"Aphrodite's_Secret_015" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kenner _Julie_-_[Protector_03]_-_Aphrodite's_Secret_(V1.0)_[lit](multi-file...)

Chapter Eleven

Jason didn’t even hesitate, and Lane gasped as his lips closed over hers.
He’d wanted her, she’d known that. But she hadn’t anticipated the force of his desire. His mouth was hot and demanding, and she welcomed it eagerly, her passion as strong as his. He deepened the kiss, alternately forceful and gentle. His touch evoked erotic memories; and she melted in his arms, the echo of their past encounters heating her skin and making her anticipate the next stroke of his fingers, the next thrust of his tongue.
His hand cupped the back of her head; his fingers twined in her hair. His touch was possessive, and though she wasn’t his—hadn’t been for a long time—the power with which he claimed her was masterful.
His other hand stroked her back, each movement loosening her shirt until it pulled entirely free of the waistband of her shorts. His fingers stroked her bare skin. His heated touch enticed her, sent a firestorm of desire rocketing through her veins. She moaned and pressed closer until she felt the hard bulge of his desire firm against the apex of her thighs.
Her moan turned into a low mewl, a desperate cry of desire. She moved her hips without thinking, wanting to make him harder, wanting to be sure that he was just as desperate as she. Most of all, she wanted to make sure that there was no turning back.
Lane didn’t know if she was being supremely foolish or refreshingly honest; all she knew was that being in Jason’s arms was intoxicating. Her body sizzled and sang, crackling like a forest fire. And she wanted Jason to stoke that fire.
This wasn’t real—dammit, she knew that. This was just a reaction to what had happened combined with a vivid memory of what they’d once had together. But Lane wanted the memory, wanted the touch, wanted it all—and if that was a foolish mistake, then so be it.
She would pick up the pieces later.
“Lane,” Jason whispered, drawing away long enough to murmur her name.
She recaptured his lips with her mouth. She didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to analyze. She just wanted to make love to this man.
“Touch me,” she whispered.
His physical response gratified her as much as his low, masculine groan, his primal sound of longing and need. The hand splayed on her back stroked upward, taking her shirt with it.
“Lift your arms,” he commanded.
She complied without hesitation. The shirt’s soft cotton grazed her skin, its light stroke almost overwhelmingly sensual against her already primed senses. Even the brush of the air against her breasts was torture. Boldly, Lane took Jason’s hands, cupped them over her breasts. She hadn’t worn a bra, and right then she was grateful for that decision—one less barrier between them.
“Sweet Hera,” Jason whispered, his voice strangled. He took Lane’s nipple between his thumb and forefinger, stroking and teasing, the pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. Then he kissed her nipples.
The touch scattered sparks throughout Lane’s body, starting in her breasts and shooting straight past her belly to ignite the flesh between her thighs. Jason moved to pepper her neck with kisses, his lips dancing up her soft skin, the stubble of his beard tickling and turning Lane on more than she’d ever imagined possible.
His exploration paused at her ear, and he nipped at its lobe. His breath grazed Lane’s cheek, even as his tongue explored the curve of her ear. A tremor wracked her body, and Lane clutched Jason’s shirt, her hands balled into fists as she fought for control.
His hands abandoned her breasts, and she moaned in protest as he moved to grab her waist. His mouth had left her nipples damp, and she felt them tighten and peak in response to the room’s cool air.
She arched her back, a silent demand that his lips find her breasts again, that he stroke and kiss her there, but he didn’t respond. At least not as she suggested. His tongue worked another type of magic, dancing on her ear, the sensation unbelievably erotic, the thrusts timed with the gentle gyrations of his hips against her body.
Lane’s blood heated, and she felt itchy with the need to feel his skin against her. She drew her hands down until she found the hem of his shirt, then slipped her fingers underneath, spreading her hands flat across his abdomen.
A slight tremor of the rock-hard flesh under her fingers and a little nip on her earlobe was all the encouragement she needed. Boldly, Lane pushed his shirt farther up, her fingers exploring Jason’s smattering of chest hair. Her fingers tingled from the contact with his skin, and she felt light-headed and weak-kneed. Pushing his shirt even higher, she clutched his shoulders, seeking his nearness and needing his stability to keep her from sinking to the floor in a boneless heap.
In one bold move, he finished the job for her, tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. He had to break contact to do that, and she mourned the absence of his touch.
He filled the void soon enough. No sooner had his shirt touched the floor than he scooped her up in his arms. She gasped, the sudden sensation of being airborne surprising. For a moment her eyes opened wide, she looked around, wondering if she really was flying—but no, Jason’s feet were still firmly planted on the floor, and he was carrying her to the couch.
“Does it fold out?” he asked.
She nodded, unable to form words, as Jason gently lowered her to her feet. She stood there, hugging herself, as he tossed the sofa cushions on the floor and tugged out the bed. With one hand, he urged her onto it, and she went without hesitation.
He gave her a strange look. “Are you su—”
She silenced his question with one finger. “I’m sure,” she said. Not about forever. Hell, maybe not even about tomorrow. But right then she wanted him. Right then she needed human contact, human connection. And, more than anything, she needed that connection to be with Jason.
He smiled in understanding, his hands pressing on her shoulders and easing her back against the bed. “In that case, I only have one other question.”
She licked her lips and nodded, her heart pounding, fearful that he would back away, leaving her unfulfilled.
“Is Davy a sound sleeper?”
Laughing, Lane hooked her arm around his neck and pulled him down. “Very,” she whispered.
“Good,” he said. Rolling onto his side, he traced his finger down her bare arm. “Because—I want you, you know.”
“You’ve got me,” she said.
“I want you ... naked,” he added, looking pointedly down at the shorts she still wore.
“Yeah?” she asked. “Well, what are you going to do about that?”
“Maybe I’ll just show you.” The grin he flashed was playful and full of promise. Lane remembered it vividly, and she stifled another little sigh.
He urged her onto her back, then moved to straddle her, cupping her waist with his hands. Little by little, he urged her shorts down. When he reached the elastic band of her underwear, he snagged those as well.
He knelt over her, lowering his mouth to her belly. He traced a trail of wet kisses down, lower and lower, until Lane realized she was holding her breath. He’d urged her shorts and panties down to mid-thigh, and now he pulled them off, taking his lips from her skin just long enough to complete the task of getting her completely naked.
The window was slightly open, and the breeze from the beach brought a chill into the room, but Lane hardly noticed. Her skin was on fire, burning under Jason’s touch, and when he touched his lips to her inner thigh, the heat of her passion consumed her.
Desire overwhelmed her like hunger, and she spread her legs, giving him better access and begging with her body to be touched where she most longed.
He responded, understanding her unspoken pleas. He kissed her intimately, his tongue laving her, and she squirmed with almost maddening pleasure. Pure heat spread through Lane’s body, and she moaned, wanting Jason to touch her—there—needing him to find that one secret place that would bring her sweet release. He cupped her behind with his hands, holding her steady as he focused his assault.
Lane’s body tingled, little tremors shooting straight to her toes. A steady pressure built in her belly and she held completely still, fearful that if she moved—if she breathed—she’d be on this wonderful precipice of pleasure and tormented anticipation for eternity.
He knew her fear, and he knew exactly what she needed. He stroked her, a flood of warmth building and building, his fingers teasing her, slipping inside her warm folds just enough to drive her absolutely over the edge.
The force of her fulfillment hit her, and Lane twisted, moving away from Jason’s delicious onslaught. He held her steady, though, forcing her to ride the crest of heat and color until she was certain her body couldn’t take it. She reached over her head, clutching the back of the sofa, her fingers gripping the upholstery as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her.
At last the tremors stopped, and she breathed deep, her body limp and languid. Jason moved up the bed toward her, trailing kisses up her body, his heat radiating everywhere.
Lane murmured his name, rolled into his embrace. Hooking her leg over his waist, she pressed close, her body seeking some sort of stability. Sparks. Oh, yeah. With Jason, there were definitely sparks. “That was wonderful,” she said, her voice breathy.
He pressed a gentle kiss against her neck, the innocent gesture setting off another reaction in Lane’s body that was anything but innocent. “I’m glad you think so, sweetheart. Because we’ve only just got started.”



