The night she’d left Second Earth, Madame Endelle had promised her all sorts of freedom if she would stay and help out her administration. But Marguerite hadn’t been tempted, not even a little. Her experience thus far with administrators of any kind was that they would say one thing then do another, usually with the help of, yeah, an ankle guard.
A promise of freedom? Nothing in her experience told her she could count on that promise, from anyone.
So she’d left and here she was, feeling guilty as hell because she’d just cheated on Thorne even though she wasn’t even with him anymore.
She let go of a really big sigh then heard whistling from the other room. At the same, she caught a whiff of cherry tobacco.
Thorne.
Her first reaction involved a slight jumping of her spirit so that she rose to her feet and almost smiled. Thorne would never have told her to just get out of his room. Never.
Thorne.
But the moment she let his name drift through her head, guilt powered down so hard she nearly fell to her knees. She’d just had some amazing sex with José, some of the best of her life, but now her vampire boyfriend of the past century was in her hotel room.
She cared about Thorne, she really did. But he needed to move on, get his own life, get back to the war.
She dried off her hair in rapid swipes of the towel over her head, shuffled her fingers through to even the strands out, then shrugged into her white terry robe.
When she left the bathroom, her heart lurched at the sight of him. He was sprawled on the bed, no shirt, looking as yummy as ever. He had on jeans and she knew he would be commando because that was his style. He reclined on his side facing her.
“Aw, you’re wearing a robe.” He clucked his tongue a couple of times.
She sighed again. She hated being this torn. And she really did need him to move on.
“What are you doing here?” She turned away from him and hunted through her suitcase. She had a bunch of new clothes. Shoplifting was just plain fun. She’d even let herself be cuffed and put in the back of a police car. When neither of the officers responded to her overtures, she’d just wiped their memories and folded to the Holiday Inn.
She smelled his cherry tobacco again. Dammit, she liked that scent way too much, and it liked her, right between her legs. For a long hard moment she thought about jumping his bones, just for old times’ sake. But in the end, she needed Thorne to quit following her around. He needed to stop with all the protective bullshit and get on with gettin’ on.
“You’re beautiful,” Thorne said.
At that, she stopped pushing all the mixed-up crap around in her suitcase and turned toward him. “I guess we need to have this out.”
But he just smiled. He had an ease to his eyes that was very familiar.
Her mouth popped wide. “You just had sex.”
“I did.” He grinned. The bastard had the nerve to grin.
Marguerite closed the distance to the bed preternaturally fast so that before she knew what she was doing, or even intended to do, she straddled him, her robe falling open, which only made him grin some more.
“Who was she?” She thumped his chest with her fist. “Tell me her name. Did you find her in one of the local dives or maybe out there in the lobby?”
“I’m a gentleman,” he said, lacing his hands behind his head. “I don’t f**k and tell. You know that.”
She was so mad she couldn’t think straight. She started pounding on his thick muscled pecs with both hands. She let out a strange keening sound she didn’t think could ever have come out of her throat. She hated the thought of Thorne with another woman.
The next second he grabbed her arms and flipped her over, pinning her. He put his mouth on hers and kissed her … hard. She tried to fight him but he was six-five and really built, lean, tough, and hardened by war. It was like struggling against steel.
After a moment, when she’d quieted a little, he pulled back.
“I’m so mad.”
“You? Mad? Impossible. You have the gentlest temperament.”
“Screw you.” But he kissed her again, and because he smelled delicious, like her favorite pipe tobacco, her muscles grew lax and she let him put his tongue in her mouth.
She shouldn’t have done that. She really shouldn’t. She loved Thorne’s tongue. Aw, hell, she loved Thorne, she just didn’t want this, all this closeness and connection, all this future she could feel pressing down on her.
After a moment, he pulled back. She wanted him to understand, she really did. But the truth was, she didn’t understand it herself.
“Isn’t it killing you not to be with the brotherhood? Not to be in charge, although I’d bet just about anything that you’ve been issuing orders all this time.”
His smiled was crooked. “Yeah. I put Kerrick in charge, but he didn’t like that job. I just turned the reins over to Luken.” He frowned slightly. “Santiago and Zach are feuding, something about me, I guess.”
Guilt started piling up again. He was chasing her but he knew where he was needed. “You should go back.”
He searched her eyes. “I will when it’s time, but right now I have something I want to ask you, something I’ve always wanted to know.” She could guess. “You never told me, not in any real detail, why you hated your childhood. I know you said you think we should have this out, but maybe I can’t let go because I don’t get it, not all of it. Tell me something, Marguerite. Let me in a little.”
She looked up at him. He had such a gorgeous face, high pronounced cheekbones in sharp lines, low slightly arched brows in that sandy color that matched his hair. She loved his hair, all that thick, coarse mass, sun-burnished as if it had been painted with gold. His jawline met in a firm chin. But the pad of his chin was raised, round, and soft. She rubbed it now. His lips weren’t full but compressed and strong. His eyes mesmerized her, a thousand different shards of gray and green, gold and light brown that somehow blended to create a smooth hazel look.
She reached behind his neck and removed the pick from his cadroen. She tossed it higher up on the bed and pulled his long warrior hair forward. “I love your hair. It almost has a wave and it’s so thick.”
“You’re not answering my question.”
“I’m thinking.” She wondered what she should tell him that could explain her heart, or in some way help him to understand her drive to be free. “Do you know why I cut my hair?”
“I thought you wanted something new. I love it, by the way.”