Home > Flesh and Blood (House of Comarré #2)(74)

Flesh and Blood (House of Comarré #2)(74)
Author: Kristen Painter

‘What about that thing he becomes?’

She dropped her chin slightly. ‘No, I don’t trust that part of him.’

Creek couldn’t blame her. ‘Do you think he would ever attack you when he’s like that?’

She stood, walked to the back wall of glass doors and looked out. ‘He has.’

Anger pushed Creek to his feet. ‘When?’

‘About a month ago.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s nothing to worry about now.’

He went to her side. ‘If he did it once, what makes you think he won’t do it again?’

‘Mal won’t.’ The glass reflected her scowl. ‘He has better control now.’

Creek had pushed her far enough. A seed of doubt existed in her. That was all he needed to know. He backed off. ‘You know him better than I do, I’m sure you’re right. Other than the beast part of him, he seems like a … decent guy.’

‘He is.’ She looked at Creek with sudden curiosity. ‘Although you’re the last person I’d expect to say such a thing.’

‘We’re trying to be civil. For you.’

‘Thank you.’

What other thoughts rolled through her head? He knew what was going on in his own, and it didn’t have anything to do with the vampire. This close, not touching her felt impossible.

‘I need to ask you a question,’ she said. ‘And I want you to answer me honestly.’

‘Of course.’

She looked at him as though she were trying to see into his soul. ‘Have you been killing off fringe vampires?’

‘What do you mean killing off?’

‘Numerous piles of ash have been found in your neighborhood. All in the same area.’

‘Not me.’ A comarré caring about fringe? ‘But I have killed a few who were putting human life in danger.’

She nodded and looked outside again, the faraway glaze returning to her eyes.

He jerked his chin toward the vast lanai beyond the sliding glass doors. ‘That’s some pool.’ And some luxury yacht parked in the deepwater slip a little farther out.

She tipped her head like she was seeing it for the first time. ‘I hardly ever use it.’

‘How come?’

Her mouth quirked to one side. ‘I’m not a great swimmer.’

Genuinely shocked, he laughed. ‘I thought swimming was a comarré prereq.’

‘It is, but I never seemed to get the hang of it. I did enough to pass my classes, but that was it.’

He unlocked the latch on the slider. ‘Never too late to learn.’

‘Yes, I think it— Hey!’

But he had the door open and his shirt off before she’d set one foot after him. ‘Last one in’s a rotten egg.’ He shucked his jeans on the run, almost tripping in the grass, and dove headfirst into the cool blue.

He bobbed to the surface, swam back toward the shallow end, and waited for her. ‘Coming in?’

She stayed on the edge, staring at him with disbelieving eyes that were very clearly not focused on his face. ‘You don’t have a bathing suit on.’

‘Boxer briefs are close enough.’ He winked and a hot, wicked surge charged through him like a freight train. ‘I’ve already seen you in your underthings, so quit stalling. I won’t let you drown.’

‘Drowning isn’t what I’m worried about.’ Her gaze remained downstream.

He planted his feet. ‘Plus, you could use a bath.’

‘What?’ Her head came up and her hands went to her hips. ‘I thought you said I didn’t smell.’

He shrugged. ‘My mother taught me better than that.’ He ducked underwater as her tank top sailed at his head, then broke the surface laughing. His laughter died the moment her fingers went to the drawstring of her loose pants.

She untied the string and let them drop.

It was a very good thing the water was on the cool side. He’d seen her tangled in the sheets of his bed, her body broken and bruised, but this … this was … very different. She stood at the pool’s edge, glazed by the sun’s dying light. Her blonde hair, her pale skin, her signum all a thousand shades of gold. He ached at the sight of her. At being so close to such beauty, and in that moment, his insides clenched with a powerful hunger.

He wanted her. Not just because he’d been seven years without a woman, but because of the woman she was. Didn’t hurt that Mal wanted her, too, but that was just the alpha male in him. Chrysabelle was the only woman who might ever really understand his purpose as a Kubai Mata.

‘You’re staring,’ she said.

‘Yes, I am. Because you’re beautiful.’ He moved toward her and patted the tiled edge. What he was about to do bordered on inappropriate, and he didn’t give a damn. ‘Sit. Let me have a look at those stitches.’

She dipped her head, her hair swinging forward as she sat, almost hiding the color rising in her cheeks. She dangled her legs in the water. ‘This feels very much like you’re trying to seduce me.’

‘Maybe I am.’ He moved between her knees. ‘Can you blame me? I’m a man.’ He checked the wounds. The flesh had knit seamlessly back together and was as new and unblemished as the rest of her body. The stitches no longer served a purpose.

‘Who hasn’t had a woman in a long time,’ she added.

That was for damn sure, but he’d had plenty of practice keeping his libido in check. ‘These stitches really need to come out.’

   
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