Lightning Game (GhostWalkers 17)

He wanted to tell his brother to stand down, but he couldn’t take chances. She smelled good. Really, really good. The subtle fragrance of coral honeysuckle was alive and well, drifting through the cabin, filling his lungs with every breath he drew in. He found it intoxicating—and distracting. That was unprecedented.

He pulled the one pair of leggings out of the drawer along with a shorter tank top, both very soft. He could see why she preferred to wear them at night. The garments would cling to her body, and he didn’t need any more of a distraction, nor did he need Diego to be looking at the clear outline of breasts and bottom in her clingy nightwear. He added the one long sweater she had. She could wear that as well. The woman could do with some modesty. So far, she hadn’t shown any.

“I’m going to hand you your clothes. You’re going to have to get dressed right there.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake. This is ridiculous.”

“You’re the one who invaded our home. You had to know the chance you were taking. You’re lucky we didn’t just shoot you as you came up the trail. Coming at you over your right shoulder.”

He tossed her the shirt first. Clutching the towel with one hand, she caught the tank with the other and pulled it over her head, keeping the towel in place. She was very coordinated. Very. She caught it without looking. Even when she had to switch hands, it was done so smoothly and fast, pulling the tank down without removing the towel.

“Pants coming over left shoulder.” He wanted to see if she was trained equally on both sides. She was. She had no problem snagging the leggings out of the air without seeing them, then dragging them on. Only then did she fold the towel.

“I’ve got a sweater for you to wear.”

“Are you going to call off your brother?”

“You’re going to put on the sweater and then sit in the rocker. I already checked it for weapons. I checked your leggings and tank as well.”

“What could I have been hiding in these leggings or my tank?”

“Don’t be obtuse. A garrote. You probably stashed any number of weapons around the cabin.” He lifted his hand to the window and made a short circle to tell Diego to come inside. “Put the sweater on, Jonquille.”

Obediently, she caught the sweater and slipped into it. He did his best not to notice the way her breasts moved enticingly beneath the tank. He knew her body was going to be a distraction beneath that thin, clingy shirt. Her hair was beginning to dry, going light even there in the gathering dark of the cabin. She flounced over to the rocker and curled up into it. She looked smaller than ever in it.

Rubin and Diego were both a quarter of an inch shy of six feet. Their family was not made up of small people. Jonquille may have been diminutive in size, but she didn’t feel that way to him. She might look deceptively delicate with clothes on, but he’d seen the muscles running like steel beneath her skin. She’d been confronted alone, far from any help, completely vulnerable, by two male GhostWalkers—and she knew what that meant—yet she didn’t flinch from the danger. She was lethal and had her own secrets, there was no doubt about that. For the first time in his life, Rubin was seriously interested in knowing more about a woman.

The door to the cabin opened, and Diego entered. His gaze slid over their guest and then jumped to Rubin’s face. She’s a Ghost-Walker. It was an accusation. They were quite capable of speaking telepathically to each other. Diego was a strong telepath, capable of building bridges for those weaker on the team.

Yes, she is.

You should have told me immediately. She’s most likely bait.

I don’t think so.

You don’t get to take chances with your life. Diego was obviously irritated with him. That happened very seldom. He stalked to the small crisper. After dumping the duffel bag on the floor, he began to shove their supplies into the drawer.

I was making certain I wasn’t taking chances with yours.

Throughout the entire conversation, Rubin didn’t take his gaze from Jonquille. She regarded the brothers carefully, a small frown on her face. Her large blue eyes jumped back and forth between the two of them. Finally, she sighed.

“Here’s the thing. Whitney’s first experiments were very, very flawed. I’m one of those. Women can get moody. Temperamental. Let’s say stormy under the right conditions. Like the weather changing. Dark clouds overhead. Pissed off.”

“Spit it out,” Diego said, his tone mild.

Rubin raised his gaze to his brother’s. I don’t know what’s going on here, but I’m already feeling protective of her. It was a warning as well as a hope that Diego would protect her as well.