Immortal (Fallen Angels #6)(76)
Author: J.R. Ward

Inside his skin, he was an unhinged, vicious sonofabitch on the knife edge of insanity.

And until he brutalized Devina? He wasn’t going to be able to concentrate on anything else.

“Jim? What happens next?”

He cleared his throat and twisted away from her—ostensibly to stab his cigarette out in the ashtray he’d brought with him, but also because he hated that he was lying to her.

“Same as always.”

“What does that mean?” she pressed.

“I find the soul, somehow, and go to work.”

“Are you worried about the last round?”

“No, not at all.” At least this was the truth, and he turned back around toward her. “I feel great. I feel strong. I’m ready to shut this game down in the right way.”

And that was also the God’s honest. The rage in his bones was a great clarifier, a figurative Windex wash of the filter he had on the world and the war and himself. With it around? He could see everything clearly, what he needed to do, where he needed to go. His target set, he was able to tune out all background noise and movement, zeroing in solely on discharging a kill shot.

“Jim?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you all right?”

He tucked her in tighter against him and kissed the top of her head. “Never better. I’ve never been better.”

The shiver that went through her made him frown. “It’s cold out here,” he said. “Let’s go in.”

“Okay.”

He helped her to her feet and held her close as he led them over to the front door. Inside, he shut things up and locked them, even though his protection spells were better than anything Schlage ever made.

Looking down at her, he lowered his lids to half-mast. “We going to bed?”

“Yes.”

Right answer. So the right answer.

Hitting the stairs, they stayed side by side, even on the landing. Which was good. What sucked? When they passed by the grandfather clock, the one that no one set and nobody cranked, the goddamn thing let out a gong. And another. And a third.

Jim ground his jaw and glared over his shoulder. In a series of quick inspirations, he imagined himself going after the cocksucker with a chain saw … an ax … a flamethrower.

Fourth … fifth … sixth …

“What is it?” Sissy asked as they came up to the second-story sitting area.

… seventh … eighth …

He knew she’d asked him a question, but he was too busy counting, even though he knew damn well what the total was going to be.

“Jim?”

… ninth … tenth … eleventh … twelfth …

“Jim.”

… thirteenth.

“Motherfucker,” he muttered under his breath before snapping himself back to attention. He was not going to let that nasty piece of shit ruin what little time he had with his woman.

Refocusing, he eyed the doorway to the bathroom he used, and was struck by an urge to reroute from the destination of her bedroom. Especially as he pictured her breasts hot-water-slick with soap suds dripping off the tips of her nipples.

Tugging at Sissy’s hand, he drew her over. “Come in here with me.”

Chapter Forty-two

Like she was going to say no to him when he looked at her like that?

As Jim drew her over to the bathroom, Sissy followed, because her body wanted exactly what was in his eyes. Her mind, though … her instincts? They were popping red flags all over the place—something was off about him, that hard glint in his eyes the kind of thing she hated to see.

But what could she do? It was late and everyone had had an exhausting day and there was always tomorrow morning. She’d talk to Eddie and Ad then—maybe they could help.

Jim let her go in first, and then he shut and locked the door behind them while she blinked and winced. The crane-arm light fixture over the old-fashioned sink was on, the clinically bright illumination on all the white tile about as romantic as an eye exam—but he took care of that. Reaching up, he unscrewed two out of the three bulbs and then draped a towel over the remaining one, careful not to get the terry cloth too close to the heat.

“Better?” he said.

As she nodded, for some reason she felt shy—although, come on¸ it wasn’t like they hadn’t gotten down with it before. This felt different, however … maybe because it seemed so planned and intentional. Or, no, maybe it was the fact that with the evil out of her, she felt as though she was about to be with him for the first time. Before? Even though everything had been intense and amazing, that contamination had clouded her—

Holy … shit, she thought as Jim lifted his T-shirt up over his abs, his pecs, his thick neck, his head. Even in the now-diffused lighting, his muscles stood out in sharp relief, carved rather than born, powerful even though he wasn’t fighting anyone at the moment.

Leaning to the side, he started the shower, his body flexing in a coordinated series of movements while he twisted the knobs to get the right combination of hot and cold.

As far as she was concerned? He could futz around with the temperature for the next twenty hours.

Except then it was time for him to work on her. Straightening, he came at her with a burning look on his face—like not only did he want her, but he needed the connection they were about to have.

“You’re beautiful, you know that.” Not a question. A statement—and how great was that? “But you have way too many clothes on.”

“Are you going to fix that problem?” Check her out with the come-ons. “Or make me do it myself.”

“I’m going to take care of it.”

She put her hands over her head as he pulled her sweatshirt off, and then his touch was all over her skin, running up from her waist to her simple white bra. Dropping his head, he nuzzled the white cotton out of the way and latched onto her nipple—

With a hiss, she went lax, her body curving against the hard bar of his arm at the small of her back. As he continued to work her, her clothes disappeared, pants and panties gone, bra off, nothing but naked skin left for his eyes, his hands, his mouth.

She was up and over the edge of the huge Victorian claw-foot tub a moment later, and he joined her under the hot spray, his body already primed and raring to go as he pulled the curtain around them. But instead of lifting her up around his waist, or pulling one of her legs high and going in? He went for the soap, rubbing that bar over and over in his hands until the sudsy froth fell in fragrant lots into the swirl around the drain at their feet. His hands were slow and thorough, and she wished she were lying down so that the only thing she had to concentrate on was the way he caressed her, lingering over her neck and her collarbones, her breasts and her stomach, her thighs and her backside.