kill him on the OR table with a slip of the scalpel.
Chapter Ten
Beth eased into consciousness slowly. It was like surfacing from a perfectly performed swan dive. There was a glow in her body, a satisfaction as she emerged from the buffered world of sleep.
Something was on her forehead.
Her eyelids flipped open. Long male fingers were moving down the bridge of her nose. They drifted across her cheek and then over to her jaw.
There was enough ambient light coming from the kitchen that she could dimly make out the man lying with her.
His concentration was fierce as he explored her face. His eyes were closed, arching brows drawn down, thick lashes against his high, regal cheekbones. He was on his side, his shoulders a mountain blocking her view to the glass door.
Good lord, he was huge. And stacked.
His upper arms were the size of her thighs. His abdomen was ribbed as if he were smuggling paint rollers under his skin. His legs were thick and corded. And his sex was as big and magnificent as the rest of him.
When he'd first come up against her naked and she'd had a chance to touch him, she'd been shocked. He had no hair on his torso or arms and legs at all. Just smooth skin over hard muscle.
She wondered why he shaved all over, even down there. Maybe he was some kind of bodybuilder.
Although why he'd go the Full Monty with a razor was a mystery.
Her memories of what had happened between them were fuzzy. She couldn't quite recall how he'd come into her apartment. Or what he'd said to her. But everything they'd done horizontally was vivid as hell.
Which made sense, since he'd given her the First orgasms she'd ever had.
The fingertips rounded her chin and came up to her lips. He brushed her lower one with his thumb.
"You are beautiful," he whispered. His subtle accent made him roll the R over his tongue, almost as if he were purring.
Well, that stands to reason, she thought. When he touched her, she felt beautiful.
His mouth came down on hers, but he wasn't looking for anything. The kiss was not a demand. It was closer to a thank-you.
Somewhere in the room, a cell phone went off. The ring wasn't hers.
He moved so fast she jumped. One moment he was by her side; the next he was at his jacket. He flipped open the phone.
"Yeah?" The voice that had told her she was beautiful was gone. Now he growled.
She pulled a sheet around her chest.
"We'll meet at D's. Give me ten."
He hung up the phone, put it back in the jacket, and picked up the pants he'd been wearing. The threat of re-dressing brought back some reality.
God, had she really just had sex-really, really good, mind-blowing sex-with a complete stranger?
"What's your name?" she asked.
As he pulled black leather up his thighs, she caught a terrific shot of his ass.
"Wrath."- He went over to the table and got his sunglasses. When he sat down next to her, they were in place. "I've got to go. I might not get back tonight, but I'll try."
She didn't want him to leave. She liked the feel of his body taking up more than its fair share of her futon.
She reached up to him, but took her hand back. She didn't want to seem needy.
"No, touch me," he said, bending his body down, giving her all the access she could ask for.
She put her palm on his chest. His skin was warm, his heart surging in an even pump. She noticed he had a circular-shaped scar on his left pectoral.
"I need to know something, Wrath." His name felt good on her tongue even if it was an odd one. "What the hell are you doing here?"
He smiled a little, as if he liked her suspicion. "I'm here to take care of you, Elizabeth."
Well, he certainly had.
"Beth. I go by Beth."
He inclined his head. "Beth."
He stood up and reached for his shirt. He ran his hands down the front of it, as if feeling for buttons.
He wasn't going to find many, she thought. Most of them were on her floor.
"You got a wastepaper basket around here?" he asked, as if realizing the same thing.
"Over there. In the corner."
"Where?"
She stood up, keeping the sheet around her, and took the shirt. Throwing it out seemed like a lost opportunity.
When she looked at him again, he'd pulled a black holster on over his naked skin. Two daggers crisscrossed in the middle of his chest, handles down.
Oddly, as she looked at his weapons, they calmed her. The idea that there was a logical explanation to his appearance was a relief.
"Was it Butch?"
"Butch?"
"Who put you up to guard duty."