Lover Mine (Black Dagger Brotherhood #8) - J.R. Ward Page 0,142

finding out brought that weakness back not just once, but perpetually.

Yet here they were with his skeleton not just out of the closet, but draped in strobe lights.

And as for his two-hour shower? He was still dying inside that she'd been hurt like that. . . It was too painful to think about, too horrible not to dwell on. Then add in his need as a bonded male to protect her and keep her safe? And the fact that he knew exactly how awful it was to be victimized in that way?

If he'd only found her sooner . . . if he'd just worked harder . . . Yeah, but she'd freed herself. Hadn't she. He hadn't been the one to spring her--for fuck's sake, he'd stood in the goddamn room she'd been raped in with her and not even known she was there. It was almost too much to live with, all the layers and the intersections making his head hum to the point where he felt like his brain had turned into a helicopter that was on the verge of levitating up, up, and away, never to 305

return again.

The only thing keeping him grounded was the prospect of killing Lash.

As long as he knew the fucker was out there breathing in the world, John had a focus that kept the roof on his house.

Killing Lash was his link to sanity and purpose, the galvanizing in his steel.

One more intrinsic weakness, though, like not avenging his female, and he was game-over.

"John," she said, clearly in an effort to pull him out of his tailspin. Focusing on her, he stared into her red, glowing eyes and was reminded that she was a symphath. Which meant she could burrow into him and trigger all of his inner trapdoors, springing his demons just to watch them dance. Except she hadn't done that, had she--she'd gotten into him, yes, but only to understand where he was at. And upon seeing into his dark parts, she wasn't yukking it up and pointing fingers at him, or recoiling in disgust. Instead, she'd prowled over to him like a she-cat, looking like she wanted to kiss him.

His eyes dropped down to her lips.

What do you know, he could stand some of that kind of connection. Words weren't enough to assuage the self-loathing he felt, but her hands on his skin, her mouth on his, her body up against his own . . . that, not talking, was what he needed.

"That's right," she said, her eyes burning, and not just from the symphath in her. "You and I need this." John reached up and put his cold, wet hands on her face. Then he looked around. Now might be the time, but here was not the place. He was not making love to her on the hard tile.

Come with me, he mouthed, standing up and pulling her to his side. His hard-on tented the front of his running shorts as they left the locker room, the urge to mate a roar in his blood that was nonetheless held in check by the need to do right by her and give her something gentle in place of the violence she'd suffered.

Instead of heading for the tunnel back to the main house, he took them to the right. There was no way he was going up to his room with her under his arm and him sporting an erection the size of an I-beam. Besides, he was soaking wet.

Way too much to explain to the perma-peanut gallery the mansion offered.

Next to the locker room, but not connected to it, was a stretching 306

facility with massage tables and a whirlpool bath in the corner. Place also had a shitload of blue mats that hadn't been used since they'd been laid down--the Brothers barely had time to spar, much less play ballerina with their precious hamstrings and glutes.

John buttressed the door closed with a plastic chair and turned to face Xhex. She was walking around, her lithe body and smooth strides better than an entire strip show, as far as he was concerned.

Reaching to the side, he killed the lights.

The red-and-white Exit sign over the door created a pool of dim light that his body split in half, his shadow a tall, dark divide that stretched all the way across the blue flooring to Xhex's feet.

"God, I want you," she said.

She wasn't going to have to say that twice. Kicking off his Nikes, he pulled his shirt over his head and