His hand slid underneath her shoulders, angled up and cupped her nape. The rough texture of his skin delighted her, tickling her. He massaged the muscles there, drawing a groan of pleasure from her. Then his hand began to lower . . . stopping midway down her arm, kneading . . . angling again, this time toward her breast . . .
Her aching breast. A place that had never been touched by another. She'd caught enough illicit acts in the shadows of the circus to know that once a man got his hands on a woman's breasts, he couldn't stop himself from taking more, all.
Vika tensed, not sure she was ready for what "all" entailed.
He must have been attuned to her every nuance, because he jerked backward, severing contact.
As she fought for breath, her fingers sought her tingling lips. "Solo," she said, wanting to call him back. She might not be ready for all, but that didn't mean the kiss had to end.
His hands fisted at his sides.
Had she angered him? "I--I--" Had no idea what to say. How did you tell a man you wanted to kiss him, but you didn't want to do anything else with him? Not yet, at least.
"When are the monsters due to return?" she asked, changing the subject.
He looked away from her. "A few hours. But don't worry. You'll stay right where you are, and I'll lie beside you."
He'd done that every time before, hadn't he? The idea of his weight pressing against her . . . didn't frighten her, she realized. It delighted her, her blood bubbling and fizzing with warmth.
Perhaps she was closer to wanting "all" than she'd realized.
"They'll be unable to reach us," he added, "and I won't have to touch you."
"I don't mind--"
"What is this place?" he interjected.
Message received. Subject closed. Maybe that was for the best. "A world between worlds."
He frowned. "Explain . . . please."
Another rusty "please." How could she resist? "Through his dark arts, my father learned how to move the circus from one city to another without ever having to take down or set up the tents and equipment or move the vehicles, and without ever having to take a step. Somehow he creates solar flares that open a portal from one location to another, but he has more trouble closing the flares, especially if we're going a great distance, and sometimes we become trapped here."
His frown deepened. "I know inter-world travel is possible, and that's how the otherworlders came to earth, but I didn't know average citizens could open portals on their own."
"I doubt that they can. But then, my father isn't exactly average, is he?"
"Well, I need to know what he knows."
"Trust me, you don't want to mess with the dark arts."
Well, well. Good thing you listened to me, Dr. E said, his voice seeming to come out of nowhere. She couldn't see him, but she could feeeeel him. There was a strange sort of crackle in the air, sparking against her skin. He's about to try and talk you into spying for him.
Had Solo heard the male?
His expression remained the same: pensive. "If I asked you to find out what kind of spell he casts," he said, watching her intently, "would you?"
See? Told you!
"No," she answered honestly, ignoring Dr. E. She couldn't blame Solo for wanting more information. "He invited evil into his life, and I'm not going to do the same to mine. Why do you want to know about the flares, anyway? To stop him?"
Solo pondered for a moment, then once again waved a hand through the air. "What's the longest you've ever been trapped in the Nolands?"
So. He wanted her to endanger herself, but he didn't want to tell her why. That, she could blame him for. "Six days," she said a little snippily. "But guess what? We're not done with the other topic. I could say yes, I'd try to find out how he does it, because I owe you and I always sometimes try to pay my debts."
"Always sometimes?" he interrupted.
"Exactly. So, here's a question for you. Would you prefer to have the info about the solar flares or the key to the cuffs?"
Without any hesitation, he replied, "The key to the cuffs."
I could have guessed that one, Dr. E muttered.
"Are you willing to give it to me when you find it?" Solo asked with the patient stillness of a predator. "Not just use it on me but give it to me."
"Of course," she replied, and he blinked in bafflement. "If my father lets me out of the cage, I've already decided to increase my efforts and do whatever's necessary to unearth its whereabouts."
"Vow it," he rushed out. "Vow to free me, to remove the cuffs when you find the key, and place that key into my sole custody."
Him and his vows. She fought the urge to roll her eyes. But she noticed he'd said "when" and not "if." Either he had more confidence in her than she did, or he simply refused to admit defeat in anything.
Don't do it, Dr. E pleaded.
"So vowed," she said, wanting to smirk. She kind of liked disobeying Dr. E.
He cursed at her.
Solo watched her intently, relief and suspicion in his eyes.
"What?" she asked.
"Did anything strange happen to you?"
"No. Why?"
"Never mind." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Tell me something. Was your newest beating because of me?"
"No," she said, and that was the truth. Matas had hit her because she'd embarrassed him with her continued refusal of his romantic pursuit, choosing an "animal" over him.
You should have blamed Solo. There was now a pout in Dr. E's voice. He would have felt guilty and would have done anything you asked.
"Will you just shut up already," she snapped. "I'm sick of you." She didn't want anyone feeling guilty on her behalf. Guilt was a terrible thing, a consuming thing, and Solo had enough to worry about.
The crackle in the air instantly vanished.
Solo scooted away from her. "I will do what you wish."
"Not you," she said, sitting up to reach for him. She managed to wrap her fingers around his wrist. A wrist so big her fingers weren't even close to touching. He was strong, amazingly so, and that should have scared her, would have scared her, until she'd woken up and discovered everything he'd done for her. "You are--" Dizziness had her swaying, moaning.
