Nicky squeezed my hand. "You're the boss, not him."
"Yeah, but I can't promise him we won't let the touching get out of hand, Nicky. He's right about that." I searched his face, and the only thing I saw there was need, almost hunger. This was the longest I'd ever been away from Nicky since he came to St. Louis. I thought about it; was this the longest I'd ever been away from home since Jean-Claude and I had been dating? I stood there holding Nicky's hand and feeling it like an anchor in all this mess. If it had been Jean-Claude, or Micah, holding my hand, how much worse would the draw have been? Was I more than homesick? Was it more than just not feeding the ardeur that had caused the tree limb to hurt me so badly, and caused me to need sex to heal? Was it literally not being home with Jean-Claude and the other men that was affecting how well I healed?
I stood there holding Nicky's hand and feeling better than I'd felt in days, or was that just my imagination? I wasn't sure, and the fact that I couldn't tell said something, too. Shit.
"I'll sit in front because I want to touch you. It's like I'm more than just hungry for the ardeur, it's like the metaphysical tie is making you more touchable than normal."
"What does that mean?" he asked.
"I don't know, but just let me sit up front and get to the hotel. We'll go from there."
"I don't understand, Anita."
"Neither do I," I said, and we left it at that. But I sat up front with Lisandro, though when Nicky touched my shoulder, I put my hand up to his and we held hands all the way there.
Chapter Thirty-Four
LISANDRO DROVE INTO the parking lot. I said, "Park in front of the office. I've got to see if they have enough rooms for everyone."
He didn't argue, just turned in the opposite direction from the rooms. Nicky leaned against the back of my seat, his hand still in mine, but now he could lean his face around the headrest and nuzzle the side of my face. I leaned in against that touch, as if I couldn't help myself, but I said, "Car's still moving. You need your seatbelt on."
He spoke low, mouth buried in my hair. "We're going ten miles an hour, Anita. I'll be fine."
I fought the urge to tell him to put it on anyway, because I was sort of fanatical about seatbelts staying on until a car came to a complete stop, but Nicky was right. Hell, as a shapeshifter he could go through the windshield full speed and survive. I had a moment to think, if my mother had been a shapeshifter she wouldn't have died when I was eight. I had one of those moments of clarity, and wondered if I dated only preternatural men because they would survive.
Lisandro found a parking space in front of the banked windows of the office area. I had to pull away from Nicky to get out of the car, but the moment we were both free of the car, he took my hand in his. It was my right hand and my main gun hand, but since he was right-handed, too, one of us was going to have to compromise their gun hand. I had to force myself to do what I normally did automatically, which was to pull my hand out of his, and play a few minutes of who was going to complicate their ability to draw their weapon. I just knew it wasn't going to be me. It was one of the reasons that Nicky and I didn't hold hands much in public, because he was my bodyguard, among other things. The fact that we were both willing to have his right hand occupied, when we were out hunting dangerous things, was another clue that something was wrong with my need to touch and be near my metaphysical men. I promised myself to call Jean-Claude after he woke for the day and see if he had a clue.
But good idea or bad idea, Nicky and I followed Lisandro through the door to the office hand in hand. The moment we stepped inside, the rich, dark scent of coffee was everywhere. I realized I couldn't remember the last time I'd had coffee. How had I let that happen? It had been a busy day, but still . . . The desk clerk who had worried about losing his job at the crime scene turned from the full coffee carafe, smiling. His short, dark brown hair was neatly combed this time, and almost didn't match the oversized superhero T-shirt, jeans, and well-loved jogging shoes, as if his mother did his hair, but he dressed himself.
"Fresh coffee, if you want it?" he said, and pushed his silver-framed glasses up his nose in one of those automatic gestures people with glasses make.
"It smells like real coffee," I said, pulling Nicky with me toward the tempting scent. Yes, we had bad guys to catch, but even crime fighters need coffee.
He grinned at me. "Boss says I have to keep coffee in the pot all day. He doesn't say it has to be bad coffee."
"I like the way you think," I said.
He set out three cups and started pouring very dark, very rich coffee into them.
"You like coffee," Lisandro said, from just behind us.
"None for me, thanks," Nicky said.
The clerk, whose name completely escaped me, stopped in midpour, spilling a tiny bit down the side of the cup. "Sorry." He put the pot back on the coffeemaker and reached for napkins and wiped off the side of the second cup. "I'm just glad some of you are drinking it. I hate wasting good coffee."
Lisandro and I both took the cups. Nicky went back to being alert, as if someone might jump out of the walls and attack. He was right, though; he and I had to get a handle on whatever was making us be so touchy-feely, or I'd have to send him home. The real test would be if I was as bad around Domino, because he was the only other man from home who had a metaphysical tie to me. If it was both of them, then, well, that would mean something was wrong with the metaphysics, and that would be bad.
I breathed in the scent of the coffee, letting myself close my eyes for a moment and just enjoy it. I could tell by the smell alone that it wouldn't need sugar or cream, it was good just the way it was.