Page 13 of Peacock Me Like a Hurricane (Rise of the Resistance #2)

THE BIRD brEAKS A WING AND THE CAT GETS BURNED

“ S odding swamp. Bloody rookie.” I storm into the room, cursing and muttering promises of pain and retribution that I’m happy to carry out. “Bayou. Idiot.”

The smell of swamp is clinging to me like perfume in a French whorehouse, and it’s all I can do not to roar my fury into the air. My bloody shirt is wrapped around my hand in tatters and it waves like a flag as I punch the wall panel with my non-injured fist. The wall gives way to the shiny, high tech bathroom full of every amenity we could ever need. I’m not a man that foregoes luxury, even in a space like this one. I don’t even look around as I head inside, letting the door slide close behind me. Starting up the shower, I continue my tirade, my anger having reached the boiling point in my head.

The kitty’s here because I can feel her puzzlement from the other room. Our bond floods with concern as she waits. I probably startled her, but I wasn’t worried about that when I came in, only getting this disgusting smell and grime off my body. The clothes are a write-off, no denying that.

Have I mentioned how cool it is that I can feel her?

Yeah, that’s a new one for me. Hell, it’s all a new one with her. I can close my eyes and feel the calm radiating from her. She’s sitting on that monstrosity of a bed—in size, mind, not form—waiting for me to re-emerge and explain myself. Growling again, I re-cap the evening from hell and shake my head. I don’t want to take it out on her.

When I finally feel like I’m clean, I step out and turn off the shower. Before I walk out, I root in the cabinets until I find a bandage to cover the ugliness that’s my right hand. That situation is the root cause of all my ire. I wrap a towel around my waist and open the panel, steam pouring into the room. I’m still drying my hair when I look over to see what she’s doing and just about hit the floor.

I mean, Christ, how’s a man supposed to stay enraged when I’m faced with a picture like that?

She’s lying against the black and blood colored pillows on a bed full of fluffs and frills that delight me. I love them because they speak to that soft center that she wants to pretend no one sees. Her long fiery locks are spilling all over her shoulders, contrasting with her porcelain skin like a handmade doll. She’s the complete opposite of my tanned, hazel eyed, blonde maned goddess. It’s like they were made to be the sun and moon.

Did I mention that despite all the natural beauty that she seems to have no earthly idea she exudes, she’s wearing a long, lacy black wisp of something that looks like they made it to short circuit my brain?

No? She is.

“Bloody buggering hell.” That’s all I got—a whisper or a prayer to the evil below. She looks like Satan’s mistress in that get up on that bed, and it ties my tongue in knots.

She frowns at me, seeing the bandage before anything else. I could have predicted that and won a pile of cash if I’d been so inclined. Scooting to the edge of the bed, she sits back on her haunches and holds her hand out. “What happened, baby?”

Son of a bitch, it kills me.

She likes that I appreciate the simple things, and her calling me all manner of endearments is easily one of them. I know she’s waiting for me to answer, but my eyes are following curves and soft skin and silk. I finally drag my eyes away and manage to unswallow my tongue. “You want the Big Bad version or the truth?”

She shrugs, hair falling in waves all over again. “Whichever you prefer. Although, I suspect I’ll end up getting both.”

Boy, isn’t she the smart cookie? She knows that she has me wrapped like a gift in December.

“First, can I say thank you?” I gesture at the negligee, the hair, the bed—the entire vision of temptation—that took a shit day and made it fade into oblivion within seconds.

Her grin is impish. “I had it lying around.”

“Good thing, that. As to the hand, I was so brassed off at what happened and in such a bloody hurry to get back to you that I wasn’t paying attention. I slammed it in the sodding car door when I was returning Talia’s car.”

Humility isn’t my strong suit on any day, so take note that I admitted my own complete idiocy to this woman without a single bit of reservation. She does that to me: strips me bare and leaves the best parts of me on display.

“What happened? Why did you have a car?”

I shake my head, coming over to our bed. “No. Not until you let me touch you and hold you. Not until I tell you I love you and missed you like the damned today.”

She smiles like I’ve made her day. “What are you waiting for?”

Grinning because I can’t help it, I reach out and grab her as I settle on the bed, favoring my bad hand. I twist my fingers in her hair, liking the soft silk brushing my skin. My golden goddess has shoulder length hair, but it’s nothing like my minx’s mane. She’s miles of curls and waves, like she’s all curves and Botticelli to Talia’s lithe, svelte frame. As I said, two different paradigms. I hold her tightly, then look into her eyes. “I’m crazy with love for you. Missing you hurt more than a gaping chest wound.”

She sighs as I kiss her deeply, making me smile against her lips. The glimpses of her softness melt me. She runs her hands over my tense, knotted muscles, relaxing me without even trying. After the slow, passionate kiss comes to its inevitable yet delicious end, I rest my forehead against hers. “You’re good for the soul, Sandwich.”

“I missed you today, too.”

I take a deep breath—relieved to hear her say it—and release it along with the last wisps of tension. Picking her up, I lift her to pull back the comforter and lay her down gently. Climbing in with her, I lean back against the pillows and tuck her under my arm. “Good.”

Not exactly poetry, but give me a break. It’s been a rough sodding day.

She curls around me, rubbing her cheek on my chest and resting her palm on my bad hand. “You smell good.”

“When I got in here, I stank like a swamp marsh. I ruined a perfectly suitable outfit and the duster is a write off. Now I’ve got to get another one. You—my lovely, gorgeous, stunningly beautiful woman—smell like a heaven that I’ll never see.”

