And if they did get together, there was no way in hell he’d want her back if she were ordered to sleep with someone else while they were separated. Much as she might want to, that wasn’t something she’d lie about, pretending she’d been faithful just to keep him.
Unless ordered, she thought bitterly.
How do I handle this?
Over the years she had chased many humans and aliens. She had tortured, and she had coldly, brutally executed. In those situations, she’d known what to do. With Jaxon, she was completely out of her element.
Why? she wondered again. Why was he different?
His stubbornness, perhaps, his strength. If he had a weakness, she hadn’t found it. These past few days, he hadn’t even seemed to have a man’s needs. He hadn’t touched her again, not since they’d lain side by side in bed and she’d pretended to be his wife. He kept his distance as if she were poison.
What if I’d really been his wife?
The thought zipped through her and she couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t stop the hot pang of longing that followed it, scorching her soul-deep. Would he look at her with all that fire and passion again? Tenderness, even?
Oh, the tenderness had nearly slain her before. No one had ever looked at Mishka Le’Ace that way. People regarded her warily, analytically, fearfully. But not then, not Jaxon. When he’d turned those gorgeous silver eyes on her, all soft and affectionate, she’d wanted so badly for the pretend memories she’d planted in his head to be real.
More wishing, you stupid girl? You know what wishing brings: a whole lot of nothing.
With a sigh, Le’Ace leaned against the living room wall and watched as Jaxon pushed himself out of the wheelchair she’d procured for him and stood, holding the parallel bars she’d installed only that morning. He refused to allow her to help him, insisting on doing his own physical therapy.
His color was good, at least, only traces of yellow and azure remaining on his jawline. Most of the swelling had gone down. His face still wasn’t handsome, would never be handsome, but it was utterly fascinating to her.
A white, jagged scar ran along the right side of his face. An old scar he’d obviously received well before his beating. Now there were several new ones beside it, pink and puffy like kitten scratches.
His silver eyes were framed by short, thick lashes. His nose was a little too long and a lot harsh, crooked, and his cheekbones were sharp as glass shards. Overall, a savage face. Except there was something beguiling about him, something curiously calming. Sometimes, when she looked at him, a sense of peace would float through her, relaxing her shoulders, beckoning her to simply enjoy him.
The relaxation never lasted long, though, because desire was always close on its heels.
“I want a phone, Le’Ace.”
His deep voice snapped her out of her musing. How long had she been staring at him, silent? Warmth blossomed in her cheeks. “There aren’t any landlines in the building.”
“Is your cell broken?”
“No.”
“Let me use it.” Emotionless, unconcerned.
“Nope. Sorry,” she said, hating to deny him.
“Why?” He gripped the bars so tightly his knuckles bleached. Not so unconcerned, after all. Slowly, so slowly, he dipped his weight to his bare feet. A grimace contorted his features, but he remained in place.
“You shouldn’t have cut off the cast,” she admonished. So badly she wanted to go to him, help him, but she knew he’d brush her aside.
“Why can’t I use your cell?” he demanded as if she hadn’t spoken.
“A phone call could be traced.”
“I’ll make it quick.”
“You know as well as I do that a trace takes less than a second.”
He inched forward, one baby step at a time. “What would be so bad about a trace? If we’re friends, partners, as you claim, A.I.R. employees are our allies.”
Well, let’s see. The New Chicago agents wouldn’t know her, wouldn’t trust her, and would try to take Jaxon away from her. Oh, and there was the little matter of violating a direct order. Jaxon was to have no contact with his friends. That way, he would feel isolated and cling to Le’Ace.
In theory, at least, she mentally added with a frown. He had yet to cling. With every minute that passed, he seemed to draw farther and farther away from her.
“I think you’re afraid my friends will storm inside this house and stab you.”
That was the most inflamed response he’d made in days, and she took heart. She didn’t know why his reserved, stoic persona irritated her so much, but it did. “Please,” she replied, just to provoke him. “Your friends couldn’t find me if I mailed them a map and marked our location with a glowing red X.”
One of his hands suddenly slipped on the bar, dislodging him. His forearm slammed into the wood, and he grunted. She was beside him a second later, unable to stop herself, gripping his hips and jerking him upright.
The muscles underneath her palms clenched, and Jaxon’s shoulders stiffened. But he managed to regain his balance and push out a breath. “You can let go now,” he said, and there was embarrassment in his tone.
She wanted to linger. First touch in days, her body screamed, want more, more, more. He was shirtless, and she watched a bead of sweat travel from his shoulderblade to the waist of his shorts. Nine scars branched from his spine. She wondered how he’d gotten them.
He had wide shoulders, and they were the perfect frame for the perfect chest she knew he possessed. She knew he had rope after rope of muscle and that each was a feast to her greedy gaze. He was strength and total masculinity, rough-hewn and sun-kissed. The body of a god with the face of a warrior. Didn’t get any better than that.
“I said you can let go.”
She released him and backed away. Obviously he was a strong and capable man. Any hint of weakness had to mortify him. “Anyone else would still be in bed, Jaxon. You endured multiple beatings from multiple people and sustained injuries that would have killed anyone else.”
He ignored her and continued his exercise.
Would a thank-you for the compliment have been too much to ask? She resumed her position at the wall and studied him once again. Lines of strain bracketed his eyes and mouth. His skin was paler than it had been a moment ago. “How’d you get the scar on your cheek?”
“Rogue alien,” he answered dismissively.
Truth?
Lie.
Le’Ace ground her teeth. “How?”