Heaven.
For years he’d fantasized about holding Lane in his arms again, about losing himself in her sweetness. He’d almost feared the reality of her touch wouldn’t live up to the power of his memories. He’d been wrong. The responsive, sensual woman now in his arms put his memories to shame.
She’d been young and inexperienced when they’d been together. Her innocence and genuine pleasure from his touch had delighted him. Now, though, she was sure and experienced, taking pleasure as much as she gave. Her honest responses were still delightful, but there was a confidence about Lane that excited Jason even more.
Of course, he tried not to think about the source—or sources—of that confidence. About where she’d gained the sensual experience of which he was now reaping the benefit. He stroked her arm, trying not to think; wanting only to lose himself in the pleasure reflected in her eyes.
“Surely you’re not tired already,” she said, a tease in her voice. “From what I understand, superheroes have amazing stamina.”
He grinned. “Well, sweetheart, you’ve heard right.”
Slowly he rolled her over, sent his fingers dancing across her bare skin. She was naked and utterly beautiful; he still wore his shorts—an oversight he intended to correct momentarily.
“Good,” she said. He glanced up, noting the twitch at the corner of her mouth. “Because superheroes are supposed to be powerful, too.” She licked her lips and shot a coy glance at his shorts. “Care to try to prove it to me?”
He laughed. “Careful there, unless you want to induce performance anxiety.”
Her laugh joined his. “Well, I wouldn’t want that. I’ll keep my expectations silent... until later, when I flash my Olympic score card.”
“Mmmm.” He took her breast in his mouth, teasing her nipple with his tongue. Then, pulling away, he blew cool air on her now-wet skin, watched as the light-brown flesh puckered.
Lane moaned, her hand snaking down his back, fingers hard and insistent.
“I assume I’ll get straight tens,” he said.
“I don’t know,” she hedged, her voice a bit breathless. She arched her back, pressing her breasts closer to his mouth, need reflected on her face. At the same time, she slid her hand around to his belly, her fingers sliding under the waistband of his shorts and underwear. “The judging criteria is very strict. You’ll have to work very, very hard.”
It was his turn to groan, and he released a low moan of pure, desperate need as her fingers caressed the base of him. “Off,” he said, forcing out the only word he could manage.
She understood, shifting her body so that she could grasp his shorts and pull them off, down over his rock-hard shaft. But she didn’t move fast enough to suit, and he struggled the rest of the way out of his clothes and positioned himself between her legs. The tip of him pressed against her soft, sweet folds, but with supreme effort he held back.
“I don’t have a condom,” he said.
“It’s okay,” she said. “We’re fine.”
Thank Hera. If she’d told him to stop, he wasn’t confident that he could. He longed to sink himself into her, but he didn’t want to move too fast. He wanted this as perfect for her as it was for him.
“Now,” she whispered. “Jason, please. Why the hell are you stopping?”
He would have kissed her for that if her words hadn’t robbed his brain of every rational thought. He heard only her words, though, reacted only to her command. In one clean, powerful thrust, he entered her.
Her velvety heat enveloped him, and he thrust deeper, silently obeying the commands of her body. Her legs tightened around him, and she thrust upward as well. With each inch he drove deeper, moved that much closer to the satisfaction that waited for him just a hairbreadth away.
He withdrew and entered her again. And then again. They rocked together, a union of both body and soul, until the world split and release contorted his body with an intensity that was almost painful. When the tremors passed, he collapsed onto her, bearing the brunt of his weight on his elbows. He stroked Lane’s cheek and smiled into her satisfied eyes.
“As nice as before?” he asked.
“Nicer,” she said, a charming pink blush tinging her cheeks.
He brushed her mouth with his lips, a light kiss that conveyed all the passion he felt. She was right. This time with Lane had been nicer. In the past, she’d blown him away, this woman with whom he’d expected to spend the rest of his life. Now, there was even more to her. He wanted to explore every facet, to learn every idiosyncrasy. He longed to be as close to her now as they’d been before. If only ...
He shook his head, a wave of regret and anger crashing over him. Damn Hieronymous. Damn him to Hades for stealing Jason’s life, both the time and his reputation.
“Jason?” Concern flashed in Lane’s eyes.
He conjured a smile. “Just woolgathering.” He shifted away to lie on his side, pulling her close beside him and capturing her in his embrace. “So?” he asked, making sure to keep his voice light.
She turned her head, twisting a bit to see him. Confusion colored her face. “So?” she repeated.
“The final score,” he clarified.
She laughed. “Oh, right. If I tell you, it’ll just go to your head.”
“That good, huh?”
“Perfect,” she answered. She twisted completely, turning in his arms to face him. In a quick motion, she planted a sweet kiss on the tip of his nose. “Every other man in competition is quaking in his itty-bitty briefs.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Quaking?”
She snuggled up close. “Definitely quaking,” she said. “And don’t worry,” she added in a whisper, her face pressed to his chest. “You’re guaranteed the gold.” Then, with a satisfied sigh, Lane closed her eyes. Her breathing evened, and Jason watched, mesmerized by the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she drifted off to sleep.
Jason didn’t sleep. He didn’t even doze. Instead, he kept his eyes wide open, memorizing every curve, every freckle, the position of every tiny hair on her body, like a movie, he ran each touch, each caress, over and over in his mind, committing his and Lane’s lovemaking to memory, needing to make sure he would never, ever forget.
At the moment, Lane was his. Of that, he was certain. It was the future he feared.



Phelonium Prigg’s image sputtered and shifted, so Zoë gave her holo-pager one solid whack. A bit more static appeared, and then the Council bureaucrat came into sharp focus. He pulled himself up to his full height, all five feet four inches. Under the circumstances—as a projection on top of Jason’s desk calendar—the Protector seemed even tinier.
Zoë exhaled, then propped her hands on her hips. “I was trying to reach Zephron,” she said.
Prigg sniffed in that insufferable way he had. “Zephron is indisposed,” he said. He held up his hand when Zoë tried to interrupt. “Certain matters have come to my attention, however, and I would be remiss not to raise them promptly with you.”

Zoë drummed her fingers on her thigh. She’d never been terribly fond of Prigg. When she’d joined the Council, she’d spent almost a solid week filling out all the required forms and documents. Prigg had been no help whatsoever. Each time she asked a question, he managed to answer only by requiring her to fill out another form. She was absolutely certain that he had ink in his veins instead of blood, and that his epitaph would read:

Phelonium Prigg.
FILED IN TRIPLICATE.
 
