Zyah watched her grandmother’s face light up again as she continued laughing. She really loved hearing that laugh. These men. Torpedo Ink. They charmed her. They should be the last ones to be charming, but they were. Both women could see past the dark, swirling violence surrounding them. Sometimes, as in Savage’s case, it was so dark it was nearly impenetrable, but then suddenly, like now, there would be that small little path that led straight to his soul and they both could see the beauty of the man. It ran deep. No one else could see it. He couldn’t see it. But they could. Zyah had come to care for the men. Anat had as well.
She looked up at Player’s face, and her entire body stilled. Every cell in her body responded to him. His blue eyes were fixed on her. Piercing. Speculative. He was looking at her in a way he hadn’t for the last few weeks. It was both exhilarating and frightening.
She forced her attention back to her grandmother and Savage. She couldn’t let herself think about Player. Even if he changed his mind. What would be the point? He wanted sex. Off-the-charts sex, but that never lasted long, and she wanted to be loved. And he needed her. That wasn’t the same thing as loving her. She knew what real love was. Player didn’t.
“Did you really sunbathe, Anat? That might have been too long for you, all joking aside,” Savage said. “I don’t like the idea of you getting a sunburn or hurting your leg.”
He sounded protective. That was one trait the members of Torpedo Ink—including Player—seemed to have in common. Zyah liked them for that as well.
“I did sunbathe for an hour. The sun is very healing. Player made certain I didn’t jar my leg. He’s very strong.”
Savage made a perfect replica of Anat’s trilling sound. Perfect. It didn’t sound like a mocking mimic. It sounded as if he had been born and bred in her village. “Don’t tell him he’s strong. He already thinks he’s good-looking.”
Anat sent Player her lovely grandmother smile. “He is good- looking.”
Maestro groaned. “Now you’ve gone and done it. We won’t hear the end of it.”
Savage ignored the byplay. “I think it was smart to sunbathe. Anything to get that healing going. Did Player take off the bandage around his head? Maybe he’ll get his brains back. Got any fresh cookies?” Savage added, getting to his main agenda.
“Since I was the one making the cookies,” Player said, “no, there aren’t any. At least for you. Stick around for a little while. I’m heading out for a ride.”
He’d told Anat he was leaving. Now he wasn’t so certain. With Zyah’s scent surrounding him, with her taste in his mouth and breathing her into his lungs, it wasn’t so easy to just walk away from her. He didn’t dare look at the older woman. She would know she’d gotten to him with her reprimand—and she had. He’d never quite looked at things the way she’d laid them out to him. He had a lot to think about, and he thought better on his bike.
Zyah whirled around to face him. She all but planted her body directly in front of his. “What do you mean you’re going out for a ride?”
He shrugged casually, pressing his fingers deep into his thigh to keep from tucking stray strands of her dark, flyaway hair behind her ear. “I haven’t been out for a while, and I need to ride. I get restless. I’ll just be gone a short while.”
“Steele said you shouldn’t try it yet, Player. I heard you ask him last night.” She lifted her chin at him, daring him to call her out for eavesdropping.
In the last few days, he’d offered to exchange rooms dozens of times, but she said it was too much trouble. Hell, he wanted—even needed—to get out of her bedroom; she was everywhere inside those walls. It was silly, really, to want to exchange rooms, since she came into the bedroom every night. She had to when he had nightmares, when the illusions started and then reality blended with illusion and he was building bombs he’d never seen before. It was just that things in that room that were sacred to her bothered him. Really bothered him.
He’d spent a great deal of time after he’d taken Anat out in the sun, over two hours, just sitting on the bed, staring at the picture her grandfather had drawn for her grandmother. It was truly a work of art. There was no question about it. The man had painstakingly drawn out every line, and it must have taken him months to complete the work.
Every time Player looked at the masterpiece, it gave him a headache. The worst part about it was that he felt compelled to look. Zyah talked about it all the time. There was love in her voice when she did. She spoke about the love between Anat and her husband, Horus. There was the signature falcon rising from the drawing, and Zyah had explained that Horus meant “falcon” and that the bird was often drawn into his things.