Chapter 20 - Playing with Fire

Nicky closed her eyes and leaned back in her desk chair, a high-backed, Italian leather indulgence used so often that there was a permanent dent from her butt. Light from the dual screens made patterns on the inside of her eyelids. The one program would run without her help for now. With any luck, it would divulge what she needed in a neat little package. The other screen was static. She was waiting for a message on a secure bulletin board, not sure if she wanted it or not. She didn't mind waiting. She had other things to do. She glanced at the second screen, then turned away from the computer, reluctantly leaving the world she liked best.

The music needed to change. Alternative metal was exactly what she wanted while working, but in any other setting it annoyed her. The laptop on top of the book cases in the living room had one purpose, to fill her house with sound. She switched play lists and looked around the room. Red hot mess. She sighed. The time had come to clean.

Despite her reluctance to begin, cleaning was always cathartic. She made a pile for pieces of clothing that had somehow ended up on the couch, the floor, a shelf. She ran her fingers over the soft, thick blanket that normally lay across the back of the couch. It was the same brick red as the walls, cozy and comforting. The blanket was balled up and half under one of the cushions, the result of a night when she was too tired to wait for a message but too afraid of missing it. She had fallen asleep. The message still had not arrived. She threw the blanket into the laundry pile.

Clearing the coffee table took some time. Books had to be put back in the proper place. Other things could be out of order, but not her books. Organized shelves and pictures that hung straight were the only thing she was fanatic about. The few magazines were dumped in a basket by the bookshelf. Those were fleeting; books were forever. She took a rag and polish from the closet and set to work on the wood – shelves, tables, the frame of the couch. She liked the pattern of the different grains, the shine, the warmth they gave to the space. The smell of her favorite polish, sandalwood with a hint of orange, filled the room. The best part of all was that polishing took no real thought, leaving her brain to scroll through subjects at random.

No matter where she started, her thoughts turned back to Gage. It had not been a complete surprise that he was alive. She had suspected that the devil would not die that easily. She really had mourned him, but that didn't mean she was glad he was back in her life. He complicated things for her and always had.

Now he would complicate Deira's life, too. Nicky was not invested in the girl, except as a way to clear her debt, but it irritated her that the pattern was being repeated. Or maybe I'm just jealous because he wants her. She wanted to ignore that thought, but this wasn't the first time she'd had it. Gage was her personal devil and she didn't want to share. It wasn't the sex she craved, it was the way they sparred with words regardless of whether their ideas were in conflict or harmony. If he got himself killed for real over some blonde bitch, there would be no one she could play with that way. She had missed him. There was something seriously wrong with that.

A soft ping came from the computer, barely discernible under the Bhangra coming from her speakers. She was almost afraid to look at the message. Everything turned on this, though she was the only one who knew it, the only one who would. She took a deep breath and began reading. A smile slowly formed, wicked and satisfied. Game on.

Katya was cooking when Gage came downstairs. He identified the mixture of smells as her mother's beef stroganov. It was what Irina had made the last time he had visited. He wondered if Katya remembered that. She moved around the kitchen like her mother, efficient yet relaxed. She even had her hair piled up the same haphazard way, secured with a pair of take-out chopsticks.

"Are you going to just stand there or help?" Katya asked. He opted to help.

Deira came downstairs and made her way slowly to the table. There was a glass of pineapple juice waiting for her. It was supposed to help heal the bruising, and it seemed to be working. Of course, she had also been applying witch hazel and comfrey cold packs throughout the day, so there was no telling which home remedy was responsible for the fading bruises. In combination with the drugs, she was recovering faster than she would have thought possible. She still hurt like hell, though. She leaned back on the bench.

Katya glanced over at the table and dropped her spoon in the sauce. She arched an eyebrow at Gage. He just shook his head. They were not going to discuss it. Her mouth set in a straight line. She turned back to the stove, retrieving the spoon.

"You can't tell me something isn't up," Katya murmured while he was draining the noodles.

"I told you there was, just not what. And that will not change." He could not control her any better than he did Deira.

"No, you skirted around it, but it doesn't matter. I know all I need to know anyway."

"The important thing," said Deira, "is do you like it?"

"I do," Katya answered. "You look good with red hair. It just shocked me."

"Auburn, to be exact, and thank you. I always wanted to see what it would be like to be a redhead. My dad used to say that if I dyed my hair, he would cut it off. Better to save him the plane trip and do it myself." She shook her head. Her curls were wilder without the extra weight. Gage nodded at her, a silent appreciation for derailing the conversation.

"I am going to sleep on the couch tonight," Katya announced after dinner. "Deira can have my room."