On the desktop, Prigg’s hologram turned in a complete circle, clearly trying to see beyond the hazy image Zoë‘s pager projected back to him. From his frustrated expression, Zoë gathered he didn’t see whatever he was looking for.
“What is it?” she asked, a bit too sharply.
Another sniff. “Where is he?”
Zoë scowled, turning to Deena and then to Boreas. “If you’re referring to Jason, he and Lane went back to her apartment to get some things. They’ll be back soon.”
With the tip of his finger, Prigg slid his reading glasses down his nose and peered at Zoë. “You permitted him to leave? To accompany the boy and his mother without an escort?”
Zoë stifled a sigh. It had been a hell of a day already, and she really didn’t feel like dealing with this twit. Thank goodness Hoop had gone to her apartment to fetch Taylor. Rather than give her husband directions to this out-of-the-way and difficult-to-find houseboat, sending Deena’s fiancé had seemed the easiest plan. Taylor had just got back in the country, and Zoë expected him at the houseboat any minute. The sooner the better. If she had to deal with Prigg, she wanted her husband’s arms tight around her.
On his dais, Prigg muttered something unintelligible. With her super hearing on the fritz, Zoë couldn’t make out all his words, though irresponsible and utterly improper were discernible.
“Okay, okay,” she said. “I give up. What’s the big deal?”
“The man is a suspected traitor, Ms. Taylor.” He tapped his foot, his arms crossed over his chest. “You yourself reported him to the council. And now you simply let him loose with his son’s mother? What in Hera’s name were you thinking?”
Zoë bristled. “I guess I was thinking that he’d just rescued his son from Hieronymous’s island. Call me crazy, but in my mind that takes him off our most-wanted list.” She planted a hand on her hip, daring him to argue with her reasoning.
He took the dare. “Normally, I would agree with you.”
“Normally?” she repeated. “What? Are there normal circumstances where halfling children are kidnapped from Sea World by an Outcast arch-villain?”
Prigg paused. “Perhaps if those were the only facts, we could treat this case”—he cleared his throat— “normally. But the extenuating circumstances involved in this matter—”
“What extenuating circumstances?” Zoë snapped.
“Look,” Boreas spoke up from behind her. “I think I should probably say I think that guy’s great. Jason, I mean. He’s a little—”
“His parentage, of course,” Prigg said, ignoring the young Protector’s speech.

Boreas clamped his mouth shut, his brow knitting in confusion even as Zoë gave a blank look. “What about his parentage?” she asked.
“His father is Hieronymous.”
“What?” The word came out a screech, and Zoë almost didn’t recognize her own voice. She cleared her throat and tried again. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, didn’t you know?” Prigg asked, but his voice was a little too innocent. Zoë narrowed her eyes as he continued. “The Inner Circle has always known. I am the Recording Secretary for the Inner Circle. So I am privy to these matters.” He paused, buffing his fingernails against his chest.
“So?” Zoë prompted, trying not to let the fact that she liked Jason and disliked Prigg color her judgment. She needed to be objective, because at the moment all she really wanted to do was flip the holo-pager off.
“He has, of course, been monitored over the years. For six years, however .. .”
Zoë rolled her eyes, then twirled her hand, once again urging the old bureaucrat to continue.
“We don’t know what happened during the six years Jason was imprisoned by Hieronymous. But we do know that Hieronymous is—shall we say—persuasive. You’ve seen as much illustrated by your cousin Mordichai.”
Zoë pressed her lips together. That much was true enough. It seemed that every time she thought Mordi had turned his back on Hieronymous for good, he did something that put him back in his father’s good graces. A pity, actually, because she genuinely liked her cousin, despite all the grief he’d caused over the years.
She sifted through what Prigg had just told her. “Basically, you’re saying that you don’t believe Jason is strong enough to have stuck to his guns while he was imprisoned. That he must now be working for Hieronymous.”
Prigg inclined his head, a hint of a nod.
“But you don’t have proof.”
“Proof is not always necessary where instinct is involved.”
“Uh-huh,” Zoë snapped. “Like I said, you don’t have proof.”
Prigg sniffed, a noise of righteous indignation. “Perhaps not. Unless you consider the fact that he confronted Hieronymous, had the opportunity to rid us of the Outcast leader once and for all, with evidence of wrongdoing aplenty . .. and yet Hieronymous still lives.”
A chill settled over Zoë.
“Ah, yes,” Prigg said. “Now you’re understanding. A ruse. A ploy. Your new friend must have joined forces with Hieronymous.”
“No,” Zoë said, not willing to believe. “If that’s true, why would Hieronymous let Davy go?”
“To gain our trust perhaps?” He waved a hand. “It doesn’t matter. The situation is what it is. Jason Murphy is not yet trustworthy.”
Zoë swallowed, a sick feeling settling in her gut. She didn’t believe this. She trusted Jason.
And yet...
Could it be true? Had she been duped? Had her raging hormones allowed a traitor to pull one over on her? Had he only saved his son as a ploy? Was Jason planning to do something even more despicable?
She took a deep breath, steeling herself. “What do you know?” she asked, forcing the words out.
Prigg looked surprised. “Why, ask Officer Boreas, of course. His report was quite—”
“What?” She spun on her heel, her anger building. “His report?”
“Certainly,” Prigg said, even as Boreas took a step backward, his eyes wide with fear. “As a cadet, Boreas must submit regularly sched—”
“Wait,” Zoë said, and to her surprise Prigg actually shut up. The blood in her veins was ice cold, a result of both her fear and her anger.
“Is this true?” she asked Boreas, barely able to force the words past clenched teeth.
The young Protector took another step back and opened his mouth, but no words came out. He licked his lips and tried again. “Well. . . sort of, yes.”
Then he backpedaled. “No! I mean, I did submit a report, but I told exactly what happened. Jason went after Hieronymous, but he got hurt—it all happened so fast—and I got him out of there by—”
“Foolish boy,” Prigg said. “Jason was hurt, and you, a neophyte, remained unscathed? You gullible, gullible child.”
Boreas scowled, but didn’t say anything.
Zoë licked her lips, wishing her superpowers included lie detection. Something was going on. Prigg thought Jason had gone bad and the administrator had access to Jason’s entire file. Boreas disagreed and had seen Jason in action.
“It wasn’t like that,” Boreas protested.
“However ‘it was like,’ ” Prigg said with a little sniff, “you should not have permitted him to leave. The man’s activities are suspicious. This will go on your permanent record, Officer Boreas. See that you don’t make such foolish decisions again.”
Boreas’s jaw clenched. “Yes sir,” he said.
“Very well.” Prigg nodded curtly and signed off.
Boreas turned to Zoë, his arms tight over his chest. “He’s not a traitor. I don’t care who his father is.”
Zoë tended to agree with Boreas, but she couldn’t trust her own judgment. Which meant that, when she boiled it all down, she still didn’t know what side Jason was on. Her gut believed him in his innocence—but she couldn’t afford to be wrong.
Reaching a decision, she pointed at Deena. “Leave a message for Hoop,” she said, shifting her gaze to Boreas. “We’re going to go find Jason.”
Rubbing her belly, Zoë thought about her husband, in transit, and the news she had for him. But that news was going to have to wait. Right now, she had to go interrogate her nephew’s father. A man who she hoped was a friend ... but who might just be a traitor.



