Heat of the Night(11)
Author: Sylvia Day

The Elder would make a great hostage. They tumbled, rolling across the sand—

Gasping, Connor jolted awake, which also woke the warm curvy woman lying in his arms.

"Hey." Stacey’s voice was husky from sleep. In the faint glow from the muted television, he saw her head turn toward him. They lay on the sofa; him against the back, her against him. "Are you alright? Did you have a nightmare?"

He pushed up and climbed over her carefully.

"Yeah."

"Want me to make you some hot tea or something?"

"No." Bending, he kissed her forehead. "Go back to sleep. I just remembered something important and I better write it down before I forget it again."

Connor moved over to the breakfast bar, turned on the recessed spotlights above it, and grabbed the notepad he’d seen there earlier. Then he pulled a chair back from the dining table, borrowed the mechanical pencil lying atop Stacey’s textbooks, and turned his attention to finding a clean sheet of paper.

As he flipped through pages of lovingly drawn renderings of Aidan, Connor’s heartbeat slowed.

His breathing deepened and became more regular. The pictures of Aidan before him were not of the same Aidan he’d been fighting alongside for centuries. The Aidan captured by Lyssa in detailed pencil lines appeared younger and happier. His eyes were bright and the lines of strain less apparent.

Connor studied the images for long moments, then he heard movement on the couch. He pivoted to find Stacey curled on her side, her eyelids fluttering as she drifted back to sleep.

He smiled, once again noting how the chill created by his dreams faded just because she was near. It was amazing what the feeling of female comfort could do for a man. He could see how Aidan’s relationship with Lyssa had changed his friend in wondrous ways.

Which only made Connor more determined to succeed in his mission.

He was here for a reason. His actions in this plane of existence would keep the people he cared about safe. It also kept the promise he’d made long ago—to protect the Dreamers from the mistakes of the Elders.

Refocused on his task, Connor returned his attention to the blank paper before him and tried to collect his thoughts.

Aidan didn’t remember the conversations they’d had in his dreams. There was no reason for Connor to think that his own brain was any different, which meant the two "meetings" with Sheron were products of his imagination.

Still, despite knowing how dreams worked, he had a very hard time believing that the fantastical story Sheron had told him was a product of his mind. He didn’t think up shit like that. He considered himself more brawn than brain.

Unless the Elders had a way the Guardians didn’t know about… Or perhaps Wager had gleaned more information from the data chip?

Confused and a bit horrified by the many possibilities—not the least of which was the idea that what he’d dreamed might be the truth—

Connor began to write.

It was the sound of a door opening and the distant rumbling of a garage opener motor that woke Stacey. Groggy and too comfortable for words, it took her a minute to comprehend where she was. Scrubbing at heavy-lidded eyes with her fists, she shifted a little and found herself wrapped in a heavy cocoon of large, sleepy male.

Her brain geared up slowly, piece-by-piece registering the heavy arm and leg that were slung across her, the soft lips and warm breath that caressed her shoulder, the morning hard-on that poked insistently into her buttocks. They were on the couch in the living room, spooned on their sides, Connor’s chin above the top of her head, his big body half draped over hers. She normally needed a thick blanket to stay warm, but his body heat resembled a blast furnace at her back.

Despite her silky spaghetti-strap pajama top and matching pants bottoms, she wasn’t cold at all.

Blinking, Stacey looked through the dining room into the kitchen and discovered two faces bearing equally shocked expressions staring back at her.

"Uh…"

Horrified at the thought of Connor smelling her morning breath, Stacey snapped her mouth shut and attempted to extricate herself from his embrace. He was dressed, too, of course, but that didn’t make the situation any less embarrassing.

There was no way they’d ever be able to pretend that nothing had happened between them.

Connor’s response to her wiggling was a grumbled protest and a large hand cupping her breast.

Her nipple, shamelessly happy with the attention, puckered wantonly into his palm, which set off a now predictable reaction in his cock.

"Umm…" he purred, snuggling closer and rocking his h*ps against hers suggestively.

Aidan and Lyssa’s mouths fell open.

Stacey winced and smacked at Connor’s hand.

"Stop that!" she hissed. "They’re home."

