Rogue's Passion Read online

  A strand of hair stuck to her lips. Without thinking, he ran the back of his finger down the side of her face to release it. “And then what happened?”

  She took a deep breath that came out ragged. He thought for a moment that she might be crying, but he didn’t notice any tears. “The army found out about him somehow and came to the house. We never saw him after…after that night. We did get letters from him at first. Poetry, mostly, but it was clear that they were being monitored. Words and blocks of text were blacked out. Then one day, they just stopped coming. It’s been ten years now and I still miss him.”

  He couldn’t imagine how hard that must’ve been. The army was very good at tearing loved ones apart and destroying lives. “Where did they take him?”

  She shrugged. “To a top-secret training facility, but we never heard where.”

  “Wasn’t there anything your mother and father could do?”

  “My father?” The small noise in her throat was either a stifled laugh or a choke. “There wasn’t anything he could do. They killed him the night my brother was taken.”

  * * *

  As soon as they got to the grey Mustang parked on Olive Street, they checked the news stations and heard that the HOT was going to be closed for a few days. Olivia wasn’t getting back to her apartment any time soon.

  “Good.” Asher groaned as he carefully shifted his bruised body. “Guess that means you can drive me around to look for my dog.”

  “I don’t mind healing you, Ash. Really. It’s no trouble.”

  “No.” He’d seen how much it had taken out of her to help the woman from the club. He’d heal fine on his own.

  For several hours, they drove down every street and into every neighborhood within a five-mile radius of the explosion and still didn’t find Conry. Asher was trying not to lose hope, but things weren’t looking good. He hadn’t wanted to consider it before, but maybe something had happened to Conry in the blast.

  “We’re stopping?” He looked over at Olivia as she pulled the grey Mustang to the side of the road near the circular entrance to Volunteer Park.

  She turned in the driver’s seat to face him. Was she planning to give him a reality check? Turning away, he braced himself to hear her say they should stop searching.

  Of course she couldn’t know what that dog meant to him. Not only had Conry saved his life a few times on this side of the portal, but he was there for Asher on the other side when no one else was. No, he would not give up. Ever. That dog was his best friend and meant more to him than most people.

  “Do you mind if I say a little prayer?” she asked softly.

  His head snapped up. “A prayer?”

  “I didn’t know if that would make you uncomfortable. That’s why I’m asking.”

  He wasn’t a religious man, but it didn’t bother him. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

  Folding her hands in her lap, she bowed her head. “Dear Saint Anthony, please come ’round. Conry’s been lost and can’t be found. He’s a very special dog, so please return him to us.” She opened her eyes.

  Asher snorted. “That’s a prayer?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “I know it had some rhyming issues, but I think my point was clear. Trust me.”

  He liked how her mismatched eyes lit up when he teased her. “So who is this Saint Anthony?”

  “He’s the patron saint of lost things,” she explained. “When you ask for his help, he’s supposed to find what’s lost. Or at least that’s what my Catholic mom always says. Can’t find your keys, your cell phone, your glasses? You ask him for help.” She reached behind her neck, unclasped a necklace he hadn’t noticed she’d been wearing and held it up. A small, round medallion swung from the thin gold chain. “This is my Saint Anthony pendant. I want you to have it till we find him.”

  What if he didn’t find Conry right away? How would he get it back to her? “But—”

  “No arguing,” she said, as if she had been expecting this. “I insist.” She leaned over the console and held it out. The pendant dangled from her hand like a hypnotist’s necklace, flashing in the light from a nearby streetlamp. He was struck by the fact that by accepting it, he was crossing an unseen threshold with her. No longer would she be a beautiful stranger who had briefly helped him. He would have something of hers that he’d need to return, thus ensuring they’d see each other again.

  With his good hand, he reached for it, but she shook her head. “No, let me.”

  “Okay.”

  Her lips were parted and her breath fluttered over his jaw as she put the chain around his neck. It was all he could do to keep from kissing her, to cup the back of her head and pull her mouth to his. He held back. There was a vulnerability about her that made him want to protect her. But the last time he’d brought a woman into his life for more than just a quick roll in the sack, it had ended in disaster. He’d vowed never to let it happen again.

  “Sorry,” she said. “This lobster clasp is really small.”

  “No problem,” he said as he stared at the tiny pulse at the base of her throat. “Where did you get it?”

  “My mom gave it to me so that I would never get lost.” She gave a little shrug of one shoulder. “She worries about me a lot.”

  He was touched that she would lend it to him. A piece of her hair tickled his cheek, but he didn’t want to brush it away. What he really wanted to do was to run his fingers over her jaw to see if her skin was as velvety smooth as it looked. He would kiss her there, then on that little hollow below her ear.

  When she finished, she tucked the chain into the neck of his shirt, taking care not to jar him too much. As if he would’ve cared if she had.

  She lightly patted his chest where the pendant lay against his heart. “There. That should do it.” Then she sat back in her seat as if she did this sort of thing every day.

  He had the urge to ignore his pain, pull her onto his lap, and kiss the hell out of her. But she wasn’t like the women he usually surrounded himself with—women who would expect him to do something like that.