Lane shivered, a chill settling over her body. She groaned in protest and groped for the sheet, wanting just a few more minutes of sleep before she had to get up, get Davy dressed, and head to school. But her fingers closed around nothing but air.
No sheet.
She groped some more, her hand patting the bed, her mind trying to focus despite its haze of sleep. She was so tired, her body so stiff and sore. It was like she’d run a marathon or something, except she didn’t run. Heck, she barely exercised at all.
Rolling over, she pressed her face into her pillow, the vague scent of coffee enticing her. Thank goodness she’d remembered to set the coffeemaker....
She sat up, reality thwapping her on the head. It wasn’t morning; it was late afternoon. And she hadn’t set the coffeemaker any more than she’d run a marathon. Instead, she’d—
Oh, my.
She twisted in bed, searching for Jason. But he wasn’t there, just a slight indentation and a pile of covers on his side of the flimsy, sofa-bed mattress.
She bit back a smile. He always had hogged the covers.
“Good morning, sleepyhead.” Jason, following his voice, slid around the corner with a steaming mug of coffee in his hand. “Or should I say good evening?”
Lane grabbed her shirt off the floor, then sat up and shrugged into it, a goofy smile on her face. This wasn’t exactly breakfast in bed, but it was close. And she hadn’t had breakfast in bed since she’d been sick in fourth grade and stuck under the covers for three solid days.
She accepted the mug from him and took a careful sip, its elixir working magic on her mind. “I’m so confused right now, I don’t even know what day it is,” she admitted.
“Still Tuesday,” he informed her. “Only now it’s nightfall.”
“Davy,” Lane said, sitting up straighten.
“He’s playing in his room. I let him put in a video—Spy Kids. He looked pretty happy.”
Considering Lane never let him watch videos during the week, she was sure Davy was probably thrilled. “And Zoë. They’ll be worried.”
“I sent a text message to Zoë‘s pager. I told her we were talking and to give us a call if she needed anything.” He nodded toward the phone. “But, as you know, that contraption’s been completely silent.”
He moved to sit next to her on the bed, his arm propped behind her so that she could lean against him. With his other hand, he stroked her face, his finger tracing the line of her lips. She gasped, the power of his touch unsettling her.
That feeling of unease settled in, and she scooted backward, away from his touch. So it wouldn’t seem too obvious, she got off the bed entirely and pulled on her shorts, feeling a little silly in so doing.
She’d wanted him in her bed; she could admit that. She was a big girl, and she’d wanted sex. Wanted sex with him. Wanted to be held and loved and taken care of after the most horrible day of her entire life.
But now ...
Now she was in her living room with a man who’d walked away from her. One who hadn’t explained why. And her heart really didn’t know what to make of that.
As if reading her thoughts, Jason took her hand and tugged her back to the sofa bed. The warmth of his touch seemed to steady and ground her. Clenching her fists, Lane shook her head: No. She had to be smart. Jason wasn’t grounding her—far from it. If anything, he sent her off into the clouds. On a wonderful, sensual adventure, yes, but she wasn’t looking for adventure. She was looking for steadiness. Security. She wanted Davy to have the life she’d never had: steadfast devotion with a permanent home and a permanent family.
And no matter how good the sex might be, permanence wasn’t something she could expect from Jason. She ran her teeth over her lower lip. At least, she hadn’t been able to expect it from the Jason of the past. This Jason ...
Well, she really didn’t know this Jason. Except to know that he was a superhero. Which brought up the question: Could she and Davy ever really be his priority?
She nibbled on her lower lip, wondering. Taylor and Zoë were getting along just fine. And so were Hale and Tracy. So maybe ...
No. She was scared, so very scared of getting hurt again. She’d survived his leaving once. She didn’t think she could survive it again.
With a gentle touch, Jason brushed away a strand of hair that had fallen over her eye. “I know that look,” he whispered.
She felt her cheeks warm, and she shook her head, ever so slightly. “I don’t have a look,” she said. “No looks here.”
“Regret.” He punctuated the word with a smile, but she could see the sadness in it. A twinge of guilt settled in her stomach—guilt that she’d succumbed to desire but now, inevitably she was going to hurt this man. She didn’t want to hurt him, but even more she didn’t want to hurt Davy. And she certainly didn’t want to be hurt herself.
“I...” She trailed off, licking her lips, her fingers clenched tight around her mug of warm coffee.
“I don’t want to push you, Lane,” he said, pressing his palm against her knee. “I just want to try again.”
His words, though expected, hit her with the force of a sledgehammer. In her heart, she wanted to try, too. In her head, she kept screaming, Be smart! Be smart! She already had a nice man waiting in the wings, a man who didn’t make her wonder if he’d be there the next day, a man Davy already adored who didn’t have secrets.
But Aaron wasn’t Jason. And despite everything that told her to run far and fast, that one little fact kept eating at her. She connected with Jason; she always had.
Lane shook her head, clearing her thoughts. Was she doing nothing more than trying to justify what would surely turn out to be a bad decision?
Jason’s fingers stroked her knee and Lane shifted, pulling her leg away so that she was sitting primly on the side of the sofa bed. She couldn’t think with him touching her—not if she wanted to be rational.
She sat up straighter, still not really sure what she was going to say, and started talking. “I don’t know, Jason. I really don’t. I mean, I need to know you’ve changed.”
“I have.”
“No secrets. No finding out six years from now that you’re a superhero or something.”
He grinned. “Not a problem. We’ve already done that one.”
Despite herself, she smiled. “And Davy comes first. Davy and me,” she said.
“You always did,” he argued.
She pressed her lips together, wondering whether to debate the point “This isn’t about the past,” she decided, taking the middle ground. “I already told you, we can’t change the past. What’s done is done.”
A shadow crossed his face, so she reached out to take his hand.
“I’m not making any promises,” she said. She drew a deep breath, hoping she wasn’t making a mistake. “But I’m not saying no, either.”
His head cocked ever so slightly. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying we’ll see.”
“That’s it?”
Moment of truth time. “No.” She shook her head.
“We’ll move in with you, too. At least for a while.”
“That wasn’t even an issue,” he complained.
She raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“We already agreed—until we’re sure you won’t have any more problems with Hieronymous, you two are staying right next to me.”
He had a point, so she nodded. “Well, yeah. But this is about us. I want you to get to know Davy better, anyway. Plus, I want you to teach him everything you can. If that’s the easiest way to avoid some ridiculous Council-mandated boarding school, then we’ll try that.”
“It’ll work,” he assured her. “And if the Council still insists, we’ll think of something else. I promise no one will take Davy from you. No matter what I have to do.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Jason’s face reflected something more than just concern for Davy—a passion, possessiveness. Lane swallowed, suddenly fearing she was making a huge mistake.
Desire, hot and needy, flashed in Jason’s eyes. “And since we’ll be living together, you and I should have plenty of opportunities to get reacquainted.”
Lane licked her lips, liking the idea more than was reasonable. She twisted her hands in her lap, reminding herself why she wasn’t just jumping into his arms and pulling him back into her life. “So, we’re clear, though—right? No more secrets, no more—”
A sharp knock interrupted.
“It’s probably pizza,” Jason said, getting up. “I thought you and Davy might want a bite before we head back to my houseboat.”
Her stomach rumbled, and Lane realized she was famished. “Sounds great.”
Jason pulled the door open, and she gasped. It wasn’t a pizza delivery guy at all.
Aaron.
Well, damn.

