A petite blond woman looked up from the large white desk that dominated one wall of the foyer, a smile touching her perfectly painted silver lips as we approached. “Mr. Casimir, I wasn’t expecting to see you again this morning. Is there a problem?”
“No,” he said evenly. “But I have a meeting at six, so could you give me a call at five thirty? We’ll be in my private suite.”
“Not a problem, sir.” The woman’s gaze flickered to me, her curiosity evident. But she didn’t question my presence, and Sal made no move to explain it.
We walked into a lift that was all glass. Sal pressed his thumb against the scanner, then said, “Tenth floor.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Just how many floors do you own in this building?”
He caught my hands in his and stared at me for several seconds, as if he still couldn’t believe his eyes. “Just ten,” he said eventually. “Although I am planning to buy more in the next few years.”
I laughed softly and shook my head. “Only ten? Good grief, Sal, real estate in this part of town is worth a fortune. How on earth have you managed to buy ten floors?”
“It’s not hard to do when you’re as good at seduction as I am.” It was immodestly said and actually quite true. He’d certainly practiced his seduction techniques on me often enough, both when I’d been assigned to teach him such things, and later, in the few times we’d met out in the field. “And I’ve had a hundred years to gather a fortune.”
In a hundred years, I’d barely dared to venture outside my bunker. I stepped closer and gently traced the outline of his luscious lips with a finger. “How did you survive the cleansing?” I asked softly. “I thought I was the only one.”
“So did I, for a very long time.” He pressed a kiss against my fingertip. Desire surged between us, familiar and fiery. “You have no idea how glad I am to discover that you survived.”
“And I you.” It came out husky. Lord, it had been far too long since I’d been in the arms of another, let alone felt the touch of someone I actually cared about. To say my body was humming with eager anticipation was something of an understatement.
The elevator came to a halt and the doors slid open. The room beyond was vast—it ran the entire breadth of the building, in fact. Windows lined two sides, and sunlight burned in, so bright it was almost eye-watering. The space was divided into various zones by furniture, and somehow managed to feel more intimate than the sheer size of the room should have allowed.
Though the apartment’s walls were as white as anything else in this section of Central, the furnishings were a riot of color and brightness; reds, greens, purples, golds, even the occasional splash of black, filled the room and no doubt added to the feeling of intimacy and homeyness.
It was a vastly different way of living from my old bunker.
“Drink?” He released my hand and moved across to a bar that dominated one corner of the kitchen zone.
“Yes.” I stopped in the middle of the room and dropped my bag and cloak onto a nearby chair. And couldn’t help feeling very out of place and somewhat awkward in all this opulence.
He poured two glasses, then walked back and offered me one.
“To survival against the odds.” He touched his glass against mine. “To the renewal of a very old friendship.”
“To friendships and renewals,” I echoed, then took a sip. The bubbles teased my nose, and the liquid burned my throat, tart but refreshing.
For several minutes, neither of us moved. We simply drank the champagne and stared at each other. Then his gaze left mine and slid down my body, becoming a sensual and yet excruciatingly slow exploration that had pinpricks of sweat breaking out across my skin. It was all I could do not to pluck the glass from his hand and wrap my arms around his neck. To kiss him. Touch him. Make love to him.
He smiled at that moment, and I knew he’d sensed exactly what I was thinking.
“We have so much to catch up on,” he said softly.
“We do,” I agreed.
He placed a fingertip against the base of my neck, his touch light and cool. “So much to talk about.”
“Definitely.” I took another drink. It didn’t do a whole lot to ease the fire growing inside me.
His touch slid down and, one by one, he deftly undid the buttons of my dress. “And yet,” he murmured when the last button came free, “talking is the very last thing I want to do right now.”
“I’m gathering that,” I said, unable to keep the slight trace of amusement from my voice.
“What gave me away?” His touch slid back up and gently circled one nipple, then the other.
A shudder of delight ran through me. “Call it an educated guess.”
“You always were a very smart individual.” He brushed his lips across the base of my neck. “You were my teacher, my lover, and my friend, and it has been such a long time since I have experienced anything close to what we once shared.”
“I’ve never experienced it, Sal. Not in more than one hundred years.” I closed my eyes, drawing in the silky dark yet oddly corrupted scent of him, tasting in it enough familiarity to chase away fear and warm my senses.
“No other lovers?” he murmured, as his kisses trailed up my neck.
“No lovers. Just sex.”
“Me, too.”
His lips finally claimed mine. Our kiss was a long, slow exploration that was both familiar and new.
“I need you, Tig.” His breath caressed my mouth and his gaze burned deep, the force of his desire so strong it singed every part of my being. “As you are, in this form, here and now.”
“Then take me,” I said simply.
He plucked the glass from my hand and placed both on the nearby coffee table. “It will be my great pleasure.”
“And mine, I hope.”
He chuckled softly, then his lips claimed mine again, although the urgency I could feel in him was still leashed, still restrained. He slid his hand around my waist, his fingers cool as they pressed against my spine and pulled me closer. His body was warm, hard, and so very familiar. I wrapped my arms around his neck, drawing us closer still. Restraint gave way to passion, and the kiss became fiercely erotic.
