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
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
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