Page 51 of Wrath
“Come on. Try it.” She watched him, waiting with tenterhooks.
Over the lip of his cup, their eyes met, and he took a sip. He waited for the inevitable bitterness of burned, overcooked beans, but… the liquid hit his lips and failed to scald. He tipped the cup and let the smooth flavor roll over his tongue. Surprisingly, it sailed over his taste buds. He almost elicited an uncontrollable groan himself.
“How good is it?” Misha exclaimed. “Am I right, or am I right?”
She might be right. The coffee was good.
Misha turned back to the smirking hippies. “Put it on my tab. Oh, and could I please have just a cup of freshly boiled water?”
“For you, sunshine, anything.”
Oh, puh-lease. From the way the beanie guy locked eyes with Misha, it was clear he wanted into Misha’s pants. An unsettling thought tensed every muscle. What if he’d already been there? She dated a lot. She was beautiful. Jealousy swarmed in Wyatt’s bloodstream, and he eyed both guys again, trying to ascertain if they—
Fuck! Hot coffee spilled over his hands. In his anger, he’d squeezed the cup without knowing. He was seemingly invincible, but he still felt every sensation on his skin. For a moment, he wished his new ability made his senses dull to sensation, so scalding burns wouldn’t affect him, but then he realized that would make him desensitized to everything.
Stiff chance of that. Not with Misha in his life. Lifting his gaze, he caught her coy smile, and instantly a rush of hot desire speared through him. Yeah, he wanted to feeleverything.
“This training session couldn’t happen soon enough.” She eyed the spilled mess. “C’mon, then. Let’s go. We’re almost there.”
Funny how her meditation session had now completely morphed into a training session.
Almost thereturned out to be another ten-minute walk and despite wanting to humor her, Wyatt couldn’t halt his impatience creeping in. The weather was turning as gloomy as his mood, but Misha continued to find pleasure in the smallest things. She stopped and pointed out a chalk painting on the ground, lamenting on how its impermanence should be celebrated and not overlooked. With the looming weather, its artistic magnificence would soon be forever wiped away. Wasn’t that a shame?
When they made it to the park in the heart of the Quadrant, Misha took Wyatt down a hidden path, through some trees, and into an area not traveled by many. They were away from the morning joggers, away from the group fitness classes, and hidden in the thick of trees. As they came to the base of a water tower on metal legs, he wondered what the purpose of their expedition was.
Misha placed her empty cup on the ground. “I’ll pick that up on the way back. Here, put your used one there too. We only need this hot water.”
She proceeded to climb the ladder with her yoga roll strapped to her back, and the remaining cup balanced on one hand. Not liking her climbing one-handed, Wyatt tried to take the cup from her, but she refused.
“Don’t stress. It’s not the first time I’ve been up here with something in my hand.”
He frowned and climbed after her, watchful in case she slipped and fell. When they crested the tank, he discovered it was flat topped and with a diameter of about three yards. Empty bottles of beer, a newspaper, and some random trash were scattered around.
“Damn kids.” Misha peered over the tower and dropped some bottles. It took a few seconds until they thudded to the thick grass at the bottom. They were a long way up—ten yards, perhaps. Enough to seriously injure her if she fell.
“I’ll take those to the trash later.” Once the top was cleared, she held her hands wide with a satisfied huff. “We’re here. What do you think?”
Rotating three-sixty degrees, Wyatt had a full view of the treetops, park and even further out to the lake at the center of it all. The city buildings surrounding them were far enough you couldn’t see into any windows, and the sound of traffic was negligible. When a lilac tinged gust of wind blew into his face, he couldn’t help but inhale deeply. Incredible.
Misha sighed. “It’s great, isn’t it? I mean, to find something like this in the center of the city is almost unheard of. I come here any time I need to remind myself the world is bigger than my small problems.”
Twenty-Four
“Have you done yoga before?”Misha asked Wyatt as he unrolled his mat next to her.
He shot her an incredulous look which made her laugh. With that cocky attitude, he’d probably trained with the masters in India.
“Okay.” She straightened and faced east. “How about, when was the last time you practiced it?”
Wyatt shrugged evasively, sat on his mat and unlaced his boots.
Boot removal was probably a good idea. The rest of his attire wasn’t really conducive to yoga, but the jeans and polo shirt would have to do.
While Misha waited for him, she faced the rising sun, feeling its heat through the clouds. After falling asleep the previous night, her mind and heart had been in all sorts of knots. Her first thought upon waking had been to get out into nature and clear her head. Knowing Wyatt had forgone sleep in order to protect her had instilled a sense of duty. He’d contributed, now it was her turn.
She’d never be as brave as him, both physically and emotionally, but she could teach him this. Right now, it was the only thing she was sure of, so she pushed all of her focus into the moment to avoid the heartbreak she sensed in the future. She let her gaze travel around the green scenery and spent time cataloging each sight. What a great day for a picture memory. She wanted to remember it all. From the tips of the treetops, to the distant ducks quacking, the gentle scent of earth, to the rolling gray clouds.
A masculine throat cleared. Misha turned from the sun to look at Wyatt, and then another kind of heat burned through her. Not only had he removed his clunky boots, but his shirt, and her eyes were rejoicing. He had the kind of body that went beyond Instagram pretty. It was strong, lithe, and deadly. The scar at his throat wasn’t the only evidence of old pain. Scattered over his torso were many ghosts. Puckered bullet wounds, deep slashes and shallow scars. Her heart bled for him.