Solo returned in an instant, pulling from her grip to cradle the back of her head. He eased her down, and she battled an urge to snuggle into the warmth of his body, to know she was safe and protected for once in her life and maybe even . . . cherished.
He didn't cherish her, though, did he. He liked kissing her, she was sure, and had wanted more, but sex had never been and would never be proof of someone's affection.
"You sat up too quickly, after lying down too long."
"I wasn't talking to you," she assured him. "Before, I mean."
"Then to whom were you talking?" He paused to shake his head, perhaps recalling the other time they'd had this conversation, when the question had been directed at him. "And why were you beaten? You never told me."
She licked her lips. "You once told me you talked to invisible men."
He sucked in a breath and moved away from her. "No, I didn't say I did. Only that I might be."
Fine. "Do you believe there's another world at work around us?"
"Very much so."
Her eyes widened. He'd admitted that so easily, as if he had no fear of her reaction. "Really?"
"Yes."
"Me too."
"And?"
"And, I . . . was talking to someone in that realm," she said, and waited for him to admit to knowing Dr. E and X.
A minute passed.
Another.
"So, why were you beaten?" he finally prompted, no hint of his emotions revealed.
Maybe he didn't know the pair kept tabs on him. If not, she didn't want to be the one to tell him. "Matas is twisted, warped, and on a power trip. That's why."
Solo reached out to smooth the hair from her brow. He caught himself just before contact and dropped his arm to his side. "I know you aren't a fan of violence, bu
t when you were delivered to me I broke his arm in a way that it can never be put back together. He won't be hitting you again."
Another deed to protect her. "Thank you," she said, fighting a sickening deluge of dread. Clearly he was done touching her, even in the smallest way, and he might even regret kissing her. Why else would he want to maintain such a great distance between them?
But . . . but . . . she wasn't done with him, and didn't want him to be done with her.
He looked at her, thought for a moment. His shoulders bunched with tension. "How long has the circus been in operation?"
I can do this. I can chat as if nothing's wrong. "Jecis's great-great-grandfather opened it, and the oldest son has always taken over."
"How has he not been shut down?"
"He not only uses lookouts to prevent cops from making it into the circus, but when he can, he pays the higher-ups to ignore him."
"You've seen these higher-ups?"
"Oh, yes." Jecis loved to entertain, and though Audra was the candy on his arm, the one he kept at his side during any such events, Vika had watched from the shadows whenever possible.
"And you could point them out if I showed you photographs?"
Hold everything. "Are you a cop?" she asked, the idea not surprising her. It did concern her, however. After she freed him, he might try and arrest her.
A pause. A flicker of guilt in his eyes. Then, "Let's just say I have a vested interest in closing the circus once and for all."
Relieved that she wouldn't have to worry about being tossed into another prison cell, she said, "Yeah, me too."
He arched a brow. "Where do you plan to live when you escape?"
She pictured the beautiful cabins in New Colorado, the ones she wasn't yet able to afford--the homes that could be sold at any time while she scrimped and saved. "I'll find a place."
He rubbed two fingers over his jaw. "Wherever it is, modifications will need to be made."
For her deafness, he meant. "Are you going to come over and fix it?" she asked, and promptly wished she could snatch back the words. How wonderful it would be to have him inside her sanctuary, just because he wanted to be there. But with the way he was currently acting, there was no way he would--
"I would be willing to do so, yes."
Pleasure was a soft, sweet rain against her skin. "Really?"
"Really."
"Would you demand payment?"
His eyes narrowed to tiny slits. Scowling, he pushed to his feet and stomped to the far corner. Only then did she realize her mistake.
"Solo," she said, but he ignored her. "Solo. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to question your honor or anything like that."
Silence.
But of course, she lived in a world of silence. "I really am sorry."
Again, silence.
"I was afraid you were angry with me, because I had stiffened during our kiss, but I only stiffened because I was nervous about what we were doing. I've never done anything like it before. And then, when you said you wanted to come over to my new house and help me, I asked if you would demand payment because I wanted you to say yes. I was going to tell you that I would pay you in kisses. I just . . . I wanted you to know that I liked what we did, but I didn't know how else to tell you."
She had zero experience with men who were not the spawn of the devil or related by blood. Or both. Townies had never been an option, and none of the boys at the circus had wanted to risk her father's wrath. And after her time in the big city, alone, frightened, and witnessing the cruelest of deeds, she'd wanted nothing to do with any male . . . and maybe even ladies with mustaches.
A few days ago, she would have balked at the mere idea of being handled by hands as big and rough as Solo's--and probably had! Now, with his sweetness so fresh in her mind, she just wanted another kiss.
She inched into a sitting position, but even still, the dizziness returned full force and she had to close her eyes. This time, Solo didn't rush to her side.
Could nothing go right for her? Ever?
"Fine. Be that way," she said, riding the tide of resentment. "Act like a baby princess." If Solo wanted to pout because she'd inadvertently insulted him, whatever. That was his prerogative. "Normally I wouldn't say something like this, but I'm going to make an exception for you. I hope you enjoy your solitude. And by that I mean I hope you choke on it!"