Chapter Eleven

Jason didn’t even hesitate, and Lane gasped as his lips closed over hers.
He’d wanted her, she’d known that. But she hadn’t anticipated the force of his desire. His mouth was hot and demanding, and she welcomed it eagerly, her passion as strong as his. He deepened the kiss, alternately forceful and gentle. His touch evoked erotic memories; and she melted in his arms, the echo of their past encounters heating her skin and making her anticipate the next stroke of his fingers, the next thrust of his tongue.
His hand cupped the back of her head; his fingers twined in her hair. His touch was possessive, and though she wasn’t his—hadn’t been for a long time—the power with which he claimed her was masterful.
His other hand stroked her back, each movement loosening her shirt until it pulled entirely free of the waistband of her shorts. His fingers stroked her bare skin. His heated touch enticed her, sent a firestorm of desire rocketing through her veins. She moaned and pressed closer until she felt the hard bulge of his desire firm against the apex of her thighs.
Her moan turned into a low mewl, a desperate cry of desire. She moved her hips without thinking, wanting to make him harder, wanting to be sure that he was just as desperate as she. Most of all, she wanted to make sure that there was no turning back.
Lane didn’t know if she was being supremely foolish or refreshingly honest; all she knew was that being in Jason’s arms was intoxicating. Her body sizzled and sang, crackling like a forest fire. And she wanted Jason to stoke that fire.
This wasn’t real—dammit, she knew that. This was just a reaction to what had happened combined with a vivid memory of what they’d once had together. But Lane wanted the memory, wanted the touch, wanted it all—and if that was a foolish mistake, then so be it.
She would pick up the pieces later.
“Lane,” Jason whispered, drawing away long enough to murmur her name.
She recaptured his lips with her mouth. She didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to analyze. She just wanted to make love to this man.
“Touch me,” she whispered.
His physical response gratified her as much as his low, masculine groan, his primal sound of longing and need. The hand splayed on her back stroked upward, taking her shirt with it.
“Lift your arms,” he commanded.
She complied without hesitation. The shirt’s soft cotton grazed her skin, its light stroke almost overwhelmingly sensual against her already primed senses. Even the brush of the air against her breasts was torture. Boldly, Lane took Jason’s hands, cupped them over her breasts. She hadn’t worn a bra, and right then she was grateful for that decision—one less barrier between them.
“Sweet Hera,” Jason whispered, his voice strangled. He took Lane’s nipple between his thumb and forefinger, stroking and teasing, the pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. Then he kissed her nipples.
The touch scattered sparks throughout Lane’s body, starting in her breasts and shooting straight past her belly to ignite the flesh between her thighs. Jason moved to pepper her neck with kisses, his lips dancing up her soft skin, the stubble of his beard tickling and turning Lane on more than she’d ever imagined possible.
His exploration paused at her ear, and he nipped at its lobe. His breath grazed Lane’s cheek, even as his tongue explored the curve of her ear. A tremor wracked her body, and Lane clutched Jason’s shirt, her hands balled into fists as she fought for control.
His hands abandoned her breasts, and she moaned in protest as he moved to grab her waist. His mouth had left her nipples damp, and she felt them tighten and peak in response to the room’s cool air.
She arched her back, a silent demand that his lips find her breasts again, that he stroke and kiss her there, but he didn’t respond. At least not as she suggested. His tongue worked another type of magic, dancing on her ear, the sensation unbelievably erotic, the thrusts timed with the gentle gyrations of his hips against her body.
Lane’s blood heated, and she felt itchy with the need to feel his skin against her. She drew her hands down until she found the hem of his shirt, then slipped her fingers underneath, spreading her hands flat across his abdomen.
A slight tremor of the rock-hard flesh under her fingers and a little nip on her earlobe was all the encouragement she needed. Boldly, Lane pushed his shirt farther up, her fingers exploring Jason’s smattering of chest hair. Her fingers tingled from the contact with his skin, and she felt light-headed and weak-kneed. Pushing his shirt even higher, she clutched his shoulders, seeking his nearness and needing his stability to keep her from sinking to the floor in a boneless heap.
In one bold move, he finished the job for her, tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. He had to break contact to do that, and she mourned the absence of his touch.
He filled the void soon enough. No sooner had his shirt touched the floor than he scooped her up in his arms. She gasped, the sudden sensation of being airborne surprising. For a moment her eyes opened wide, she looked around, wondering if she really was flying—but no, Jason’s feet were still firmly planted on the floor, and he was carrying her to the couch.
“Does it fold out?” he asked.
She nodded, unable to form words, as Jason gently lowered her to her feet. She stood there, hugging herself, as he tossed the sofa cushions on the floor and tugged out the bed. With one hand, he urged her onto it, and she went without hesitation.
He gave her a strange look. “Are you su—”
She silenced his question with one finger. “I’m sure,” she said. Not about forever. Hell, maybe not even about tomorrow. But right then she wanted him. Right then she needed human contact, human connection. And, more than anything, she needed that connection to be with Jason.
He smiled in understanding, his hands pressing on her shoulders and easing her back against the bed. “In that case, I only have one other question.”
She licked her lips and nodded, her heart pounding, fearful that he would back away, leaving her unfulfilled.
“Is Davy a sound sleeper?”
Laughing, Lane hooked her arm around his neck and pulled him down. “Very,” she whispered.
“Good,” he said. Rolling onto his side, he traced his finger down her bare arm. “Because—I want you, you know.”
“You’ve got me,” she said.
“I want you ... naked,” he added, looking pointedly down at the shorts she still wore.
“Yeah?” she asked. “Well, what are you going to do about that?”
“Maybe I’ll just show you.” The grin he flashed was playful and full of promise. Lane remembered it vividly, and she stifled another little sigh.
He urged her onto her back, then moved to straddle her, cupping her waist with his hands. Little by little, he urged her shorts down. When he reached the elastic band of her underwear, he snagged those as well.
He knelt over her, lowering his mouth to her belly. He traced a trail of wet kisses down, lower and lower, until Lane realized she was holding her breath. He’d urged her shorts and panties down to mid-thigh, and now he pulled them off, taking his lips from her skin just long enough to complete the task of getting her completely naked.
The window was slightly open, and the breeze from the beach brought a chill into the room, but Lane hardly noticed. Her skin was on fire, burning under Jason’s touch, and when he touched his lips to her inner thigh, the heat of her passion consumed her.
Desire overwhelmed her like hunger, and she spread her legs, giving him better access and begging with her body to be touched where she most longed.
He responded, understanding her unspoken pleas. He kissed her intimately, his tongue laving her, and she squirmed with almost maddening pleasure. Pure heat spread through Lane’s body, and she moaned, wanting Jason to touch her—there—needing him to find that one secret place that would bring her sweet release. He cupped her behind with his hands, holding her steady as he focused his assault.
Lane’s body tingled, little tremors shooting straight to her toes. A steady pressure built in her belly and she held completely still, fearful that if she moved—if she breathed—she’d be on this wonderful precipice of pleasure and tormented anticipation for eternity.
He knew her fear, and he knew exactly what she needed. He stroked her, a flood of warmth building and building, his fingers teasing her, slipping inside her warm folds just enough to drive her absolutely over the edge.
The force of her fulfillment hit her, and Lane twisted, moving away from Jason’s delicious onslaught. He held her steady, though, forcing her to ride the crest of heat and color until she was certain her body couldn’t take it. She reached over her head, clutching the back of the sofa, her fingers gripping the upholstery as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her.
At last the tremors stopped, and she breathed deep, her body limp and languid. Jason moved up the bed toward her, trailing kisses up her body, his heat radiating everywhere.
Lane murmured his name, rolled into his embrace. Hooking her leg over his waist, she pressed close, her body seeking some sort of stability. Sparks. Oh, yeah. With Jason, there were definitely sparks. “That was wonderful,” she said, her voice breathy.
He pressed a gentle kiss against her neck, the innocent gesture setting off another reaction in Lane’s body that was anything but innocent. “I’m glad you think so, sweetheart. Because we’ve only just got started.”



