Psy & Changelings 11 - Tangle of Need

too.”
    The hidden pain of her, it smashed through the tumult inside him to touch the protective core. Kicking off his own shoes, he stripped off his T-shirt and stretched out behind her. He’d left enough space between their bodies that he could see the graceful curve of her spine, the creamy gold of her skin flawless. It was instinct to run his hand over her back, to accept the skin privileges she’d offered him, even as he petted the pain out of her for a fragment of time.
    Sighing, she swept her braid off her back and over her shoulder, saying nothing as he continued to touch. Though she was the one who was ostensibly receiving pleasure, he gained as much from the contact. He’d come to her broken and lost, and with her vulnerability, she’d given him the tools he needed to reclaim the reins—to help him, this strong woman had had the courage to rip open her own scars. Driven by protective instinct, he curved his bigger, heavier body around hers, his chest pressed to her back, his hand stroking down her arm, slow and easy.
    Her eyes, he saw, were closed, but he knew she was awake. So when she spoke, he wasn’t startled—but neither was he ready for her question. “Will you tell me about her?”
    His answer was automatic. “There’s nothing to say.”
    Her lashes remained soft shadows on her cheeks. “Of course there is, and you can’t speak to anyone else. I won’t make any judgments or offer any advice. I’m just here to listen.”
    His hand clenched on her arm before he forced himself to relax his grip. The only reason he’d said anything to Indigo when he first arrived home was because he hadn’t wanted to see her mess up what he’d sensed was the right relationship for her. He didn’t regret that choice, made as it had been out of friendship, but he still sometimes wished she didn’t know—because it was his greatest weakness.
    And Indigo knew the barest facts. Adria already saw too much of him … and was a woman strong enough, honest enough, to admit to her own wounds. “Her name,” he said, knowing that honesty deserved his own, “is Lisette.”
    Speaking of her caused a sweet, dark pain inside of him, but there was wild joy, too. At last, he could say her name, share her with someone. “She’s French but works in Venice.” He’d seen her at an elegant ball held in one of the oldest buildings in the sunken city, its stately lower half submerged, its upper half a masterpiece of ornate architecture.
    “The Human Alliance is based in Venice.”
    “Lisette’s husband, Emil, is a computronic specialist with the Alliance.” He was a successful, smart man who loved his wife. Riaz had wanted to kill him on sight, been stopped only by the realization that that love was reflected in Lisette’s blue eyes—to harm Emil would be to harm Lisette, and Riaz would never do anything to cause her pain. “On the surface,” he continued, “Lisette is a business manager for an unrelated company, but I’m pretty certain it’s a cover for an Alliance communications operation.”
    Adria opened her eyes. “You didn’t ask?”
    “No.” His task had been to watch, to learn, to make contacts. While SnowDancer’s relationship with the Alliance had thawed enough that the pack was willing to do some business with the group that represented a vast network of human enterprises, neither party was anywhere close to ready to share secrets.
    “If she runs their comm team, she must be intelligent.”
    “No doubt,” he said, mind filling with echoes of the conversations they’d had while he fought his most primal instincts to steal what time he could with her. “But the first thing I noticed about her was her laugh.” Gentle and warm and so alive. “My wolf wanted to roll around in it.”
    He’d never forget walking into the ball in Venice, the sight of her a punch to the solar plexus, the thick mass of her shoulder-length hair shining in the light, such a pure gold it hurt. “She’s tiny, five feet one maybe, but you don’t notice that when you first meet her.” All he’d noticed was the feminine strength of her.
    “I met with her a number of times—the company she heads produces certain comm technology that could be useful to SnowDancer.” Alone in an office with her, he’d wanted to lunge across the desk separating them, nuzzle his face into her neck, bite her, mark her. “She felt something, too. I could sense it. It rattled her.” Because Lisette was a faithful, loving wife.