Lover Unleashed (Black Dagger Brotherhood 9)

Never this toxic interplay.

“You getting anywhere?”

She looked over her shoulder at her healer. Standing in the doorway to the office, he was still wet, but no longer dripping, and had a white towel wrapped around his neck. His short, dark hair was askew, as if he had rubbed it dry and left it as it stood.

“I cannot find the way through.” And wasn’t that apt on so many levels.

Payne wasted some time just staring at the neatly lined-up stacks of yellow pads and boxes of pens and orderly rows of things the purposes of which she could only guess at. When she finally gave up and stepped out, her healer was still in the doorway to the office, still staring at her. His eyes were black with emotion, his lips thin . . . and for some reason, his expression made her realize how fully clothed he was.

How fully clothed he had always been whenever he had lain with her.

He hadn’t let her touch him, had he.

“You agree with my brother,” she said darkly. “Do you not.”

It was not a question. And she was not surprised when he nodded. “This isn’t a long-term thing,” he said with horrible gentleness. “Not for you.”

“So that is why I have not had the pleasure of your sex.”

His brows flared briefly, as if her candor discomforted him. “Payne . . . this can’t work between us.”

“Says who. It is our choice whom we—”

“I’ve got a life to go back to.”

As her breath grew tight, she thought . . . how incredibly arrogant of her. It had never occurred to her that he had somewhere else to go. Then again, just as her brother had pointed out, how much did she know of him?

“I’ve got family,” he continued. “A job. A horse I have to go see.”

Payne walked over to him, approaching him with her head high. “Why do you assume it is an either/or? And before you try, do not waste words telling me you do not want me. I know it is true—your scent does not lie.”

He cleared h

is throat. “Sex isn’t everything, Payne. And when it comes to you and me, even that’s just about getting you to where you are now.”

At that, another chill ran through her, sure as if there were a draft in the room. But then she shook her head. “You wanted me, healer. When you came back here and saw me in that bed—your scent was nothing about the condition I was in, and you are a coward if you pretend otherwise. Hide if you will, healer—”

“My name is Manny,” he snapped. “Manuel Manello. I was brought here to help you—and in case you haven’t noticed, you’re on your feet. So I have. Right now? I’m just waiting until you people rip into my brain again and leave me strapped to separate night from day and dreams from reality. This is your world, not mine, and there is only either/or.”

Their eyes locked together, and in that moment, if the facility had been on fire, she would not have been able to look away . . . and neither, she realized, would he.

“If it could work,” she said roughly, “if you were allowed to come and go as you pleased, would you stay with me.”

“Payne—”

“My question is clear. Answer it. Now.” As his brows rose, she could not tell whether he was excited or repulsed by her brashness, and she did not care in that moment. “The truth is what it is, spoken or not. So we might as well have it all out.”

He slowly shook his head. “Your brother doesn’t think—”

“Fuck my brother,” she countered. “Tell me what you think.”

In the strained silence that followed, she realized what she had just said, and wanted to curse anew. Dropping her head, she stared at the floor, not in meekness, but out of frustration. Females of worth did not use words like that, and they did not pressure people for a tea towel, much less something like this.

Indeed, a proper female would stand by as the eldest male of her family handled the big decisions in her life, shaping the course of everything from where she lived to unto whom she was betrothed.

Outbursts. Sex. Swearing. Any more of this and she was going to make Vishous’s wishes come true, because her healer—Manuel, that was—would find her so unattractive he would beg to be taken away from her with no memories of their time together.

Would she never fit the Layla standard of feminine perfection?