His to Take (Wicked Lovers #9)(20)
Author: Shayla Black

“Whoa, I’m a federal agent protecting someone who hasn’t figured out she’s in danger yet.” And why was he explaining himself to this guy? Because Axel kept this place safe. Damn it. “Is it possible to get a beer around here?”

“We don’t serve much booze. Things like restraints, wax, and fire play don’t mix well with intoxication.”

Joaquin’s temper ignited. He rattled Axel’s step stool. “I’m trying to save a woman’s life. Not rape her. Not get drunk. Why the fuck am I the enemy?”

Finally, Axel looked his way, his blue eyes sharp. “Why should I give a shit about your little feelings? You’re a stranger to her, restraining her to a bed against her will. Not only that, if this place gets shut down, I don’t have a job and fet folk in Dallas won’t have a safe place to play.”

He didn’t know much about the fet community or their tribulations in finding a protected environment. He didn’t want to put anyone out, but he couldn’t sacrifice Tatiana’s safety, either. “I’m going to convince her that she wants to be here, okay?”

“Make it fast.” And with that, Axel was done talking.

Whatever. Maybe a beer wasn’t a great idea anyway.

But without something to drink or anything to do except wait, he was going to climb the damn walls. Back down the hall he stalked. How the hell could he become someone Tatiana trusted in the next two days? The only two possibilities he saw: He had to become her friend . . . or her lover.

Joaquin wrestled with his conscience, then buried it. If she wouldn’t see reason, he’d have to influence her in whatever way he could. He wasn’t out to break her heart, just make sure she lived. And if he got to touch her . . . The situation seemed like a win-win to him.

He smiled and started to plan.

*   *   *

BAILEY looked up to find an imposing man striding through the door to the bedroom, carrying a tray. He wasn’t the same one who’d tried to convince her that she was the Russian scientist’s daughter. This one was more refined, a bit older, but he still had an edge of danger that made her take a half step back.

“Sit.” With a jerk of his head, he gestured toward a desk against the far wall.

It looked more decorative than anything. She’d already tried searching inside it for anything useful, especially a way to reach the outside world. She’d settle for Morse code at this point. But she could find nothing. The drawers were locked, and twelve years of ballet and a penchant for science hadn’t given her the skills of a petty thief.

Since this man gave off an air that warned her against messing with him, she did as he bid. Besides, Bailey could smell food even across the room, and she was starved.

As soon as she sat, he set the tray in front of her and disappeared through the bathroom.

“That’s roast chicken with fingerling potatoes and asparagus,” he called across the room, then emerged a moment later carrying a robe. “You can wear this for now if you’re cold.”

She hadn’t been earlier, but after her shower, she’d been unable to find a hair dryer and the strands of her wet hair now brushed all over her back, wetting her nightshirt. She didn’t have any other clothes with her. But no complaints. She hadn’t expected to find a new toothbrush, a razor, a comb, scented body lotion—a whole array of toiletries.

“Thank you.” She didn’t take her eyes off the man as he pulled up a nearby chair and regarded her with concerned eyes an unusual shade of gray.

“You’re welcome. My girlfriend isn’t exactly your size, but she’s far closer than anything I could offer you.”

He was nearly as tall as the last man who had walked through that door and not any less built. Anything of his, she’d swim in.

“So . . .” he went on. “I’ll bring you something of hers shortly. I wanted to feed you first.” He looked at her untouched plate and frowned. “Go ahead.”

Bailey picked up her fork. The man seemed imposing, but not menacing. Still . . .

“Who are you? No offense, but I don’t trust you or your weirdo of a buddy.”

“I’m Thorpe.”

His name sounded familiar. She wasn’t sure exactly why. Then again, everything with her right now was off-kilter. Maybe she was hallucinating.

He wore a ghost of a smile. “And that weirdo isn’t exactly my buddy. Joaquin is a friend of a friend, more like. I don’t know him well, so I can’t precisely set you at ease there. I’ve already told him that I don’t like you being here against your will. That aside, our mutual friends are very highly decorated soldiers and the best men. If they say you’re in danger, then you are, and I would caution you against making yourself an easy target for killers.”