Heaven.
For years he’d fantasized about holding Lane in his arms again, about losing himself in her sweetness. He’d almost feared the reality of her touch wouldn’t live up to the power of his memories. He’d been wrong. The responsive, sensual woman now in his arms put his memories to shame.
She’d been young and inexperienced when they’d been together. Her innocence and genuine pleasure from his touch had delighted him. Now, though, she was sure and experienced, taking pleasure as much as she gave. Her honest responses were still delightful, but there was a confidence about Lane that excited Jason even more.
Of course, he tried not to think about the source—or sources—of that confidence. About where she’d gained the sensual experience of which he was now reaping the benefit. He stroked her arm, trying not to think; wanting only to lose himself in the pleasure reflected in her eyes.
“Surely you’re not tired already,” she said, a tease in her voice. “From what I understand, superheroes have amazing stamina.”
He grinned. “Well, sweetheart, you’ve heard right.”
Slowly he rolled her over, sent his fingers dancing across her bare skin. She was naked and utterly beautiful; he still wore his shorts—an oversight he intended to correct momentarily.
“Good,” she said. He glanced up, noting the twitch at the corner of her mouth. “Because superheroes are supposed to be powerful, too.” She licked her lips and shot a coy glance at his shorts. “Care to try to prove it to me?”
He laughed. “Careful there, unless you want to induce performance anxiety.”
Her laugh joined his. “Well, I wouldn’t want that. I’ll keep my expectations silent... until later, when I flash my Olympic score card.”
“Mmmm.” He took her breast in his mouth, teasing her nipple with his tongue. Then, pulling away, he blew cool air on her now-wet skin, watched as the light-brown flesh puckered.
Lane moaned, her hand snaking down his back, fingers hard and insistent.
“I assume I’ll get straight tens,” he said.
“I don’t know,” she hedged, her voice a bit breathless. She arched her back, pressing her breasts closer to his mouth, need reflected on her face. At the same time, she slid her hand around to his belly, her fingers sliding under the waistband of his shorts and underwear. “The judging criteria is very strict. You’ll have to work very, very hard.”
It was his turn to groan, and he released a low moan of pure, desperate need as her fingers caressed the base of him. “Off,” he said, forcing out the only word he could manage.
She understood, shifting her body so that she could grasp his shorts and pull them off, down over his rock-hard shaft. But she didn’t move fast enough to suit, and he struggled the rest of the way out of his clothes and positioned himself between her legs. The tip of him pressed against her soft, sweet folds, but with supreme effort he held back.
“I don’t have a condom,” he said.
“It’s okay,” she said. “We’re fine.”
Thank Hera. If she’d told him to stop, he wasn’t confident that he could. He longed to sink himself into her, but he didn’t want to move too fast. He wanted this as perfect for her as it was for him.
“Now,” she whispered. “Jason, please. Why the hell are you stopping?”
He would have kissed her for that if her words hadn’t robbed his brain of every rational thought. He heard only her words, though, reacted only to her command. In one clean, powerful thrust, he entered her.
Her velvety heat enveloped him, and he thrust deeper, silently obeying the commands of her body. Her legs tightened around him, and she thrust upward as well. With each inch he drove deeper, moved that much closer to the satisfaction that waited for him just a hairbreadth away.
He withdrew and entered her again. And then again. They rocked together, a union of both body and soul, until the world split and release contorted his body with an intensity that was almost painful. When the tremors passed, he collapsed onto her, bearing the brunt of his weight on his elbows. He stroked Lane’s cheek and smiled into her satisfied eyes.
“As nice as before?” he asked.
“Nicer,” she said, a charming pink blush tinging her cheeks.
He brushed her mouth with his lips, a light kiss that conveyed all the passion he felt. She was right. This time with Lane had been nicer. In the past, she’d blown him away, this woman with whom he’d expected to spend the rest of his life. Now, there was even more to her. He wanted to explore every facet, to learn every idiosyncrasy. He longed to be as close to her now as they’d been before. If only ...
He shook his head, a wave of regret and anger crashing over him. Damn Hieronymous. Damn him to Hades for stealing Jason’s life, both the time and his reputation.
“Jason?” Concern flashed in Lane’s eyes.
He conjured a smile. “Just woolgathering.” He shifted away to lie on his side, pulling her close beside him and capturing her in his embrace. “So?” he asked, making sure to keep his voice light.
She turned her head, twisting a bit to see him. Confusion colored her face. “So?” she repeated.
“The final score,” he clarified.
She laughed. “Oh, right. If I tell you, it’ll just go to your head.”
“That good, huh?”
“Perfect,” she answered. She twisted completely, turning in his arms to face him. In a quick motion, she planted a sweet kiss on the tip of his nose. “Every other man in competition is quaking in his itty-bitty briefs.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Quaking?”
She snuggled up close. “Definitely quaking,” she said. “And don’t worry,” she added in a whisper, her face pressed to his chest. “You’re guaranteed the gold.” Then, with a satisfied sigh, Lane closed her eyes. Her breathing evened, and Jason watched, mesmerized by the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she drifted off to sleep.
Jason didn’t sleep. He didn’t even doze. Instead, he kept his eyes wide open, memorizing every curve, every freckle, the position of every tiny hair on her body, like a movie, he ran each touch, each caress, over and over in his mind, committing his and Lane’s lovemaking to memory, needing to make sure he would never, ever forget.
At the moment, Lane was his. Of that, he was certain. It was the future he feared.



Phelonium Prigg’s image sputtered and shifted, so Zoë gave her holo-pager one solid whack. A bit more static appeared, and then the Council bureaucrat came into sharp focus. He pulled himself up to his full height, all five feet four inches. Under the circumstances—as a projection on top of Jason’s desk calendar—the Protector seemed even tinier.
Zoë exhaled, then propped her hands on her hips. “I was trying to reach Zephron,” she said.
Prigg sniffed in that insufferable way he had. “Zephron is indisposed,” he said. He held up his hand when Zoë tried to interrupt. “Certain matters have come to my attention, however, and I would be remiss not to raise them promptly with you.”

Zoë drummed her fingers on her thigh. She’d never been terribly fond of Prigg. When she’d joined the Council, she’d spent almost a solid week filling out all the required forms and documents. Prigg had been no help whatsoever. Each time she asked a question, he managed to answer only by requiring her to fill out another form. She was absolutely certain that he had ink in his veins instead of blood, and that his epitaph would read:

Phelonium Prigg.
FILED IN TRIPLICATE.
 
