Ghostwalker 06 - Predatory Game

he waited impatiently for the lift. It seemed to take an endless amount of time. He had a mad desire to try jumping his wheelchair up the flight of stairs, balancing on two wheels.
    Why had she come home? He remembered the feel of her satin skin burning his. Of course. She was ill.
    There could be no other reason conscientious little Saber would leave her job. He didn’t let himself remember the cool steel in her eyes when she’d first turned, the ease of her body rolling, and her hands coming up in a classic defense. Only the hurt, the betrayal in her eyes—in her voice—mattered. Her voice had slid into his mind with such ease, such clarity, such pain.
    The lift carried him to the second floor and his racing chair glided silently through the sitting room to her bedroom. He paused in the wide doorway, his dark, stricken gaze on Saber’s slender form. She was on her stomach, her tear-stained face buried in the crook of her arm.
    His heart turned over. One thrust of his powerful arms and he was at her side, his hand tangling in the riot of curls. “Baby.” He groaned it softly in a kind of anguish. “Don’t, don’t do this.”
    “Go away.” Her voice was muffled.
    “You know I’m not going to do that,” he replied, keeping his voice low. “You’re sick, Saber, I’m not just leaving you up here to fend for yourself.” His hand stroked her hair. “Come on, love, you’ve got to stop crying. You’ll get a headache.”
    “I already have a headache,” she sniffed. “Go away, Jesse, I don’t want you to see me like this.”
    “Who can see? It’s dark in here,” he teased, hands sliding to her shoulders in a calming rhythm.
    “Where’d your little friend go?” Saber couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out, could have bitten her tongue off for doing so. As if she cared. He could have fifty women, a whole harem over every night while she worked at the station.
    Jess found himself smiling in spite of everything, and had to hastily control his voice. “You’re running a fever, little one, let me get you a cold cloth. Have you taken any aspirin?”
    “So perceptive of you to notice.” Saber sat up, rubbing her eyes with her fist, furious with herself for crying. She swept a hand through the mass of raven-colored curls in a vain effort to smooth the disheveled mess. “And I can take an aspirin all by myself.”
    He was already halfway to her bathroom. “True, but would you?” he queried as he pushed open the door.
    Jess had designed the remodel of his house, making certain that every door was comfortably wide, everything was low enough for him. Now, he was particularly grateful that he’d made certain he had ease Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
    of movement upstairs as well as down. Ignoring the lacy scraps of female underwear hanging to dry on the towel rack, Jess scooped up a washcloth.
    Saber made an effort to pull herself together. So she wasn’t feeling good. Big deal. So her best friend in the entire world had scared the hell out of her. Big deal. Jess was sneaking around with some woman he didn’t want her to know about. Rotten, stinking, no-good bum. Saber smoldered with resentment, frustration, and something that was far too close to jealousy.
    Just what was he doing with all the lights out? How often did Jezebel visit while she was gone? It wasn’t like Saber didn’t tell him about every single disgusting date she went on. They had endless discussions about them. She didn’t sneak behind his back.
    Jess stifled a small grin. It took tremendous effort for him to keep his expression blank. Her violet-blue eyes spit fire at him. Jealousy meant she cared, whether she wanted to care or not. Something stirred in him deep down, something gentle and tender and long forgotten.
    “Baby,” he said gently, “if you continue to look at me like that I’m bound to fall dead on the floor.” The cool washcloth moved over her burning face, stroked down her neck.
    “Good idea, great idea, in fact,” Saber snapped, but she didn’t pull away from his ministrations.
    “Shall I call Eric?” He pushed back her hair.
    Eric Lambert was the surgeon who had saved Jesse’s life, Saber knew, a really big deal, apparently famous among doctors, and he still made house calls—at least to Jess. Sometimes he came with another doctor, a woman, although Saber had never met her. But she knew Jess had been violently ill after the last time they’d both