Nineteen
Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life.
--PROVERBS 13:12
HER FINAL WORDS WERE certainly fitting. Solo was choking on his solitude. His mind refused to settle, was stuck on one thought. She had liked his kiss, had wanted more. Not because she'd felt obligated to him or because she had wished to soften him. Just because.
He almost wished she hadn't told him. Now his body hungered for her on a level he'd never before experienced, a level that mocked everything else he'd felt, as if he'd never really known what it was to crave something. Now he knew.
He wanted her desperately.
He needed her frantically.
He had to have her. Couldn't hold out much longer.
But he had to hold out. Not for any of the reasons he'd previously entertained but for a new one. Reason one hundred and three. Already he reacted terribly when she was hurt. If he claimed her, he would grow more attached to her, and if he grew any more attached to her, he wasn't sure how he would react when Jecis came to take her away. And Jecis would come to take her away.
Solo needed to think about the best course of action, the best way to handle this.
Vika had moved to the far corner of the cage, where the strongest beams of light hit but fewer bugs approached her. He claimed the center and lay flat on his stomach. He balanced his weight on his hands and his toes and pushed up, lowered, pushed up, working out the tension in his arms.
By the two hundredth descent, a slow burn had worked its way into his biceps. He did two hundred more before rolling to his back and performing just as many sit-ups. Sweat trickled down his chest and back in little rivulets. His mind whirled.
If Vika ever found out about his past . . . about his side job . . . she would no longer trust him on any level, and would not want him out of the cage. She would dump him into the same category of evil as her father and Matas.
She wouldn't understand the difference between a necessary kill and a cold-blooded one. But then, she wouldn't need to, he realized a second later. His kills hadn't always been necessary. Sometimes he'd had to take out innocents to get to his targets--and those operations had been performed in cold blood.
Those were the jobs that had left a dark film of acid over his skin.
Those were also the jobs that had caused him to question his line of work, to debate leaving the agency. And really, he would have left a long time ago, if not for John and Blue. They'd needed him.
"What are you doing?" Vika asked, ending the cold-shoulder treatment.
"Exercising. Getting oxygen to my brain." And maybe it was working.
His thoughts suddenly jumped from a curved road to a straight one. So what if he reacted terribly whenever she was hurt? So what if he grew any more attached to her? So what if she wouldn't be happy with his job situation? No other man had ever kissed her. No other man had ever held her. Solo had been the first. A sense of possessiveness rose up inside him, consuming him.
Solo would be the only.
He would have her, he decided, and his motions slowed. He would enjoy her for whatever time they had left in these lands. He would be her man, and she would be his woman.
His woman. Oh, how he liked the sound of that. He would work to make it so. Whatever proved necessary.
With the decision, relief filled him, and inside, where instinct swirled, a sudden knowing bloomed. This was right. This was supposed to happen.
The revelation left him reeling. Used to be, he'd had a knowing each and every day, an internal knowledge that had nothing to do with an external voice. Truth had risen up inside him,
urging him to do exactly what he needed to do to survive--and not just to survive, but to thrive. Go here. Don't go here. Do this. Don't do this.
But after too many promptings to do things he hadn't really wanted to do--turn down a job, stay away from John or Blue for a certain length of time--he'd begun to rationalize. Maybe he had misunderstood, he'd told himself. Maybe he was missing it.
After he'd ignored one too many knowings, they'd just stopped rising, and he'd had only X to guide him. He'd convinced himself he was happier that way. But he hadn't been happier. He'd ignored his companion, too, and had made stupid decisions, as evidenced by the explosion in Michael's office. Well, no more. He wasn't going to ignore another knowing. Not this time. This was right, and he would win Vika's trust.
Before, he had scared her, had pushed for too much too fast. Solo would rather rot in this cage forever than frighten Vika in any way. He never wanted her to look at him as she looked at her father and Matas. He would go slowly this time, would ease her into every new experience.
And there was no better time to start. He straightened, his gaze locking on his beautiful Vika. Target acquired. Poor darling.
"What?" she asked, shifting uncomfortably. "Not that I'm speaking to you."
Hadn't ended the cold-shoulder treatment, after all. "I'm thinking."
"About?"
"About our arrangement." He looked her over, this fairy princess come to save the beast. Blond hair was tangled around a dirt-smudged face. Her hands nervously twisted the fabric of her shirt. He definitely had some preliminary work to do. But . . . he didn't mind. Was actually thrilled by it.
He wanted more than sex, he realized.
He wanted to soothe and comfort her, to talk to and laugh with her. He wanted . . . everything. Her mind, her emotions, her thoughts, hopes and dreams. He wanted to learn about her, every little detail, and tell her about himself. He'd never before had that with a woman.
He wanted to know about the invisible man she'd mentioned. He'd wanted to question her right away but hadn't let himself. That line of conversation would invite her to ask about X and Dr. E, and he wasn't ready to confess. Did she have a protector, like him? Did she have a tormentor?
"Well," she huffed, "there's nothing you can ever say to make me speak to you again."
His lips twitched with an amusement that was just as potent as his desire, astonishing him. "I'll come up with something."