Magic Strikes(100)

odd at the time, but crazy shit kept happening and I let it slip. He became paranoid. All security

chiefs are paranoid, but Jim took it further than most. He began to obsess with preventing future

threats, and when Derek screwed up and got his face bashed in, it pushed Jim over the edge. He

couldn't handle being responsible for Derek's death and for my having to kill the kid. He had to fix

it at any cost. Basically, there was a problem and I missed it. And he sure as hell didn't bring it up.»

Dear Beast Lord, as your chief of security, I must warn you that I have deep-seated inadequacy

issues . . . Yeah, hell would sprout roses first.

«I can't keep up with everyone all the time,» Curran said. «And Jim's the one who never went

nuts on me. It was his time, I guess. So to answer your question fully, there's no reason to demote

him. He has a talent for his job and he's doing reasonably well considering what he's up against. If I

sack him, I'll have to replace him with somebody who has less experience and will screw up more.

This is a lesson. Three months of dragging giant rocks around will help him get the stress out of his

system.»

We sat quietly. I sipped my beer, feeling a bit fuzzy. Funny how six months sober had turned me

into a lightweight. Curran rested the back of his head on the edge of the hot tub and closed his eyes.

I stared at the way his face looked, etched against the darkness of the wall. He really was a

handsome bastard. Poised like this, he seemed very human. Nobody to impress. Nobody to

command. Just him, in the hot water, tired, hurting, stealing a few precious moments of rest, and so

irresistibly erotic. Well, that last one came out of nowhere. It was the beer. Had to be.

Despite all his growling and threats, his arrogance, I liked being next to him. He made me feel

safe. It was a bizarre emotion. I was never safe.

I closed my eyes. That seemed like the only reasonable way out of the situation. If I couldn't see

him, I couldn't drool over him.

«So you didn't want to see me hurt?» he said. His voice was deceptively smooth and soft, the

deep, throaty, sly purr of a giant cat who wanted something. Admitting that I took his well-being

into consideration might have been a fatal mistake.

«I didn't want you to have to kill Derek.»

«And if he had gone loup?»

«I would have taken care of it.»

«How exactly were you planning on pushing Jim aside? He was the highest alpha. The duty was

his.»

«I pulled rank,» I told him. «I declared that since you had accepted the Order's assistance, I

outranked everybody.»

He laughed. «And they believed you?»

«Yep. I also glared menacingly for added effect. Unfortunately, I can't make my eyes glow the

way yours do.»

«Like this?» He breathed in my ear.

My eyes snapped open. He stood inches away, anchored on the tub floor, his arms leaning on the

tub wall on each side of me. His eyes were molten gold, but it wasn't the hard, lethal glow of an

alpha stare. This gold was warm and enticing, touched with a hint of longing.

«Don't make me break this bottle over your head,» I whispered.

«You won't.» He grinned. «You don't want to see me hurt.»

We lunged for each other at the same time and collided, crazy with need and starving for a taste.

Warnings and alarms wailed in my mind, but I shut them down. Screw it. I wanted him.

He found my mouth. The thrust of his tongue against mine made my head spin. He tasted like

heaven. I kissed him back, nipping, licking, melting against him. It felt so good . . . His lips traced a

fiery line from my mouth to the corner of my jaw and down my neck. My whole body sang in warm

liquid triumph. His voice was a ragged whisper in my ear. «Only if you want to . . . Say no, and I'll

stop.»

«No,» I whispered to see if he would do it.

Curran pulled back. His eyes were pure need, raw and barely under control. He swallowed.

«Okay.»

It was the most erotic thing I had ever seen. I reached for him and slid my hand up his chest,

feeling the taut muscle.

He caught my hand and kissed my palm gently. Heated, tightly controlled want shone in his

eyes. I pulled my fingers free, pushed from the wall, and kissed his throat just under the jaw. This

was bliss. There was no hope for me.

He growled, closing his eyes. «What are you doing?»

«Pulling on Death's whiskers,» I murmured, letting my tongue play over his skin, rough with

stubble. He smelled divine, clean and male. My hands slid up his biceps. His muscles tensed under

the light pressure of my fingers. He was trying very, very hard to stand still and I almost laughed.

All those times when he'd called me «baby» . . . Revenge was sweet.