J.R. Ward - Envy

In the dim glow seeping from the bathroom, it was clear she was out like a light: Even though her head was turned away from him, her breathing was deep and even, her body small and still under the blankets. She was on an IV, and there was a monitor attached to her that was beeping regularly. Probably her heart—

Her head whipped around on the pillow—and then she winced, her hand coming up to her temple. “Veck . . .”

As he rushed over, he said, “Are you all right?” What a dumb-ass question, he thought.

“You’re here.” Then she obviously saw the wristband he’d been given. “Are you okay?”

“Just don’t ask me to run a marathon tomorrow.” When she tried to sit up, he pulled a chair over to the bed. “No, no, lie back. I’m going to park it right here.”

“I didn’t think you were coming,” she said.

As he thought about a response to that, she murmured, “Neither did you, huh.”

He shook his head. “I . . .” God, where to start? “You know, since the first moment I met you, I’ve brought a lot of shit into your life. And then I nearly got you killed tonight—”

“No, you didn’t. We both got set up by Bails and that . . . Who was that woman?”

“I don’t know. But I can tell you this: She’s not coming back.” He believed Jim on that one. “Ever.”

“You took care of that, didn’t you.”

“Guess so.”

“I didn’t mention her when I was questioned.”

“Neither did I.”

Cue a pause. And then he cleared his throat, eager to talk about something, anything other than what had happened in the cave. Maybe later, with distance, they could cover all that what-the-fuck-happened, but not tonight.

“Did your parents come by?”

“They wondered where you were.”

“So you didn’t tell them about me.”

“Oh, I told them everything. How you were framed, how you came after me—”

“I love you.”

That stopped her dead. To the point where he wondered if maybe he shouldn’t apologize. Except then she teared up and reached for his face.

“I love you, too.”

Bending down, so she could reach him more easily, he murmured, “I just want to do right by you. It’s all I’ve ever wanted for us.”

“Then, as you said”—her voice was rough—“no running tomorrow. Or ever.”

“That’s what a friend of mine told me.”

“Jim . . .” When he nodded, she whispered, “That man is an angel.”

“You got that right.”

He didn’t mean to intrude, but somehow he ended up crawling onto the bed and lying next to her. She fit against him so perfectly, and as he held her, he shuddered. They had nearly missed this—not just with what had happened in that cave, but the rest of the shit Bails had been trying to engineer.

Leaning in, Veck kissed her carefully and then just stared into her eyes for the longest time. He’d never had a clean slate before. Hadn’t even been born with one. But at this moment? He saw the fresh start he’d never expected to get in the hazel flecks of those perfect green eyes of hers.

And it was then that he noticed the weight was gone. He’d lived with his heavy burden for so long, it had become something that he wasn’t aware of anymore. Now, though, in the absence of that taxing pressure inside every square inch of him, he felt . . . free. Fresh. Reborn.

The only trouble was that that new-man syndrome had him thinking crazy things, and deciding they seemed entirely reasonable.

Smoothing her beautiful red hair back, he said softly, “So your father asked me a question that night I went for dinner with you all.”

Reilly smiled. “Did he? I just remember him telling you he knew CPR.”

“It was right before that,” he whispered. “You think maybe I could give him an answer someday?”

Her breath hitched. And then a brilliant joy shone out of her face. “If I understand what you’re saying, I think you’re going to have to ask him something first.”

“Your parents free for dinner tomorrow night?”

She started laughing and then so did he. “I think I can arrange that.”

“Perfect.” He got serious. “You’re just . . . perfect.”

Cradling her against his chest, Veck let a peaceful exhaustion claim him: All was right in his world. He had his woman, his life, and his soul back.

Didn’t get any better than this.

Up in heaven, Nigel’s feet took him on a trip around the castle. The ambulation was not to admire the unfurled grace of Jim’s latest victory. Nor was it to check for security. Nor was it to take the air.

Although if asked about his stroll, he would have offered all of those lies in response.

Indeed, perhaps Jim and he were closer than he thought.

And yet if he had proffered such explanations to any person or dog, what he held upon his flattened palm would have announced him as a liar: He carried with him a plate with a damask napkin draped over it—and beneath the fine cloth, there was a currant scone, two biscuits, and a fresh strawberry.

As he walked along with his pastry load, he had in his heart a vague sense of distaste at this butler-like activity. But he needed a tangible excuse to go where he was headed, not just for any others with inquiring minds, but for the intended recipient of what had been plated.

That being said, however, it was not just sweets for the not-so-sweet that he was bringing with him. He had news to share.

Approaching Colin’s tent, he felt like a royal arse, but the archangel had not presented himself for the collective gathering and had missed the missive, so to speak. He was also likely to be hungry after his time away.

Excuses, excuses . . . Nigel wanted to see the jammy sod.

Damn them both.

And so much for clean breaks.

At the entry flap, he cleared his throat. “Colin.”

Waiting for a response, he tugged at the damask napkin to make sure it was still covering the goodies.

“Colin . ”

Oh, enough with this polite restraint.

He pushed his way inside and stopped. Upon the modest cot, there were three suits laid out, each with coordinating ascots, stockings, and shoes.

The middle combination of black and pale grays would compliment him best, Nigel thought.

Putting the plate down, he reached out to stroke the fine cloth of the sleeve. Odd that the archangel had lined these up. Colin was not particular about his vestments.

Turning away, Nigel looked at the leather-bound books. The trunk. The oil lamp that burned with gentle light.

Where was the angel going with such dress?

And then he recalled: Colin had been down with Edward, and wherever Edward was, so too was Adrian.

That cocksure angel with the fetish for piercings had never been known to affiliate with members of his own sex before, but it wasn’t as if Nigel got into that portion of his subordinates’ lives in any detail. Besides, Colin was irresistible. Which was what had landed Nigel in the position he was in now.

Such a fool he was, Nigel thought. Such a fool.

He strode out, but closed the flap behind him softly. The last thing he needed to do was get caught—

A cheerful whistling tune brought his head about.

Sneaking behind the tent, his breath caught. In the midst of the stream’s rushing current, Colin stood with his back to the bank, a soft rubbing cloth passing over his shoulders and leaving a trail of suds that eased between the winged muscles of his torso, following a path e’er downward. . . .

Colin’s head came ’round, and then the top half of him followed.

Nigel swallowed hard as their eyes met. The male was a vision such as he had seen afore, and yet was e’er new.

“Good evening,” the other archangel said, before resuming his soapy ministrations across his chest.