“Your body wants this,” she said, bringing her hand up to the soft hair at the nape of his neck.
“And that’s the problem.” At her look of confusion, he leveled a hot stare right at her breasts. “It wants a hell of a lot more than just a kiss.”
Suddenly, there was a shift inside her body, one so subtle it was hard to pin down. But she felt something different throughout her torso and all her limbs. A tingling? She was too wrapped up in the sexual energy between them to worry about defining it.
Snaking another arm around his neck, she said, “What else does it want.”
Her healer groaned deep in his throat, and the sound gave her the same shot of power as when she’d a weapon in her hand. To feel that again? It was like a drug.
“Tell me, healer,” she
demanded. “What else does it want.”
His mahogany eyes were on fire as they locked on her own. “Everything. It wants every square inch of you—outside . . . and on the inside. To the point where I’m not sure you’re ready for how much I’m after.”
“I decide,” she countered, a strange, pounding need taking root in her gut. “I decide what I can and cannot handle, yes?”
His half smile was all evil. In a good way. “Yes, ma’am.”
As a low, rhythmic sound filled the air, she was surprised to realize it was her. Purring. “Do I have to ask again, healer?”
There was a pause. And then he slowly shook his head back and forth. “Nope. I’ll give you . . . exactly what you want.”
TWENTY-ONE
When Vishous pushed open the door to the exam room, he got a gander at the kind of seating arrangement that made him think fondly of castration.
Which, considering his own experience with the knife-on-the-’nads routine, was saying a lot.
Then again, his sister was all but straddling that ass-wipe human’s Mr. Happy, the man’s arms around her, their heads all nestled in. Except they weren’t looking at each other—and that was the only reason he didn’t break up the party: They were staring at the computer screen . . . at a man in a wheelchair racing a bunch of other guys.
“. . . Height is just a vertical number—it doesn’t mean shit when it comes to your character or the kind of life you live.”
“Can you move the . . . that thing?”
For some reason, V’s heart pounded as the human showed his sister how to work a mouse. And then he heard something that gave him reason for hope:
“I can do this,” she said.
“That’s the point,” Manello said softly. “You can do anything.”
Well, shit—the gamble had come up aces, hadn’t it: V had been willing to throw that human back into the mix briefly, just to get her past the suicidal impulse. Except he’d never once thought the guy would give her anything more than a case of puppy love.
And yet, here the motherfucker was . . . showing her so much more than how to kiss.
V had wanted to be the one to save her—and he supposed by bringing in Manello, he might have, but why hadn’t he done more sooner? Why hadn’t Jane? They should have gotten her out of this place, taken her to the mansion . . . had meals and talked with her.
Shown her that her future was different, but not disappeared.
V rubbed his face as anger tackled him to the ground. Goddamn Jane . . . how could she not know that patients required more than pain meds and sponge baths? His twin had needed a fucking horizon—anyone would go mad stuck in that room.
Fucking hell.
He glanced back at his sister and the human. The pair of them had locked eyes and it was looking like it would take a crowbar to get their heads apart.
Kinda got V back to wanting to kill the bastard.
As his gloved hand went into his pocket for a hand-rolled, he had half a mind to clear his throat loudly. Either that or take his dagger and end-over-end it at the human’s head. Trouble was, that surgeon was a tool to be used until he wasn’t needed anymore—and they hadn’t reached that point yet.