Page 23 of Peacock Me Like a Hurricane

THE BIRD BREAKS A WING AND THE CAT GETS BURNED

“Sodding swamp. Bloody rookie.” I storm into the room, cursing and muttering promises of pain and retribution that I’m happy to carry out. “Bayou. Idiot.”

The smell of swamp is clinging to me like perfume in a French whorehouse, and it’s all I can do not to roar my fury into the air. My bloody shirt is wrapped around my hand in tatters and it waves like a flag as I punch the wall panel with my non-injured fist. The wall gives way to the shiny, high tech bathroom full of every amenity we could ever need. I’m not a man that foregoes luxury, even in a space like this one. I don’t even look around as I head inside, letting the door slide close behind me. Starting up the shower, I continue my tirade, my anger having reached the boiling point in my head.

The kitty’s here because I can feel her puzzlement from the other room. Our bond floods with concern as she waits. I probably startled her, but I wasn’t worried about that when I came in, only getting this disgusting smell and grime off my body. The clothes are a write-off, no denying that.

Have I mentioned how cool it is that I can feel her?

Yeah, that’s a new one for me. Hell, it’s all a new one with her. I can close my eyes and feel the calm radiating from her. She’s sitting on that monstrosity of a bed—in size, mind, not form—waiting for me to re-emerge and explain myself. Growling again, I re-cap the evening from hell and shake my head. I don’t want to take it out on her.

When I finally feel like I’m clean, I step out and turn off the shower. Before I walk out, I root in the cabinets until I find a bandage to cover the ugliness that’s my right hand.Thatsituation is the root cause of all my ire. I wrap a towel around my waist and open the panel, steam pouring into the room. I’m still drying my hair when I look over to see what she’s doing and just about hit the floor.

I mean, Christ, how’s a man supposed to stay enraged when I’m faced with a picture like that?

She’s lying against the black and blood colored pillows on a bed full of fluffs and frills that delight me. I love them because they speak to that soft center that she wants to pretend no one sees. Her long fiery locks are spilling all over her shoulders, contrasting with her porcelain skin like a handmade doll. She’s the complete opposite of my tanned, hazel eyed, blonde maned goddess. It’s like they were made to be the sun and moon.

Did I mention that despite all the natural beauty that she seems to have no earthly idea she exudes, she’s wearing a long, lacy black wisp of something that looks like they made it to short circuit my brain?

No? She is.

“Bloody buggering hell.” That’s all I got—a whisper or a prayer to the evil below. She looks like Satan’s mistress in that get up on that bed, and it ties my tongue in knots.

She frowns at me, seeing the bandage before anything else. I could have predicted that and won a pile of cash if I’d been soinclined. Scooting to the edge of the bed, she sits back on her haunches and holds her hand out. “What happened, baby?”

Son of a bitch, it kills me.

She likes that I appreciate the simple things, and her calling me all manner of endearments is easily one of them. I know she’s waiting for me to answer, but my eyes are following curves and soft skin and silk. I finally drag my eyes away and manage to unswallow my tongue. “You want the Big Bad version or the truth?”

She shrugs, hair falling in waves all over again. “Whichever you prefer. Although, I suspect I’ll end up getting both.”

Boy, isn’t she the smart cookie? She knows that she has me wrapped like a gift in December.

“First, can I say thank you?” I gesture at the negligee, the hair, the bed—the entire vision of temptation—that took a shit day and made it fade into oblivion within seconds.

Her grin is impish. “I had it lying around.”

“Good thing, that. As to the hand, I was so brassed off at what happened and in such a bloody hurry to get back to you that I wasn’t paying attention. I slammed it in the sodding car door when I was returning Talia’s car.”

Humility isn’t my strong suit on any day, so take note that I admitted my own complete idiocy to this woman without a single bit of reservation. She does that to me: strips me bare and leaves the best parts of me on display.

“What happened? Why did you have a car?”

I shake my head, coming over to our bed. “No. Not until you let me touch you and hold you. Not until I tell you I love you and missed you like the damned today.”

She smiles like I’ve made her day. “What are you waiting for?”

Grinning because I can’t help it, I reach out and grab her as I settle on the bed, favoring my bad hand. I twist my fingers in herhair, liking the soft silk brushing my skin. My golden goddess has shoulder length hair, but it’s nothing like my minx’s mane. She’s miles of curls and waves, like she’s all curves and Botticelli to Talia’s lithe, svelte frame. As I said, two different paradigms. I hold her tightly, then look into her eyes. “I’m crazy with love for you. Missing you hurt more than a gaping chest wound.”

She sighs as I kiss her deeply, making me smile against her lips. The glimpses of her softness melt me. She runs her hands over my tense, knotted muscles, relaxing me without even trying. After the slow, passionate kiss comes to its inevitable yet delicious end, I rest my forehead against hers. “You’re good for the soul, Sandwich.”

“I missed you today, too.”

I take a deep breath—relieved to hear her say it—and release it along with the last wisps of tension. Picking her up, I lift her to pull back the comforter and lay her down gently. Climbing in with her, I lean back against the pillows and tuck her under my arm. “Good.”

Not exactly poetry, but give me a break. It’s been a rough sodding day.

She curls around me, rubbing her cheek on my chest and resting her palm on my bad hand. “You smell good.”

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