  He cleared his throat, his voice tight and raspy. “And does it work?”

  “Yeah, you’d be surprised. I’ll be at my wits end, looking for something, then after praying for Saint Anthony’s help, I suddenly find it.”

  “Thanks. For everything.” He turned away, staring silently into the darkness through the open windows. He hoped she was right.

  “If the situation were reversed, I would like to think someone would help me, too.”

  She shifted in her seat and reached for her phone.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Just for the heck of it, I’m going to call the Animal Control hotline again. See if the message has been updated yet.” She hit redial and held the cell phone up to her ear. “Oh. Oh,” she said, sitting up straighter. “The recorded message was updated twenty minutes ago. A dude is reading off all the dogs that have been picked up recently. Get me a piece of paper.”

  He opened the glove box but didn’t see anything to write on.

  “Ahhhh. Hurry.” She snapped her fingers. “I’ve got a notepad in my bag.”

  He grabbed the messenger bag from the backseat, found the pad of paper and shoved it at her. With the phone in the crook of her neck, she listened. A minute or two passed, but it felt like an eternity. He prayed to the Fates that there was news of Conry. Good news.

  She let out a gasp and started scribbling. “I think they have him.”

  “Are you sure?” His heart pounded in his chest.

  She referred to her notes. “A long-haired male greyhound was picked up in the 700 block of downtown a half hour after the blast. Ash, that’s less than a mile away from the site.”

  He slumped into the seat and felt every ache and pain again. “Conry isn’t a greyhound. He’s a deerhound.”

  “Greyhound. Deerhound. They’ve got a similar body shape, right? How many dogs like that do you think they picked up near explosion?”

  He still wasn’t c
onvinced. “Yes, but—”

  She reached over, wrapped her cool hand around his wrist, and gave a little squeeze. “They’re just guessing at what kind of dog he is. Some of the people at the shelter are just volunteers and accurately pinpointing the breed of a stray dog can be a crapshoot. They could easily have it wrong.”

  “But—”

  She threaded her fingers through his. He was suddenly grateful that his right shoulder was the injured one, not his left. Her thumb stroked his hand as she talked. She was probably unaware that she was doing it, but he wasn’t.

  “When I was a kid, our German shepherd got picked up by Animal Control. They had her listed as being a Husky mix. We almost missed going down there because we didn’t think it could be her. Come on. A Husky and a German shepherd?” She rolled her eyes. “They’re completely different dogs, but thank God we did. It turned out to be her.”

  “So what does this mean?”

  “It means they have Conry. And first thing in the morning when they open, we’ll be there to pick him up.”

  As she angled the car onto the road, it occurred to him that she’d used the word we.

  Chapter Six

  Reckless Motor Sports was located about an hour outside of the city, surrounded by a huge off-road park with dirt trails and jumps, not far from one of the main roads leading into the mountains. If Olivia were into dirt bikes, loud engines, extreme sports, and didn’t mind a few broken bones now and then, this place would be heaven. Maybe in the daytime the perspective would be different, but illuminated by only a flash of the Mustang’s headlights, some of the jumps looked freaking treacherous.

  At Asher’s direction, she drove the car around the side of a large, nondescript metal building. Several nice motorcycles—Harleys, she thought—were parked near the back entrance next to a tricked-out black muscle car, an old Honda sedan, and a dented Dodge Charger. At the loading dock on the far end, a forklift was unloading a pallet of boxes from a large container truck. She could hear the beep beep beep through the rolled-up windows.

  They must do a lot of business to have a night crew, she thought, yawning.

  Given that it was after three in the morning, the events of the day had finally caught up to her. She couldn’t wait to tumble into bed, but that was another hour away still. Asher was going to see if one of the guys here could take her to a nearby motel. It’d be much simpler if she healed him the rest of the way, then he could take her himself. She tried telling him that using her Talent on him earlier had taken much less out of her than normal, but he wouldn’t have it.

  “This place must do a lot of business to run a twenty-four-hour shop.”

  Asher nodded. “Yeah, Rand does pretty well.”

  A man came through the unmarked steel door with a bag of trash. He stared at them, an unwelcoming scowl plastered to his face, as he tossed the bag into the green Dumpster. Without an acknowledgement, he turned and re-entered the building.

  “Is that him?” she asked warily.

  “Who?”

  “Rand.”

  Asher shook his head. “No, that’s his cousin James.”

  “Is he the one you think will give me a ride?” She certainly hoped not—she hated grumpy people—but she wanted to know now in order to get into the right frame of mind. If so, she’d listen to music and tune him out completely.

  “Him?” His laugh was harsh and humorless. “I wouldn’t let him near you.”

  Let him? A little thrill ran unbidden down her spine. As a rule, she didn’t like domineering and controlling men. And yet, although she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, she liked the idea that Asher was looking out for her.

  “You wouldn’t? Why not?”

  “Hell, no. He’s a scary sonofabitch.”

  That piqued her interest. It wasn’t that she was necessarily curious about James, but she wanted to know why Asher felt that way about the guy. One’s weaknesses and fears often told you more about a person than their strengths.