After what seemed like hours we finally parted. My gaze met his, and in the bright silver of his eyes both lust and memories gleamed. The rapid pounding of my heart was a cadence that filled the silence, and desire—both his and mine—was so thick and fierce it burned my throat with every breath.
I undid the buttons of his crisp white shirt, pushed it free from his shoulders, and ran my hands over the muscular planes of his chest and stomach, refamiliarizing myself with his body. His muscles quivered under my touch, but when I went to undo his pants, he slid his hand across mine and stopped me.
“Not yet,” he murmured, “or this will be over in a second flat.”
I laughed softly. “Has it been that long for you?”
“No. I just never did have much in the way of control when it came to you.”
His fingers splayed against my rear end. Heat pooled wherever skin met skin, and flared across my flesh like fire. Lord, his touch was even more intense than I remembered.
With little effort, he lifted me, then carried me across to the dining table. My rump had barely touched the glass when he slid his hands up to my breasts, teasing and pinching my engorged nipples. Delight spun through me, but I had no intention of being a passive recipient of pleasure. Ignoring his earlier warning as much as his halfhearted attempt to stop me, I undid his pants and pushed them down, then proceeded to caress and explore him as thoroughly as he did me. For a very long time, we did nothing more than renew our memories of each other, teasing and enticing familiar responses, until tiny beads of perspiration covered our skin and all I could think about, all I wanted, was him. Until the two of us were trembling, hovering on the edge of climax and aching for release.
Finally, his fingers slid through my slickness and entered me, even as he pressed his thumb against my clit. He began to str
oke, inside and out, and I shuddered, writhed, until it felt as if I were going to tear apart in sheer pleasure.
Unable to take any more, needing a whole lot more, I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him closer. A heartbeat later, he was in me, thrusting deep and hard, claiming me in the most basic way possible. Then he gripped my hips, his fingers bruising as he held me still for too many seconds.
But, oh, it was so glorious, being held motionless while my body throbbed with need, his body deep inside mine, heavy and hot with the same sort of need. I loved the feel of him. Loved his size and his shape and how insanely good it felt when he was in me.
Then he cursed softly and began move. Not gently, but fiercely, urgently, all control gone and nothing left but need. I was right there with him, wanting everything he could give. The deep ache blossomed, spreading like wildfire across my skin, becoming a kaleidoscope of sensations that washed through every corner of my mind. I gasped, grabbing his shoulders for support as his movements grew faster, more urgent, my body shuddering with the fierceness of his movements. Then everything broke, and I was unraveling, groaning with the intensity of my orgasm. His movements became almost savage, and, a heartbeat after me, he came so very deep inside.
For several minutes afterward, neither of us moved. Then he rested his forehead against mine, his breath warm and rapid against my skin.
“Dear god,” he murmured. “That was a whole lot faster than I’d intended, but it was as every bit as good as I remembered.”
“Dear god?” I repeated, amusement running through me. It was basically the human equivalent of the shifter term “by Rhea.” “Since when did you start using human terms so freely?”
He grinned. “Since I began fucking them for a living. Shifters may have won the war, but there are still plenty of wealthy humans about more than willing to part with large amounts of cash in return for a good time. And they are far easier targets than most shifters.”
There was something in his voice—an odd edge—that made me frown. “Calling them ‘targets’ makes it seem like you were doing more than merely seducing them.”
“Maybe I was, but who really cares? We’re talking about a race that stood by and did nothing while shifters erased our kind. We owe allegiance to no one but ourselves.”
“Humans lost the war, Sal. They couldn’t have done anything else but stand by and watch.” Besides, it wasn’t like humanity hadn’t suffered losses. Millions had been killed; not just those who’d created us, but all those who’d fought behind déchet front lines, and all those who hadn’t evacuated the cities in time.
He snorted. “It’s their damn fault the war started in the first place. You cannot continually squeeze an entire race of people into ever-decreasing parcels of land and not expect a backlash.”
“I’m not here to argue the rights and wrongs of the war, Sal. I’m just saying we’re not the only race that suffered. Everyone lost in that war—even the shifters.”
He raised an eyebrow, a touch of—not contempt, but something close to it in his gaze. “You’re defending them?”
“No, I’m not. I’m just pointing out fact.” Besides, I’d had a long time to think about the war. I couldn’t hate the humans because I owed them my existence, and while I will never forgive the way shifters had destroyed us, I couldn’t really hate them, either. Not when shifter blood ran through my veins and I’d spent so much time in many different shifter camps. I understood them far better than I did humans.
I unwrapped my legs from his waist, and he stepped back from the table.
“Another drink?” He turned and walked across the room. The afternoon sunlight caressed his skin, giving it a lovely silvery sheen.
“No, but I wouldn’t mind something to eat.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Bacon and eggs okay?”
“Divine.” I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d had them. He continued on into the kitchen. I trailed after him, gathering my clothes but not bothering to put any of them on. “So how did you survive the cleansing, Sal? And what have you been doing these last hundred years?”
