“So? Wait, that sounds familiar. Isn’t Steel Software a big security software firm? One of the biggest in the Midwest, I think.”
“Steel Software, with an ‘e’, yes. This is a rip-off. That’s how our computer guru hacked in so quickly. He recognized most of the base code as his own.”
“That’s awful!”
“But common in second- and third-world countries.”
The plane shook like a car on a rough patch of road. I pushed down a slight feeling of panic. “What, you mean like China?”
“And the Middle East and the old Soviet Bloc. Ever hear of Adibas shoes? Hanghai Sharpies?”
“And you’re worried. Don’t try to deny it.” I brushed fingertips against his cheek. “Your skin is hardened like glazed pottery.”
A half-smile touched his lips. “It may be nothing. But until we know, we’re increasing staffing and security on all Alliance-protected blood centers.”
We’d broken the single-syllable barrier. But he was still hogging the window seat. One down, one to go. I reached over him to open the shade.
“Twyla.” Nikos caught my hand, his eyes telling me I’d crossed yet another of his internal lines.
“Why do you do that, anyway? All the invisible lines and such.” It hit me. “You were a Vietnam vet.”
“And other wars. Many more.”
“As a general?” We hit a pocket of nothing, dropped abruptly. My body dropped but my stomach stayed up for a second, zinging back like a snapped rubber band. I clutched the armrest, forgot about opening the shade. It was a good thing I couldn’t see out.
Nikos didn’t seem to notice. “I was more often a foot soldier as the need for anonymity grew. Twyla, are you going somewhere with this?”
He knew me so well already. “The way you talked to Jones-it sounded personal. And your fear of crowds has to be recent. You couldn’t have fought in a phalanx otherwise.”
He sighed. “And you’re just going to keep digging around my ramparts, aren’t you?”
“Yep.” My smile faltered as we rumbled over midair speed bumps.
“ Vietnam was different. Even in WWII they put us on ships to come home. We had time to discuss what had happened. You’re right. The ‘invisible lines’ as you call them, the hate of crowds, came only after Nam. Maybe dioxin impurities in Agent Orange did me permanent damage, though it’s rare for my kind not to heal.”
“No. You have PTSD.”
He stared at me as if I’d gone mad.
“Post traumatic stress disorder. I had to go to all sorts of training on it when my brother first went over to Iraq. Have you ever seen a good psychiatrist?”
He blinked. “To diagnose one of my kind? No.”
“Then I’ll call my brother. He’ll be able to recommend a few. I’ll get several names. Maybe there’s one who knows about you v-guys.”
“But-”
“No buts, Nikos. This isn’t something I want to fool around with. We need to get you healthy and happy.”
His eyes warmed. “When we are married, my life will change in more ways than one.”
“Marrie-” The plane hit a huge void. My stomach dropped out my toes. “Who said anything about marriage?”
“Healthy and happy? You dream of happily ever after, do you not?”
My cheeks heated. I never admitted that out loud, never thinking enough of myself that I deserved HEA. “Well, maybe. But I’m a strong, independent woman, as you pointed out. I don’t need to get married to be everything I can be. Especially now that I’ve found I’m good in a crisis.” Although this was shaping up to be a new crisis, and I wasn’t sure I could handle it.
“Yes. Strong and independent.” Nikos started purring, which worried me. And his sable eyes took on a distinctly persimmon cast.
“What?”
He glanced at the closed door at the back of the short cabin. Maybe it led to the restroom.
“Oh.” Cautiously I took off my seatbelt and got up, holding the seat back in case the plane pulled any more rollercoaster moves.
Nikos passed me, hooked two fingers under my neckline and bra strap and towed me in his wake.
“What-?”
He opened the door and I stared, not at a compact toilet but at wall-to-wall bed. “You can’t mean…we have turbulence. It’s dangerous. I need to keep my seatbelt on.” I lurched back toward my seat.
He hooked me again, nearly took my sweater off. “I could secure you with my ties.” His purr increased.
“Nikos, no. I’m strong and independent and-” I was sailing through the air. I landed on the bed with a whump, a very naked vampire landing on top of me. I put out hands to stop him. My palms smacked against rock-hard muscle covered in hot velvet.
“Don’t worry, love.” He leaned forward to kiss me. His weight bore me to the mattress, pinned me there. “I’ll keep you safe.”
And then, before I could say another word his mouth captured mine.
His kiss was the charge of a Spartan general, phalanx of lips, teeth and tongue ramming my resistance, spearing hot into my defenses.
But I was a strong, independent woman. I was not going down without a fight. I grabbed his shorn head and kissed him back, sparring with his tongue, darting my own fire into his dark spicy mouth.
The plane hit a pocket of turbulence and the bed stuttered under us, reminding me this was insane. I pushed elbows against mattress to lever Nikos off. It was like levering against a wall.
“Stop squirming,” he growled.
“Yeah? Or else what?” I should have remembered what happened to Xerxes.
Note to self: never challenge a Spartan.
Nikos reared to his knees over me. Damn, he was huge, the rising power of his abdominals flaring into mountains of chest. He was bowed over slightly so his head didn’t hit the ceiling of the cabin.
Breathless, I started to scrabble off the mattress. He contained me simply by squeezing me gently between his muscled thighs.
Then he seized the neckline of my v-neck sweater, one side in each hand, and ripped it in two. I’ve heard there’s a trick to tearing a phonebook in half but believe me when I say he used all muscle, no finesse in shredding the garment. I saw every jerk and bounce of his huge pecs, the sudden powerful bulge and flare of his lats, the sliding mountains of biceps as he tore the sweater open.
My breasts, encased in a lace demi-bra, were revealed.
His purr resonated through the cabin. He reached forward, cupped a breast in each big hand. He tested their weight, began to fondle them.
“Hey, Mr. Macho.” I grabbed his wrist. “What happened to admiring the strong, independent woman?”
“Woman,” he repeated with satisfaction. “All woman.” He grabbed one breast and held me firmly as he lowered his head. His breath heated the sensitive skin a moment before his mouth latched onto my nipple and suckled. I gasped.
He played the other nipple with his fingers as he suckled. “Strong, yet exquisitely sensitive. Responsive. You’re competence wrapped in seduction. I love your breasts.”
“So I see. And feel.” I shuddered as he nipped lightly, the sharp edge of teeth scoring the stiff bud. His thumb and fingers worked the other nipple, rubbing and plucking it in tandem with his nibbling. All the while his thighs cradled my body, and his erection pulsed long and hard on my belly.
Natural machismo, yes. I’d wanted to break that before it crushed me to dust. But now…thousands of years had honed his masculinity, which included boldness and dominance-but also protectiveness and honor. It made him who he was, the Nikos I loved…damn. I loved him.
This take-charge lovemaking was part of him. Part of what made Nikos the sexy Spartan he was. So why fight it?
Yeah, why fight insanity? ’Cause I must have been nuts to even think of giving in.
And yet…if insanity in small doses was simply genius…I lay back and put my arms above my head. “Love me, Nikos. Take me here, now.”
His purr thundered in the close space. He seized my wrists and pinned them to the bed, holding me captive.