He kept his eyes rolled upward so he could watch my face as he kissed my back. It reminded me of the way you never let your gaze leave your opponent in the fight ring, because they’ll beat your ass if you do. He laid that well-shaped mouth, with its deep dimples above and below his lips, against my skin, and watched my face. It was as if he expected me to be angry at him.
I frowned. “Where’s Edward?”
“He’s off with the police.”
I tensed, and again his arm tightened around me. “Was there another killing?”
“He doesn’t discuss ongoing police investigations with civilians.”
“You’re quoting him,” I said.
He nodded, and again he laid a soft kiss on my bare back. He kept his eyes upward, as if he really were afraid I’d hurt him. “What did you do that you feel guilty about?” I asked.
He blinked at me, and moved his mouth far enough back so he could speak. “I don’t feel guilty.”
“You look it.”
“You look and feel angry; I’m trying not to piss you off more. Tell me what expression you want on my face and I’ll try to give it to you.”
I smiled, a little, and sighed.
“Well, at least you’re not angry,” he said.
I realized I was propped up on my wounded arm. I looked down at it. The wound was a yellow and pink line of scabs. It looked days old. “How long have I slept?”
“Not that long,” he said.
I sat up, and he just let me go so I could do it. I kept one hand on the sheet, so I covered my breasts at least a little bit. From the way the wound looked, I knew we’d been sleeping naked for days, but I hadn’t known we were naked and I hadn’t been asked about it, so I preferred to be covered. It was just one of my little peculiarities, and I’d stopped fighting it.
I held my arm out to him as he lay back against the bed. “This is really close to healed and I wasn’t healing like normal. This is days of healing.”
One of his arms was spread out behind me, so if I lay back I’d be able to cuddle in against him. I wasn’t sure I was going to be cuddling anybody. I wanted answers. “It’s been a day, just a day. Alex and I have been taking turns sleeping with you so that our energy helped you heal.”
“If a wereanimal of the same flavor sleeps with any of us, we heal faster, yeah.” I frowned. “Wait, with a whole clan of weretigers, why is it just one of you at a time? I’d heal faster if I had two of you sharing your energy.”
“The Red Queen will not risk more of her males with you. You’ve had only two of us near you and we’re both smitten.”
“Smitten?” I said.
He smiled, and nodded. “Yes, smitten.” He rubbed the back of his head against the pillow, and the movement went down his spine, so that he writhed in pieces, as if someone were petting his back, until the writhing vanished under the sheet that was still pooled at his hips.
I seemed strangely fascinated with the way the covers were angled across his hips. His legs trembled under the sheet as the writhing spilled out the last of his body. The movement pulled the sheet a little lower over his hips, so that one side of the covers showed almost all of his hip, but only on the one side. The covers were pinned under his other hip, so they were held in place.
He gave a small deep chuckle. It made me look at his face and ask, “What?”
“I love the way you look at me.”
I frowned at him.
“What did I say that was wrong?”
I frowned a little harder, and then just shook my head. I made myself look away from him, pulling my knees to my chest, so the front of me was covered, though it left the back of my body completely bare, but nothing was perfect.
“May I touch your back?”
I almost said no automatically, and then made myself be reasonable. I was going to have to feed the ardeur. I couldn’t afford to be this hurt again. The Harlequin were in town. I needed all the metaphysical help I could get. If Alex wasn’t here, then Ethan was going to have to be food. But I so didn’t want to add a new person to my life. Yes, hopefully he wouldn’t be coming home with me, but still . . .
“Oh,” he said, “your friend left this for you.” He stretched out one arm, and the nightstand between the two beds in yet another generic hotel room was so close he didn’t have to move his body at all, just his arm. He handed me a folded piece of white paper.
I unfolded the paper and recognized Edward’s precise printing. He almost always printed. The message was short and direct. “No more fast food. Eat a good meal. I need you at my back, Ted.” The “Ted” was an actual signature, small and strangely sloppy. When he signed “Edward” it was neater; his two personas had different signatures as if they were each real people.