Page 5 of Resurrection

She tucks a phantom piece of blond hair into her fancy braid. Her nervous habit, and the realization she still does it, makes my heart kick. My fingers throb at the memory of being buried in her hair. There are a few things I’d love buried in her right now. Her short skirt, tight white T-shirt, and the navy blazer take me back seventeen years.

Seventeen years.Christ, I’m fucking old. She’s five years older than me and looks like she’s straddling thirty. How is that possible? She’s forty-five.

“Surprised?” She shoves her bulky purse higher onto her shoulder but doesn’t leave the doorway.

“Yeah, considering I told you to stay the hell away.”

I’m pissed off and grateful at the same time. She saved my life… again. Her caught up in my messy business is what I don’t want, have never wanted.

Carys straightens, and her heels are muted by the carpeted floor as she ambles toward my bed. “I should have let you die?”

“You shoulda stayed out of it.”

“Maybe I could have if you hadn’t called me when you were dying in a field. Maybe if you hadn’t told me you suspected the FBI was involved.” Her amber eyes are thoughtful as she searches my face. “Maybe if I could stop giving a shit whether you’re still somewhere out in the world, alive.”

“A few months ago, when we had sex in Boston, we agreed I was… How’d you phrase it?” Not that I’d forget. “Paying my debt because you saved my life seventeen years ago.” I raise my eyebrows.

The memory is scorched into my synapsis. Carys teetering off the chair in the kitchen, drunk, me catching her, swinging her up into my arms. Her lips pressed against my neck and then she murmured in my ear,You’re alive because of me. How will you pay me back?Over and over again that night, I gave her my payment, and she screamed my name in thanks.

Her pale-pink lips twist, and she crosses her arms. Her eyes narrow and then dance with mischief.

“Hmmm… Is that how that night went?”

She’s close enough to the bed that if my wounds were healed a touch more, I’d snatch her, yank her onto my lap. Her laughter would echo through the room like it used to years ago. Amused, aroused. But she’s just out of reach, and when I shift too quickly my stitches strain at the seams.

“Happy to pay you back for this one too,” I say.

Her lips rise in a rueful smile, and she eases away from the bed, more distance between us.

“You overpaid last time.”

“Makes me feel like you’re undervaluing my life.” I stare, willing her to come closer.

She avoids eye contact and recrosses her arms. “Who shot you?”

“Mydeartháir beag.” I run a frustrated hand through my hair and wince. Everything hurts. “I honestly can’t fucking believe it.”

“Need more painkillers?”

I give a half smile. “I got other things in mind to dull my pain.”

Something buzzes in her bag, and she slides one strap off her arm, rummaging around until she finds it. She bites her lip, and her brow creases. “I have to take this. I’ll come back to check on you later.” Carys heads for the door, her phone pressed to her ear before I can protest.

When she’s gone, my chest strains with an ache the painkillers can’t dull. The pain might be my stitches, or it just might be my traitorous heart.

Chapter Two

Carys

As soon as I’m out of Finn’s room and down the hall, I hang up on the telemarketer and lean against the wall. Seeing him so haggard, so injured makes my chest constrict. Flirting with him, getting close to him, half expecting him to toss me onto the bed to have his way with me, causes the lower half of my body to pulse with desire. Never before Finn, and not once after, has the mere sight of a man made me weak with longing.

“You okay?” Eve pokes her head out of her office door.

“Sure, yeah.” I straighten and tug on my jacket. “It’s just—yeah, I’m fine.”

“He looks rough, but he’s okay. Or he’ll be fine as long as he doesn’t get shot or stabbed again anytime soon.”

Dropping my phone into my bag, I purse my lips together. “He’s been no trouble?”

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