"That is not necessary," Gage said.

"Oh? I think Deira would be more comfortable in a bed, don't you?" She smiled sweetly.

"Since I'm right here, I can tell you that sleeping on the couch will be fine." Deira tried to head off the argument.

"No." Gage and Katya said together.

"I'm going to be up late working on my paper. I might as well set up in the living room. I work better with the TV on anyway. And that's a really comfortable couch." Katya looked at both of them. "Please don't argue with me."

"Thank you," Deira said.

"I will clean up." Gage cleared the table.

"Big surprise," Deira whispered. Katya laughed and went into the living room, closing the door behind her.

"She thinks we're sleeping together," Deira said.

"We have."

"That's not what I mean."

"I know that."

She sat back and watched him, not wanting to leave. Ever. There was more to say, but neither one of them was ready to say it. After a few moments, she got up and made her way painfully upstairs. The bag with her clothes was in the corner of Gage's room. She changed into her nightshirt, dug out her toothbrush and went into the bathroom. She left the bag where it was, her clothes in a pile on top of it. When she returned, he was sitting in the chair. The lights were off.

"Do you want to stay here?" His low voice slid over her skin.

"You know I do. But I've caused enough trouble between you and Katya."

"Let me worry about that."

"Do you want me to stay here?"

"Why else would I have asked?"

She stood still, trying to separate thought from emotion. He hadn't answered her question. Not really. She wished she could see his eyes. As if he's not capable of hiding what he's thinking.

"Why do you want to stay?" he asked.

"Because I don't remember my dreams when I sleep next to you. Because I like the scent of you on my clothes when I wake up. Because it reminds me that I'm human."

He said nothing.

"I shouldn't have told you any of that."

"But you did."

"And you've told me nothing."

"No? I have told you I want you to stay. Is that not enough?"

She let out a breath she'd not known she was holding. "I don't know. I don't know anything when I'm around you. I'm tired of being confused. God, I'm so tired."

He rose from the chair, a fluid movement that brought him to her. She could feel the heat of him. He smelled like home. It was all wrong. It was all she wanted. He took her hand and led her to the bed.

"Stay because you want to," he said. "Let that be reason enough."

She gave in and crawled into the bed. He closed the door and joined her. He took her hand and kissed it gently, then placed it over his scar. She turned to look at him.

"You wanted to know how it felt." He lay still, controlling his breathing, as she ran her fingers over the scar.

"You won't tell me how you got this." It wasn't a question.

"No."

"And this one?" Her hand traveled over his chest to rest on the circular scar.

"I told you. Sometimes I make mistakes."

"Is this a mistake?" she asked, continuing to explore his skin.

"Yes."

"I could go."

"You could, but you won't."

"You seem very sure of that."

He chuckled. "You are in my bed of your own accord, princess. And you have admitted that it is where you want to be. I am quite sure of that."

She slid her fingers under the waistband of his pants. He took her wrist, rolled, and pinned it to the pillow over her head. He looked down at her, his body over hers, not quite touching. He leaned down and kissed her for the first time since the night they had met. She put her other hand on his chest, feeling his heart race. The kiss was gentle but there was tension running through him, a fight for control. He was trying not to hurt her. She arched towards him, ignoring the twinge in her back, the ache of her ribs, seeking a better pain. He let go of her wrist, placed his hand over her hip and pushed her flat on the bed. He ran his hand over her stomach and she quivered.

"You want more," he whispered in her ear.

"Yes."

"There will be more." He moved away, trailing his hand down her thigh. "But not tonight."

"Please," she whispered.

"I like the sound of that. I think I will make you say it. Repeatedly. But not tonight." He lay on his back, hands behind his head.

She tried again. "Don't stop now."

"I have to. You are hurt. I will not make that worse."

She pushed herself up, swung a leg over his hips and straddled him. "You just did."

She leaned down and kissed him, not careful, not caring if it hurt. He was hard against her. She tightened her legs and began to move. He groaned into her mouth. Then his hands were on her hips, lifting her off him, rolling her under him until he was towering over her, his body just out of reach.

"I have only so much control," he growled.

"Lose it."

"Oh, I promise you I will." He lowered himself so their bodies barely touched, then kissed her again.

He pulled away from her. "But not tonight."

She lay there, waiting for the ache of her injuries to be stronger than the one between her legs. He was on his side, watching her.

"Consider this another piece of unfinished business between us," he said.

She turned her back to him. He curled around her, careful not to jar her. She pushed back against him out of spite. His laugh washed over her, his breath warm on her neck.

"Good night, princess. Sleep well." For once, he fell asleep first.