Her eyes dance and curls bounce as she shakes her head. “Oh, yes, because I’m headed straight for the pearly gates myself.” She holds her wrist out. “I made new body wash today because the night jasmine bloomed for the first time this season. It’s my favorite.”

I bury my nose in her collarbone and inhale, knowing that I’ll never smell jasmine again in my long life and not think of this moment. Hell, that sounded poetic. Maybe I am feeling better just being around her. It wouldn’t surprise me a bit. “Ain’t nature grand? Do you think they’ll set us up in the same hellish cell for eternity? I don’t hate the thought of that.” I grin playfully, sniffing along her shoulder.

“My punishment for all eternity might be to get stuck in a room with you being an ass for the rest of time? That sucks.” She turns and whispers under her breath. “If we keep saying that, they might think it would be a bad thing.”

I nod, pretending to understand. “Right. That’s the worst thing I could think of, really. Might make me want to do good deeds so I never get sent there. I’d rather take a job wiping Hitler’s ass.” I look around then murmur into her mind. ~Think this’ll work? ~

~ Worth a try, ain’t it? ~

Her struggle to keep from giggling tickles me and I snort once, coughing back a laugh. “Vapid wench!”

“Knuckle dragging beast!”

I tickle up her sides, eyebrows wagging and grinning like a loon. “Harpy.”

“Bastard!”

“Shrew.”

She purrs a bit as I rub my thumb over her feather. “Test-tube Baby.”

I laugh out loud at that, unable to bite it back. Dropping my lips to hers again, I kiss her softly. “Mmm. Sisssssssy.”

Growling, she gives me a good thump and I laugh again when she calls me an ass. I’m thoroughly enjoying myself. Every day I thank hell that Talia made me take that call for a meet on a lonely street with a woman I thought I’d despise. I move too quickly and bang my bad hand trying to pinch her and hiss. Grinning ruefully, I lean over and whisper softly into her ear, warm breath teasing her earlobe. “Yeah, baby, but I’m your ass.”

“Yes, you are. Now give me that hand so you’re not wincing all night long.” She reaches over and tugs my wrist towards her, looking determined.

“Ow! Bugger, woman. Easy.”

“I am being easy, you big baby.” She starts unwrapping the bandage, giving me a peeved look.

I mutter under my breath about know-it-all women and cranky kitties—mostly to rile her up. She’s studying my hand carefully, and I wonder if I hurt myself worse than I realized. I peer around her cascade of hair. “Can you fix it?”

“I can heal organs; I think I can fix this. But I have to get up first.”

I frown, hugging her close. “Too bad; it’ll have to stay ouchie.”

“It’ll only take a second, I promise.”

She gives me a look and I huff, letting her go reluctantly. “Be quick about it.”

Watching her as she trots to one of the cabinets in the wall, she pulls out a small container. Her back is to me as she fiddles with the contents, stirring up a flowery, herbal smelling concoction. When did she bring that stuff here? I suppose she’s been slowly filling some edges of our space with her own stuff, even as I have mine.

“This will work faster and feel really soothing, plus it cuts the bruising.” She crosses the room and hops in bed, pulling my hand back onto her tummy.

“It won’t hurt?” I ask, looking dubiously at the gross looking goop in the ceramic bowl.

“Nope. I promise.” She dips her fingers in and slathers it over my skin, rubbing it in and murmuring under her breath. She blows air across the poultice before holding her hand up to me. “Nip me quick?”

I blink in surprise, but bring my fangs forward to bite. I quickly retract them to let her blood flow. Suckling lightly, I pull back and close the wound with my tongue. “Enough?”

“Greedy boy. I need it to drip a little before you close it.”

“Oh! Sorry.” I bite again in the same spot, and with considerable control, I withdraw.

“Watch closely because this is kind of neat-o.” She wiggles the dripping finger at me, then over the slathered hand. Squeezing her fingertip, she lets one fat drop of blood plop down. The minute it hits the cream, the air shimmers, and liquid seeps into the skin. With a pop, the hand that was bruised and wounded one moment is perfectly healed and unmarred. The smell of flowers pervades the air, and she licks her finger, closing the wound as she grins. “See?”

My eyebrows raise to my hairline in surprise. “Bloody hell.” I lift my now-healed hand slowly and look it over, flexing and unflexing my fingers. “Okay, that was—yeah, neat sums it up nicely. Nice job, Sandwich. I owe you another thanks.”

“That one was kind of cheating, what with the special mix and all. It’s easier than some alternatives. Besides, what kind of mate would I be if I left you wounded and achy?”

“A sexually unfulfilled one?”

“Somehow, I doubt that.”

“Are you saying that I toast your crackers, baby?” I leer at her, but she doesn’t know that when I ask like this, it’s because I’m worried that I’ll never live up to all the weird shit she’s been up to for years. Hell, I’ve been with Talia most of my life. She’s been with more people at once than I’ve been with in total.

“I’m nothing if not astute.”

“Astute is good. All hail astute,” I mutter, nipping her shoulder.

“Uh-oh. Reverting to cave talk—you must be having a manly ‘Thag the caveclone’ moment.”

I roll my eyes, grinning as I pound my chest. “Me, Taurus. You, hot little hussy I love.”

“You are so silly,” she chides, her eyes soft.

“One of the many reasons you are ass over brains for me, baby.” Talia would laugh me out of the house if I played like this with her.

My minx is an enigma wrapped in a riddle with all her complexity and simplicity at the same time.