He selected our meals on the autocook, pressed a button, and then swung around to face me. His expression had lost much of its glow. But then, talking about the cleansing was enough to wipe the smile off anyone’s face. Anyone who’d been there and survived it, at any rate.
“It was pure luck.” His voice was soft, but I could see the shadows in his eyes, feel the pain and the anger in the emotive swirl surrounding him. “I was in Carleen when they bombed it. They wrote me off as dead and dumped me in one of the craters, along with everyone else who hadn’t made it to the shelters.” He grimaced. “By the time my body had repaired itself, the base had been all but razed, and all within murdered.”
Including the children, I thought, and tried to ignore the bloody images that flitted through my mind. I swallowed hard, and wondered why humans seemed to believe that time erased all wounds. It didn’t. It couldn’t.
“What about you?” he asked.
“Same really. Just pure and utter luck.”
The lie slipped off my tongue easily enough, though I wasn’t entirely sure why instinct was warning me not to remind him about the genetics that made me immune to poisons. This was Sal: a déchet, just like me, and the man I’d once trusted with all that I was. But a hundred years had passed since I’d last seen him, a hundred years in which I’d done little more than protect my little ghosts and our home. I wasn’t about to endanger them, even when it came to someone like Sal. Not until I knew beyond doubt that he was worthy of holding such a secret. People could change in a matter of years. In one hundred, anything could have happened.
“How long have you been in Central?” he asked. The autocook pinged and the door opened. He removed two plates, then walked across and handed me one. It smelled so good my mouth began to water.
“A few weeks.” I picked up a crisp bit of bacon and munched on it. Damn, it was almost as good as sex. Almost. “But I’m officially out of credits, and I’m looking for work.”
The words were out before I’d even thought about them. So much for not wanting to get involved with Nuri’s investigations, I thought resignedly. Instinct, it seemed, had far more sway over my actions than common sense.
He slid some cutlery my way, then perched on the stool beside me, his arm brushing mine as he tucked into his own meal. The brief moments of contact sent warm awareness surging through my body. I may have started out as the teacher when it came to all things sexual, but in subsequent years, he’d certainly taught me a thing or two. And even now, one hundred years later, that awareness and connection still burned bright and fierce between us.
He paused, his expression amused as he looked at me. “As much as I would love to offer you a position at Hedone, I’m afraid I’d much rather keep you in my bed than have anyone else in yours.”
“Nor would I wish to make money that way.” My smile faded. “These days, sex is something I have because I wish to. I have no desire for it to become a task again, in any way, shape, or form.”
“An understandable, if somewhat antiquated view.”
I frowned. “What’s antiquated about wishing to choose who I have in my bed rather than being told?”
“Perhaps ‘antiquated’ was the wrong word to use.” He shrugged. “I merely meant that we were designed with specific skill sets, and it’s a shame not to use them for our own gain.”
“Which is what you’ve been doing for one hundred years—using sex and assassination to feather your own nest?”
He raised an eyebrow, amusement lurking around the corners of his eyes. “It sounds rather tawdry put like that.”
“It wasn’t meant—”
He raised a hand, stopping me. “I know. And no, I haven’t spent the last one hundred years fucking and killing my way to a fortune. It’s only been in more recent years that I returned full-time to the task for which I was created.”
My gaze rose to his rather ind
ividual hair color. “And no one has ever said anything? Suspected you were far more than the front you present?”
He reached out and tugged at my hair. “Your deep orange-and-black hair is rather unique, missy. Has anyone ever said anything to you? Or do you wear this rather dowdy disguise full-time?”
Orange and black? Had he forgotten I was a white tiger rather than regular? I opened my mouth to remind him, then stopped, that odd warning to keep silent raising its head again. So I simply said, “Not full-time, but whenever I’m in Central, then yeah.”
“And yet it is not as if there aren’t plenty of shifters in Central. Your natural color—and mine—is mild compared to some of theirs.”
That was certainly true. I guess I’d just been so caught up in the need for safety that I’d gone totally over the top. I mopped up the remains of the eggs with the last bit of bacon, then placed my cutlery on the plate and pushed it away with a sigh.
“That was lovely. Thank you.”
“You are most welcome.” He paused. “I know plenty of influential people, thanks to this place. It might be possible for me to at least get you a job interview. What are your qualifications these days?”
“Beyond theft?” I asked, amused. “Not a whole lot, to be honest.”
He snorted softly. “There’s not many calls for thieves, I’m afraid.”
“Hence the reason I’m still unemployed.” I hesitated. “I heard on the grapevine that someplace called Winter Halo was recruiting night watchmen, but I have no idea where or how to apply.”
“I believe they are.” His eyes narrowed as he studied me for a moment. “Do you have ID?”
“Of course.” Or would have, if Nuri came through with her promise.
“Good.” He pursed his lips for a moment. “I know the man in charge of recruitment, and I’m afraid he’s very particular about the type of guard he employs.”
“Particular how?” I hesitated. “He sleeps with them?”
“As far as I’m aware, no. Even in Central, such harassment is frowned upon.”
“‘Even in Central’? What’s that supposed to mean?”