Page 64 of How Much For a Life of Lies?

Asshole.

Zach shot me a glance, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Sure you would, Kai. But for now, just sit back and relax.”

I huffed, crossing my arms over my chest. “Easy for you to say,” I muttered under my breath, but Zach heard me loud and clear. “You’re not dealing with injuries.”

“No, I’m not.”

“It’s not you that jumped out of a low-flying ’korsky that was breaking up around me.”

“Uh huh,” Zach said as he smiled to himself. Asshole.

“The itching is driving me insane.” I tried to shove my finger under the cast holding my left ulna together. It wasn’t the pain that bothered me the most—though that was bad enough—it was the incessant itching that seemed to gnaw at my skin from the inside out. Every time I tried to ignore it, it seemed to intensify, spreading like wildfire across my body, and when I was bored—like now—it was worse.

“Stop doing that,” Zach warned and prodded my side.

“I wouldn’t stop you from scratching if you needed to,” I grunted.

He snorted a laugh. “I wouldn’t break my arm in the first place,” he deadpanned, and wow, that was pushing on my last nerve. Not only had he not mentioned the loving me thing, but he was poking at me.

I sighed, shifting in my seat as we headed back to Shadow Team HQ. The injuries weren’t too bad, all things considered, but the itching made them feel ten times worse. I resisted the urge to scratch at my arm, or the bandages on my temple, knowing it would only worsen things in the long run.

“Fuck my life,” I muttered under my breath, shooting a glare at Zach. “If Yuri had just given me a heads-up, then I could have tried disarming whatever device they had in the rotors. Then I wouldn’t have had to fly the impossible.”

Zach sighed, then closed the laptop, and took out the earpiece, pocketing the latter and sliding the former onto the spare seat opposite.

“What will make you stop talking?” he asked, and unbuckled to stand and stretch.

I didn’t look at the strip of skin where his T-shirt lifted. I didn’t.

“I’m bored, and it hurts, and I want to scratch, and you won’t let me,” I snapped, and knew I sounded like a four-year-old. Still, I was about ready to stand up myself and then punch him out, just because I could catch him off guard and sit on his belly. Then I could demand he repeat what he’d said about loving me so I could say it back.

Unless I said it first—maybe that was what had to happen?

I didn’t move, and then he leaned in and surprised me with a kiss, his lips warm and soft. I melted into the moment, forgetting my earlier irritations as he pulled back with a smirk.

“That’s one way to shut you up,” he teased.

My chest tightened—he was kissing me to shut me up, not because he felt something for me. All the old insecurities crashed into me; that I didn’t deserve actual love, and I wasn’t a person who’d grown up knowing what genuine love was.

He kissed me again, but this time, he wriggled onto my lap, his knees on either side of mine, and then, without crushing me, he deepened the taste. I carded my one good hand into his hair, holding tight. He might not love me, but if I got to kiss him like this every day, I guess I could handle it. He leaned back a little, balancing with his hands on the sides, and rested his forehead against mine.

“We need to talk,” he said.

“No.” I tugged his lips back to mine, “more. “More kissing.”

At first I thought he was going to argue, but the kissing won over, and the moment was electric, charged with a tension that seemed to crackle in the air between us. I felt a surge of warmth wash over me, melting away the tension that had been building inside me for so long. If kisses were a language of their own, then I was telling him I loved him with every sensual glide of my tongue, and every whispered sigh. I closed my eyes, losing myself in the sensation of his touch, the warmth of his breath mingling with mine and in that moment, there was only Zach and me, the rest of the world fading into insignificance.

When we pulled apart, the attendant reminding us we needed to buckle up for landing at the private airport near Shadow Team’s HQ; we were breathless and flushed with emotion, and I was embarrassingly hard.

“We’ll talk later,” Zach said, his tone brooking no discussion.

“Oh joy,” I teased.

He didn’t smile or roll his eyes. If anything, he was serious and focused on packing away the laptop. By the time we finally landed, I was relieved to be back on solid ground, even if it meant enduring the discomfort of my injuries a little while longer. There was no hassle with passports or customs; instead, we were whisked away from the airfield in a sleek limousine.

As we arrived at Swim Central, tension hung thick in the air between Zach and me, and then it was a mess of medical checkups, reports, files, and when I made it to bed, exhausted, and wanting sleep, I’d avoided talking to Zach at all.

Best that way.

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