On the desktop, Prigg’s hologram turned in a complete circle, clearly trying to see beyond the hazy image Zoë‘s pager projected back to him. From his frustrated expression, Zoë gathered he didn’t see whatever he was looking for.
“What is it?” she asked, a bit too sharply.
Another sniff. “Where is he?”
Zoë scowled, turning to Deena and then to Boreas. “If you’re referring to Jason, he and Lane went back to her apartment to get some things. They’ll be back soon.”
With the tip of his finger, Prigg slid his reading glasses down his nose and peered at Zoë. “You permitted him to leave? To accompany the boy and his mother without an escort?”
Zoë stifled a sigh. It had been a hell of a day already, and she really didn’t feel like dealing with this twit. Thank goodness Hoop had gone to her apartment to fetch Taylor. Rather than give her husband directions to this out-of-the-way and difficult-to-find houseboat, sending Deena’s fiancé had seemed the easiest plan. Taylor had just got back in the country, and Zoë expected him at the houseboat any minute. The sooner the better. If she had to deal with Prigg, she wanted her husband’s arms tight around her.
On his dais, Prigg muttered something unintelligible. With her super hearing on the fritz, Zoë couldn’t make out all his words, though irresponsible and utterly improper were discernible.
“Okay, okay,” she said. “I give up. What’s the big deal?”
“The man is a suspected traitor, Ms. Taylor.” He tapped his foot, his arms crossed over his chest. “You yourself reported him to the council. And now you simply let him loose with his son’s mother? What in Hera’s name were you thinking?”
Zoë bristled. “I guess I was thinking that he’d just rescued his son from Hieronymous’s island. Call me crazy, but in my mind that takes him off our most-wanted list.” She planted a hand on her hip, daring him to argue with her reasoning.
He took the dare. “Normally, I would agree with you.”
“Normally?” she repeated. “What? Are there normal circumstances where halfling children are kidnapped from Sea World by an Outcast arch-villain?”
Prigg paused. “Perhaps if those were the only facts, we could treat this case”—he cleared his throat— “normally. But the extenuating circumstances involved in this matter—”
“What extenuating circumstances?” Zoë snapped.
“Look,” Boreas spoke up from behind her. “I think I should probably say I think that guy’s great. Jason, I mean. He’s a little—”
“His parentage, of course,” Prigg said, ignoring the young Protector’s speech.
Boreas clamped his mouth shut, his brow knitting in confusion even as Zoë gave a blank look. “What about his parentage?” she asked.
“His father is Hieronymous.”
“What?” The word came out a screech, and Zoë almost didn’t recognize her own voice. She cleared her throat and tried again. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, didn’t you know?” Prigg asked, but his voice was a little too innocent. Zoë narrowed her eyes as he continued. “The Inner Circle has always known. I am the Recording Secretary for the Inner Circle. So I am privy to these matters.” He paused, buffing his fingernails against his chest.
“So?” Zoë prompted, trying not to let the fact that she liked Jason and disliked Prigg color her judgment. She needed to be objective, because at the moment all she really wanted to do was flip the holo-pager off.
“He has, of course, been monitored over the years. For six years, however .. .”
Zoë rolled her eyes, then twirled her hand, once again urging the old bureaucrat to continue.
“We don’t know what happened during the six years Jason was imprisoned by Hieronymous. But we do know that Hieronymous is—shall we say—persuasive. You’ve seen as much illustrated by your cousin Mordichai.”
Zoë pressed her lips together. That much was true enough. It seemed that every time she thought Mordi had turned his back on Hieronymous for good, he did something that put him back in his father’s good graces. A pity, actually, because she genuinely liked her cousin, despite all the grief he’d caused over the years.
She sifted through what Prigg had just told her. “Basically, you’re saying that you don’t believe Jason is strong enough to have stuck to his guns while he was imprisoned. That he must now be working for Hieronymous.”
Prigg inclined his head, a hint of a nod.
“But you don’t have proof.”
“Proof is not always necessary where instinct is involved.”
“Uh-huh,” Zoë snapped. “Like I said, you don’t have proof.”
Prigg sniffed, a noise of righteous indignation. “Perhaps not. Unless you consider the fact that he confronted Hieronymous, had the opportunity to rid us of the Outcast leader once and for all, with evidence of wrongdoing aplenty . .. and yet Hieronymous still lives.”
A chill settled over Zoë.
“Ah, yes,” Prigg said. “Now you’re understanding. A ruse. A ploy. Your new friend must have joined forces with Hieronymous.”
“No,” Zoë said, not willing to believe. “If that’s true, why would Hieronymous let Davy go?”
“To gain our trust perhaps?” He waved a hand. “It doesn’t matter. The situation is what it is. Jason Murphy is not yet trustworthy.”
Zoë swallowed, a sick feeling settling in her gut. She didn’t believe this. She trusted Jason.
And yet...
Could it be true? Had she been duped? Had her raging hormones allowed a traitor to pull one over on her? Had he only saved his son as a ploy? Was Jason planning to do something even more despicable?
She took a deep breath, steeling herself. “What do you know?” she asked, forcing the words out.
Prigg looked surprised. “Why, ask Officer Boreas, of course. His report was quite—”
“What?” She spun on her heel, her anger building. “His report?”
“Certainly,” Prigg said, even as Boreas took a step backward, his eyes wide with fear. “As a cadet, Boreas must submit regularly sched—”
“Wait,” Zoë said, and to her surprise Prigg actually shut up. The blood in her veins was ice cold, a result of both her fear and her anger.
“Is this true?” she asked Boreas, barely able to force the words past clenched teeth.
The young Protector took another step back and opened his mouth, but no words came out. He licked his lips and tried again. “Well. . . sort of, yes.”
Then he backpedaled. “No! I mean, I did submit a report, but I told exactly what happened. Jason went after Hieronymous, but he got hurt—it all happened so fast—and I got him out of there by—”
“Foolish boy,” Prigg said. “Jason was hurt, and you, a neophyte, remained unscathed? You gullible, gullible child.”
Boreas scowled, but didn’t say anything.
Zoë licked her lips, wishing her superpowers included lie detection. Something was going on. Prigg thought Jason had gone bad and the administrator had access to Jason’s entire file. Boreas disagreed and had seen Jason in action.
“It wasn’t like that,” Boreas protested.
“However ‘it was like,’ ” Prigg said with a little sniff, “you should not have permitted him to leave. The man’s activities are suspicious. This will go on your permanent record, Officer Boreas. See that you don’t make such foolish decisions again.”
Boreas’s jaw clenched. “Yes sir,” he said.
“Very well.” Prigg nodded curtly and signed off.
Boreas turned to Zoë, his arms tight over his chest. “He’s not a traitor. I don’t care who his father is.”
Zoë tended to agree with Boreas, but she couldn’t trust her own judgment. Which meant that, when she boiled it all down, she still didn’t know what side Jason was on. Her gut believed him in his innocence—but she couldn’t afford to be wrong.
Reaching a decision, she pointed at Deena. “Leave a message for Hoop,” she said, shifting her gaze to Boreas. “We’re going to go find Jason.”
Rubbing her belly, Zoë thought about her husband, in transit, and the news she had for him. But that news was going to have to wait. Right now, she had to go interrogate her nephew’s father. A man who she hoped was a friend ... but who might just be a traitor.