  “The army fucked with his head. I don’t trust him around you.”

  There was that protectiveness again. She exhaled slowly to keep this man from getting a hold on her.

  “What did they do him?” Had Vince been screwed up like this, too? Could that be why they hadn’t heard from him? No. She quickly shut down that glimmer of home. They hadn’t heard from him because he was most likely dead.

  Asher pressed his lips into a hard line. “Won’t talk about it and we don’t ask. Just stay clear of him.” He groaned as he reached for the door handle.

  “Here,” she said, climbing out of the car, “let me help you with that.” She jogged around to the passenger side. Half expecting him to decline any aid, she was pleasantly surprised when he let her help him. She could easily push some of her healing energy into him right now, but since he’d refused earlier, she didn’t want to force it on him without his permission.

  “Holy Fates,” he grumbled. “Is every muscle tied to my ribs?”

  “Not every muscle.” The moment the words left her mouth, she realized how suggestive that sounded, and her cheeks heated. She tried her best to cover up the gaffe. “Remember that old song?” She hummed a few bars, then glanced up to get his reaction. He had a strange, almost confused expression. “What? I take it you’ve never heard it before.”

  “Can’t say that I have.” He shut the car door behind him.

  “The point is that everything in our bodies is connected. Broken ribs are really painful, but if you’d let me heal you further—”

  “No,” he growled.

  “Why not? Back in the city you were going to force me to heal you. Why have you suddenly changed your mind?”

  With his good hand, he reached out and lifted her chin, and whatever she was going to say slipped from her mind.

  Her heart raced, her breath caught in her throat, and her vision narrowed until it was only the two of them in the entire world. She was ready to throw out her self-imposed moratorium on bad boys and let him kiss the hell out of her.

  But instead of a smoldering expression, heavy with promise, Asher just looked pissed. Almost dangerous. Eyes blazing with anger, nostrils slightly flared, he glared at her. “I don’t want this, Olivia.”

  What was he talking about? Her healing him? She wouldn’t bring it up again, if it bothered him so much. “Want what?” she asked, just to make sure that was what he meant.

  “You.” His hard gaze darted to her mouth.

  “Me?” That little thrill shot through her again, and this time it was accompanied by a warm, tingling sensation between her legs.

  Then his fingers were in her hair, pulling her head back. A tiny sound escaped her throat as his mouth came down over hers.

  Asher overpowered all her senses. Every single one. All she could breathe and taste and feel was him. His tongue pressed against the seam of her lips and her mouth parted. As he plunged inside, his good hand slipped down to the small of her back, then lower still to cup her ass. She responded by arching her hips closer and wrapping her arms around his neck, careful of his injuries. He groaned in response—or it could’ve been the pain—and kissed her harder.

  With her defenses lowered, her healing energy trickled into him. She attempted to put up her mental barriers again, but with this close, intimate contact, it was hard to stem the flow completely. She could sense that his cracked ribs were knitting back together. “Asher, I—”

  “I can’t want you,” he said, interrupting her, his lips skimming the sensitive skin along her jaw. Goosebumps sprang up all over her arms and legs in response and she forgot that she was healing him. “You’re not my type. Not even close.”

  He’d already told her he’d been at the club with a few women, including Monique, so she knew his type. Tall, voluptuous, flashy, and very beautiful. And he was right. She was none of those things.

  “And you’re not mine, either.”

  At least the type she needed: a calm, stable man with an even temper and a predictabl
e future. Being from the other side of an Iron Portal, Asher was about as far from that description as any man could be. But did that matter right now?

  Hardly.

  Her fingers threaded into his hair as her mouth found his again. She pushed her tongue past his lips, her turn to explore him. That caused a rumble to vibrate in his chest. He tasted like vanilla and mint and he smelled like soot and ash. One hundred and ten percent male.

  “That’s good,” he said, as if he could read her thoughts, his voice as rough as the gravel beneath their feet. “But I want you to stay with me. Just for tonight.”

  Her heart pounded. “Stay with you? Here?”

  He trailed a string of kisses along her breastbone, just above the neckline of her dress, and his hair tickled her nose and chin. “The apartment isn’t fancy, but it’s clean and no one will bother us. Besides, it’s too late for you to go anywhere else tonight.”

  It was a tempting proposition—he was so damned hot. If she stayed with him tonight, maybe she could get this bad boy out of her system and move on. And he did have a point. It was late. Or early, rather. It made sense for her to stay the night and deal with getting home in the morning.

  “I want you with me to get Conry,” he said, sensing that she was caving. His hand was at her breast now, his thumb caressing her pebble-hard nipple beneath layers of fabric. “And then I’ll take you home myself.”

  He drew her earlobe between his teeth and nipped at the delicate skin. Hardly able to think straight anymore, she sucked in a ragged breath. The last of her common sense was evaporating, but she gave one last try. “Unless you let me heal you, you really should go straight to sleep.”

  “Trust me, Olivia,” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear, his tone seductively mesmerizing. “Not every part of me was hurt. The most important parts are still fully functioning.”

  “But—”

  “Let’s worry about everything else in the morning.”

  * * *