Read Online Wicked Lies: A Dark Mission Novella by Karina Cooper - Free Book Online

up the nerve.
    Are you gay?
    No, it wasn’t that easy. Not after he’d already stuck his clumsy fingers into an open wound. Danny dropped his face into his hands. How insensitive could he be? The man used crutches, he hobbled like it hurt to walk, and Danny had drawn attention to it. Are you okay?
    Like an idiot.
    The shower cut off.
    Danny jerked upright, wincing as his side pulled. Not nearly as bad as it was only—he looked for a clock, found one next to the monitor and calculated fast—twenty-one hours ago. A hell of a lot better than he had any right to expect. Naomi’s “heretical thing” felt like it’d saved him weeks of pain.
    He’d take it, and thank her later.
    Danny rose to his feet, straightened his wrinkled sweatshirt and padded to the kitchenette rather than wait for Jonas to come out of the shower. Like some kind of creep.
    Like a kid with a crush.
    He was halfway through heating up leftover soup on the stove when the bathroom door opened. A square of bright light spilled into the apartment, outlining a long, thin silhouette. The light flicked off almost immediately, and Jonas crossed into the room on arrhythmic feet.
    Danny glanced over his shoulder.
    Swallowed his tongue.
    Dark eyes behind glinting glass met his, and Jonas froze.
    “You’re up.” That beautiful tenor was hoarse.
    Danny swallowed hard. Very firmly forced himself to look away from the bare skin of his chest, the way the single lamp painted his half-naked body in golden luminosity. “Yeah. Want some soup?” Shoulders tight, he stared at the small, dented pot and blindly stirred its contents.
    Nothing moved behind him.
    Get dressed , Danny thought, panic clawing in his throat.
    No, that wasn’t right. Not panic. Want.
    Because every inch of his body was viscerally aware of Jonas behind him, wearing only a pair of loose jeans low on his thin hips, his bare feet peeking out from the long hems. A towel draped over his still-damp shoulders, catching droplets of water from his slicked-back hair. Even still, he’d seen the rivulets sliding down his pale chest.
    Catching in the rippled, discolored scars curving over one hip.
    Heat simmered low in his gut. Sympathy—curiosity—struggled to take shape in his brain. He bit down on the urge to ask.
    Not again.
    Eventually— finally! —clothing rustled behind him. “Sorry for the noise,” came the muffled words. Through a shirt, maybe. “I thought you were still asleep.”
    “Woke up about five minutes ago.” He stirred the soup as if his life depended on it. His heart thudded painfully in his chest. In his dick.
    Go easy on him.
    Oh, Jesus. Someone needed to tell Jonas to go easy, too.
    “How are you feeling, kid?” A light flicked on, turning the too-intimate apartment into something brighter. Less cozy.
    Danny flinched, blinking rapidly as his eyes adjusted and concentrated on getting the soup off the stove. Pouring the remnants into two mismatched mugs. No drops spilled. A small victory. “Good. Surprisingly good, actually.” He caught himself about to blow on the mug not his. “Soup’s on. Careful, it’s hot.”
    An off-kilter step was all the warning Danny received before he was there, reaching for the mug in Danny’s hand. Jonas’s body heat pushed through the thin barrier of Danny’s sweatshirt, soaked into his skin, his senses. Soap and toothpaste. Sexiest thing he’d ever smelled. And this from simply standing behind him.
    Eyes almost crossing at the other man’s nearness, Danny pushed the mug into his hands and turned away. The apartment didn’t offer much safety. Small as it was, he’d be lucky if he walked out of here without a permanent hard-on.
    “Ribs okay?” Jonas asked lightly, apparently unaware of the blood surging in Danny’s veins. He cradled his mug in one hand, hobbling to the couch with practiced care.
    When he sank into the far cushion, away from the blanket nest Danny had made while he slept, Danny’s mind detonated. Images assailed him.