She could tell moment the information sunk in. He stiffened against her, then muttered a barely audible curse. Lifting his head, he looked over her shoulder and said, "Cross."

"Bruce," Aidan returned tightly.

Wincing, Stacey rolled out of Connor’s now lax embrace and landed unceremoniously on her hands and knees on the floor between the coffee table and the couch. Connor straightened into a seated position.

"You guys are back early," she said with mock cheerfulness as Connor rose and pulled her up with him. "How was your trip?" Breeze on through the storm, she thought. It usually worked, at least temporarily.

"I was stabbed in the leg," Aidan muttered.

"I helped bury some freak of nature." Lyssa shuddered.

It was Stacey’s turn to gape. Her eyes dropped to the thick white bandage that peeked out from the bottom of Aidan’s nearly knee-length shorts.

"Oh my god," she said, rushing around the coffee table before her lack of a bra penetrated her consciousness. Her face heated, and she wrapped her arms across her chest. A heartbeat later the chenille throw that decorated Lyssa’s couch was being draped around her shoulders. She glanced up at Connor gratefully.

He offered her a grim smile. "Go upstairs and change," he said, looking over her head at Aidan.

"I’ll go with you," Lyssa said quickly. "I need a shower something fierce."

Stacey looked at her boss and frowned, noting the pale skin and the dark circles under brown eyes.

Lyssa hadn’t looked so tired since before Aidan came into her life.

"Sure thing, Doc." Stacey waited for her friend to join her before heading toward the staircase.

Connor remained where he was, standing tall and proud despite his own state of undress. His gaze never left Aidan’s.

Lyssa barely made it to the upstairs landing before whispering, "You slept with him? Already?"

Wincing, Stacey said, "What makes you think that?"

An arched brow was Lyssa’s reply.

"Okay, okay." Stacey pulled Lyssa into the master bedroom and shut the door.

"That’s so not like you, Stace!"

"I know. It just… happened."

Lyssa plopped down on the edge of the mattress and glanced around the room. "Where’s Justin?"

"Not in here," Stacey muttered, running a hand through her rat’s nest hairdo. She always looked like crap in the morning. Just how she’d want the hottest guy she had ever seen to see her.

"Obviously," Lyssa said dryly.

Once, the room had been decorated in varying shades of blue in an effort to help Lyssa sleep.

Now it was decorated Oriental-style, with a massive standing shoji screen placed before the sliding glass door to the left of the bed and black towels with gold embroidered kanji characters on them in the open bathroom on the right. A bright red satin dragon comforter covered the bed, and the mattress was framed in intricately carved wood and topped with a lacquered multi-paneled painting on the wall.

It was an exotic and unique bedroom, sensual and seductive. Very different from the soft taupe that decorated the rest of the condo, or the Victorian-era theme of the veterinary clinic. Prior to meeting Aidan, Stacey would never have imagined her friend in such surroundings, but it suited the woman Lyssa had become. As Caucasian as she was—and Lyssa was about as Barbie perfect as a girl could get with dark, almond-shaped eyes—the international flavor of the room spoke to an adventurous side Stacey hadn’t known about.

"Tommy came into some money," Stacey said.

"He picked up Justin and took him to Big Bear for the weekend."

Lyssa blinked. "Oh, wow!"

"Yeah, that was my reaction, too."

"When was the last time they saw each other?"

"Five years ago." Stacey dropped into the wooden-backed chair by the door. "So how was your mini-vacation?"

Shaking her head, Lyssa said, "Oh no, you’re not changing the subject that easily."

"Hey, you had a funeral for a freak of nature!"

Stacey protested. "That’s way more interesting than my sex life."

"It wasn’t a funeral; it was roadkill," Lyssa muttered, toeing off her mud stained white Vans and stretching lengthwise across the end of the bed with her head propped on her hand. "We couldn’t leave it there. It was… gross."

The horror in Lyssa’s voice roused exasperation in Stacey. Too much was too much.

"I know you love animals and all, Doc, but pulling over to bury roadkill is just nasty."

"Let’s get back to the topic of you doing the nasty," Lyssa said with undisguised eagerness.

Stacey laughed. "This is so high school."

