Silly caveman. “Again? Oh, dear. However will I survive?”
He kissed her, relearning her, tasting her, but the kiss soon spun out of control. Just as before, Vika was confounded by the absolute and utter delight she found in the act of making love with him. Solo was gentle, and he was rough, he was careful and he was undisciplined, he was . . . everything to her, and more than she could have ever dreamed.
There was no part of her he left unpraised. Nothing was taboo. He delighted in all that she was, and erupted into a frenzy of growls and commands when she took over, showing him just how much she loved him.
Love?
She did, she realized. She loved him with all of her heart. The emotion burst through her, warming her, delighting her, thrilling her—frightening her, but she wasn’t going to dwell on that, and she wasn’t going to think about wanting more from him than he might want from her. His feelings wouldn’t change her own. And she wasn’t a mouse, she reminded herself. She was brave. She was strong. She would go after what she wanted with everything she had.
Twenty-eight
The flowers have already appeared in the land, the time has arrived for pruning the vines, and the voice of the turtledove has been heard in our land.
—SONG OF SOLOMON 2:12
SOLO STARED AT THE computer screen and scowled. Finally, he’d gotten an e-mail. Three, in fact. One from Michael, one from John, and one from Blue. But all three were bounce-back messages.
Their e-mail addresses had been changed. And so had their phone numbers. That was standard operating procedure when an identity or a location had been compromised—or an agent had died.
Solo’s own code to this cabin should have been disabled, but it hadn’t been. He wasn’t sure why. What he did know? He needed a new plan. If Michael was alive, he knew Solo was here, despite their little communication problem. He would have known the moment Solo punched the code into the alarm. He would have called.
To Solo, that still didn’t prove the man was dead. But. Yeah, but. There was always a but when doubt and uncertainty were involved. Solo might have to proceed as if Michael was out of the picture and unable to help him.
Now that the cuffs were out there in the wild, Jecis wouldn’t be able to get a lock on Solo. He would be watching the nearest cities, maybe even the airport and bus station. But that wasn’t really a problem. In the garage underneath the cabin, there was a truck and an ATV. But . . . There was that word again. He didn’t like the thought of taking Vika out in the elements. She’d held up well the first time, but he’d since made the mistake of allowing desire to overshadow duty, and hadn’t used the condom the first time they made love. He’d used it the second, and should have stopped since they’d had no more. But then he’d rationalized that the damage was already done. So he’d made love to her a third time—and he would make love to her again.
She could now be pregnant. And if she wasn’t, she could be by day’s end.
The possibility should have disturbed him. The possibility should have frightened him. He wasn’t ready to be a father. But he couldn’t deny he liked the thought of Vika round with his child, tied to him on so visceral a level.
A loud ringing erupted in his ears, and he frowned, ignored it. He didn’t like that Jecis knew Vika’s general vicinity. He didn’t like father and daughter even being in the same country. But though Solo now had the resources, he didn’t have time to take her somewhere else.
He would stay here one more night, he decided, and wait for Michael. Then, if his boss failed to contact him or arrive, he would lock Vika inside the cabin and return to the circus—with guns, as Kitten had requested. After all, more than vehicles filled the garage.
He didn’t want to run the risk of Jecis moving the circus again. Right now, Solo doubted the man would do such a thing. He would want to stay here and search for Vika.
“You’re happy,” a familiar voice said.
Solo blinked, momentarily confused. He could hear. Did that mean Vika, who was currently napping, exhausted from his insatiable lovemaking, was once again deaf? If so, he wasn’t sure he liked that trade.
“I am,” he replied. “No thanks to you.”
Dr. E appeared on the desk, glaring up at him. His hair was tangled, hanging limply around a gaunt face. His eyes were sunken, his cheeks hollow. “Why not? I helped you.”
“You only ever got me into trouble.”
The being hissed at him, and if there had been tiny pebbles on the desk, Solo felt certain they would have been hurtled at his head. “You won’t ever listen to me again, will you?”
“No.” He liked to think he learned from his mistakes.
Dr. E popped his jaw. “X was given to you the day of your conception, a gift from your parents to minister to your needs, to protect and teach you, but he was never to override your free will, even when it got you into trouble.”
“I know that,” Solo said, sitting up straighter.
“I used to be like him. Did you know that? Long, long ago, I was an Altilium. But I chose a different life, chose to take rather than ask and wait for an answer, and the source of my power drained. I had to find another. So I joined you and X without permission. Had you ignored me, I would have been forced to leave, but you did not. You listened to me, welcomed me, and I was able to attach myself to you and feed off you.”
“Like a parasite,” Solo gritted.
A dismissive wave of Dr. E’s tiny hand. “I prefer the term ‘energy receptor.’ ”
“Whatever. Go on. You have a point, I’m sure.”
Before the little guy could open his mouth, Vika poked her head into the room, and said, “Solo?” Her mass of pale hair was brushed and gleaming. Her eyes were once again the color of plums, and though they were sparkling, she was frowning.
Solo jumped to his feet. “Everything all right?”
“Everything’s fine. But I’m deaf again, and I just wanted to make sure you could hear.”
“I can,” he said.
Relief painted the edges of her sudden smile, dazzling him. “I’m glad.” She came the rest of the way inside and leaned against a wall. She must have dug through the dresser drawers, because she now wore an oversize sweatshirt that had to be rolled at the wrists and pants that had to be rolled at the ankles.
Never had she looked younger, fresher, and his heart actually swelled in his chest. But he wanted to see her in clothing he had bought for her. Or clothing he had first worn. Wanted her surrounded by his things—their things. Wanted to give her . . . everything.