Lane shivered, a chill settling over her body. She groaned in protest and groped for the sheet, wanting just a few more minutes of sleep before she had to get up, get Davy dressed, and head to school. But her fingers closed around nothing but air.
No sheet.
She groped some more, her hand patting the bed, her mind trying to focus despite its haze of sleep. She was so tired, her body so stiff and sore. It was like she’d run a marathon or something, except she didn’t run. Heck, she barely exercised at all.
Rolling over, she pressed her face into her pillow, the vague scent of coffee enticing her. Thank goodness she’d remembered to set the coffeemaker....
She sat up, reality thwapping her on the head. It wasn’t morning; it was late afternoon. And she hadn’t set the coffeemaker any more than she’d run a marathon. Instead, she’d—
Oh, my.
She twisted in bed, searching for Jason. But he wasn’t there, just a slight indentation and a pile of covers on his side of the flimsy, sofa-bed mattress.
She bit back a smile. He always had hogged the covers.
“Good morning, sleepyhead.” Jason, following his voice, slid around the corner with a steaming mug of coffee in his hand. “Or should I say good evening?”
Lane grabbed her shirt off the floor, then sat up and shrugged into it, a goofy smile on her face. This wasn’t exactly breakfast in bed, but it was close. And she hadn’t had breakfast in bed since she’d been sick in fourth grade and stuck under the covers for three solid days.
She accepted the mug from him and took a careful sip, its elixir working magic on her mind. “I’m so confused right now, I don’t even know what day it is,” she admitted.
“Still Tuesday,” he informed her. “Only now it’s nightfall.”
“Davy,” Lane said, sitting up straighten.
“He’s playing in his room. I let him put in a video—Spy Kids. He looked pretty happy.”
Considering Lane never let him watch videos during the week, she was sure Davy was probably thrilled. “And Zoë. They’ll be worried.”
“I sent a text message to Zoë‘s pager. I told her we were talking and to give us a call if she needed anything.” He nodded toward the phone. “But, as you know, that contraption’s been completely silent.”
He moved to sit next to her on the bed, his arm propped behind her so that she could lean against him. With his other hand, he stroked her face, his finger tracing the line of her lips. She gasped, the power of his touch unsettling her.
That feeling of unease settled in, and she scooted backward, away from his touch. So it wouldn’t seem too obvious, she got off the bed entirely and pulled on her shorts, feeling a little silly in so doing.
She’d wanted him in her bed; she could admit that. She was a big girl, and she’d wanted sex. Wanted sex with him. Wanted to be held and loved and taken care of after the most horrible day of her entire life.
But now ...
Now she was in her living room with a man who’d walked away from her. One who hadn’t explained why. And her heart really didn’t know what to make of that.
As if reading her thoughts, Jason took her hand and tugged her back to the sofa bed. The warmth of his touch seemed to steady and ground her. Clenching her fists, Lane shook her head: No. She had to be smart. Jason wasn’t grounding her—far from it. If anything, he sent her off into the clouds. On a wonderful, sensual adventure, yes, but she wasn’t looking for adventure. She was looking for steadiness. Security. She wanted Davy to have the life she’d never had: steadfast devotion with a permanent home and a permanent family.
And no matter how good the sex might be, permanence wasn’t something she could expect from Jason. She ran her teeth over her lower lip. At least, she hadn’t been able to expect it from the Jason of the past. This Jason ...
Well, she really didn’t know this Jason. Except to know that he was a superhero. Which brought up the question: Could she and Davy ever really be his priority?
She nibbled on her lower lip, wondering. Taylor and Zoë were getting along just fine. And so were Hale and Tracy. So maybe ...
No. She was scared, so very scared of getting hurt again. She’d survived his leaving once. She didn’t think she could survive it again.
With a gentle touch, Jason brushed away a strand of hair that had fallen over her eye. “I know that look,” he whispered.
She felt her cheeks warm, and she shook her head, ever so slightly. “I don’t have a look,” she said. “No looks here.”
“Regret.” He punctuated the word with a smile, but she could see the sadness in it. A twinge of guilt settled in her stomach—guilt that she’d succumbed to desire but now, inevitably she was going to hurt this man. She didn’t want to hurt him, but even more she didn’t want to hurt Davy. And she certainly didn’t want to be hurt herself.
“I...” She trailed off, licking her lips, her fingers clenched tight around her mug of warm coffee.
“I don’t want to push you, Lane,” he said, pressing his palm against her knee. “I just want to try again.”
His words, though expected, hit her with the force of a sledgehammer. In her heart, she wanted to try, too. In her head, she kept screaming, Be smart! Be smart! She already had a nice man waiting in the wings, a man who didn’t make her wonder if he’d be there the next day, a man Davy already adored who didn’t have secrets.
But Aaron wasn’t Jason. And despite everything that told her to run far and fast, that one little fact kept eating at her. She connected with Jason; she always had.
Lane shook her head, clearing her thoughts. Was she doing nothing more than trying to justify what would surely turn out to be a bad decision?
Jason’s fingers stroked her knee and Lane shifted, pulling her leg away so that she was sitting primly on the side of the sofa bed. She couldn’t think with him touching her—not if she wanted to be rational.
She sat up straighter, still not really sure what she was going to say, and started talking. “I don’t know, Jason. I really don’t. I mean, I need to know you’ve changed.”
“I have.”
“No secrets. No finding out six years from now that you’re a superhero or something.”
He grinned. “Not a problem. We’ve already done that one.”
Despite herself, she smiled. “And Davy comes first. Davy and me,” she said.
“You always did,” he argued.
She pressed her lips together, wondering whether to debate the point “This isn’t about the past,” she decided, taking the middle ground. “I already told you, we can’t change the past. What’s done is done.”
A shadow crossed his face, so she reached out to take his hand.
“I’m not making any promises,” she said. She drew a deep breath, hoping she wasn’t making a mistake. “But I’m not saying no, either.”
His head cocked ever so slightly. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying we’ll see.”
“That’s it?”
Moment of truth time. “No.” She shook her head.
“We’ll move in with you, too. At least for a while.”
“That wasn’t even an issue,” he complained.
She raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“We already agreed—until we’re sure you won’t have any more problems with Hieronymous, you two are staying right next to me.”
He had a point, so she nodded. “Well, yeah. But this is about us. I want you to get to know Davy better, anyway. Plus, I want you to teach him everything you can. If that’s the easiest way to avoid some ridiculous Council-mandated boarding school, then we’ll try that.”
“It’ll work,” he assured her. “And if the Council still insists, we’ll think of something else. I promise no one will take Davy from you. No matter what I have to do.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Jason’s face reflected something more than just concern for Davy—a passion, possessiveness. Lane swallowed, suddenly fearing she was making a huge mistake.
Desire, hot and needy, flashed in Jason’s eyes. “And since we’ll be living together, you and I should have plenty of opportunities to get reacquainted.”
Lane licked her lips, liking the idea more than was reasonable. She twisted her hands in her lap, reminding herself why she wasn’t just jumping into his arms and pulling him back into her life. “So, we’re clear, though—right? No more secrets, no more—”
A sharp knock interrupted.
“It’s probably pizza,” Jason said, getting up. “I thought you and Davy might want a bite before we head back to my houseboat.”
Her stomach rumbled, and Lane realized she was famished. “Sounds great.”
Jason pulled the door open, and she gasped. It wasn’t a pizza delivery guy at all.
Aaron.
Well, damn.