"Isn’t it? So what happened?"

Blowing out an exasperated breath, Stacey gave up trying to be evasive and began to explain what she didn’t quite understand.

"Man," Aidan muttered, scowling. "Your night with Stacey is going to come back and bite me in the ass."

Connor’s jaw tightened and his arms crossed his chest. No way in hell was he getting chastised for his private business. "I hate to tell you this, Cross, but my sex life has nothing to do with you."

Cursing under his breath, Aidan cleared a spot amid Stacey’s textbooks on the dining table and set a black duffle bag down. "When your sex life includes Lyssa’s best friend, it does."

"Oh? How so?"

Aidan shot him an arch glance over his shoulder.

"Here’s how it will go: You’re going to piss Stacey off for one reason or another. She’s going to complain to Lyssa. Lyssa will complain to me. I’ll say, ‘Leave me out of it.’ And she’s going to say,

‘You’re sleeping on the couch.’"

"You’re leaping to conclusions."

"Conclusions based on historical knowledge,"

Aidan said, unzipping the bag and withdrawing the contents one by one. "That’s why I stopped double-dating with you, remember? One of us would f**k up and we’d both end up paying."

"This is different."

"Yeah, it’s worse. I’ve got Lyssa for the long haul, Lyssa’s got Stacey for the long haul, and Stacey has good reason not to trust men. She’s got a taste for guys like you."

"What is that supposed to mean, dickhead?"

Connor growled.

"Lyssa told me Stacey has a history of hooking up with men who don’t stick around." Aidan pulled a metal cup out of the duffle and set it gingerly on the table. Considering the thing looked the worse for wear, Connor understood it was important.

He stepped closer to check it out.

"When I first got here," Aidan continued, still emptying the bag, "Stacey was so wary of Lyssa getting hurt, she lent her a pepper spray pen. Told her to shoot me with it if I turned out to be an alien or something weird."

"Huh?" Connor picked up the cup and examined it. "She knew you were an alien?"

"No." Holding up a data chip, Aidan asked, "Did you bring a reader with you?" At Connor’s negative head shake, he cursed and dropped it on the polished wood surface.

"What’s up with the alien reference then?"

Connor was confused.

"It was a joke. Stacey’s got a twisted sense of humor."

"Oh." Connor grinned and put the cup back.

"The point is, she armed Lyssa against me, because she was worried I’d hurt her somehow.

She’s tough."

"Yeah." She was. Connor knew that. He also knew she was tender and vulnerable. He’d seen a glimpse beneath the shell. "I like that about her."

Aidan tossed the now empty duffel onto one of the dining chairs. "You won’t like it so much when she sprays you in the eyeballs with that shit."

Resting one palm flat on the tabletop, Connor leaned over and said, "You’re pissing me off, Cross. Why are you so damn sure I’m going to f**k her over?"

"When have you ever been interested in settling down with one woman?" Aidan shot back. "I’ve known you for centuries. You’ve never wanted anything more involved than getting laid."

"Neither did you," Connor retorted.

"Obviously, I’ve changed."

"And I suppose—according to you—I never will?"

"What are you talking about?" Aidan snapped.

"Why are we arguing about this? Just leave her alone. That shouldn’t be difficult for you. It’s not as if you’re hard up."

"Thanks for the glowing endorsement." Snorting, Connor reached for the cloth bundle. "Not that it’s any of your damn business, but I wanted to spend more

time

getting

to

know

Stacey. She blew me off. Don’t worry about my feelings, though. I don’t have any."

If he hadn’t been in a bad mood, Connor might have found amusement in Aidan’s disbelieving glance. But he felt shitty and so it wasn’t funny. It sucked. The whole thing sucked. "Forget it, Cross,"

he grumbled. "I can’t change what’s already been done and it was over before it started."

"Good." Aidan watched him unwrap the linen and reveal a grimy, dirt-covered blob.

"What is this?"

"Hell if I know. We’ll clean it and see." Pulling out one of the chairs, Aidan sank into it with a weary sigh and began to remove the medical tape that held a large bandage to his thigh.

Connor set the blob on the table before following suit and withdrawing a chair for himself.