Chapter Thirty-Two

At long last, a large cabin became visible at the end of a private road as Rory and Nina rounded an overgrown corner with their new rental car.

Having lost the coin flip—Rory was still convinced she’d rigged it somehow—he slouched in the passenger seat and tried hard not to feel every bump and pothole of the poorly maintained road. He failed miserably. His bruised ribs stabbed painfully with each jostle.

The afternoon was rapidly advancing, shadows crawling toward the old log cabin that was going to be their home for the next few weeks. A small lake glittered in the last few rays of the sun, and high evergreens towered overhead in the clear mountain sky. On the edges, ragged rocks stabbed up from the mossy ground. Amidst the slate gray, fresh patches of green grass stood out, creating an idyllic atmosphere.

It was ideal for recuperation.

Assuming Creed left them in peace.

Not that Rory thought for a minute he would.

The narrow winding road was deserted, and except for a hiking couple they’d come across half an hour ago, they hadn’t seen a living soul since three in the afternoon.

“How cute,” drawled Thyra, taking a long look at the picturesque view around them before she added petulantly, “A little remote, don’t you think?”

“That’s the idea,” he countered drily. “We need privacy and solitude, to give you a chance to get your health back. Added to that, we need to figure out why you were at Prima Vista, and what the hell Creed wants with you.”

“Hmm.” She skirted a large hole in the road before maneuvering the car around the last sharp curve that led to a small, overgrown parking area beside the cabin. She parked and killed the engine. “Privacy with room service would’ve been nicer, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t,” he grumbled under his breath and climbed out of the car. In a careful, deliberate sweep, he took in their immediate surroundings.

They should be safe here. It was a difficult place to find, and there was nothing that connected Rory to it. There simply was no way for Creed to find them here.

He hoped.

A pair of rabbits scattered nearby, birds sang cheerily, and a cricket chirped somewhere among the trees. No sign of another human being. Thank God.

For a moment back there, he had feared Thyra would stop the car and invite the camping couple to share a meal, but thankfully she had refrained.

She didn’t, however, refrain from those liquid movements of hers designed for seduction.

A seduction he wasn’t going to give into.

Not only because it would be unprofessional—he was supposed to protect her, not have the hots for her—but also because he had no idea why she was suddenly coming on to him.

That fact worked on his nerves when he should be keeping his cool. As it was, his head still pounded from the shopping trip she’d insisted on that afternoon, wasting several hours in a small mall, and afterward the supermarket where they had picked up more than just the essentials.

Thyra, he had discovered, was not a casual shopper.

Nor did she keep a low profile. Where was timid Nobody when you needed her?

He was reaching into the trunk for their luggage when she suddenly popped up at his side. Looking at him worriedly, she pulled out a bag. “Let me take that, querido.”

Octavia. Thank God!

At the welcome change, tension instantly eased from his body.

She smiled. A kind, genuine smile that warmed something inside him, and made the annoyance that had churned in his gut dissipate. “You look about done for. Why don’t you open the door so I can carry in the necessities, yes?”

He was at the verge of disagreeing, but she waved him off. “Go on inside, querido. You’re very pale. I do not think I’ll be able to carry you if you faint.”

He shook his head but relented. He should go around to the back of the cabin and turn on the generator, anyway.

“Fine.” He grabbed the largest suitcase from the trunk and led the way.

Opening the front door, he quickly took in the unpretentious atmosphere of the four-room cabin. A large stone hearth with a log-beam mantle dominated the main room. Sturdy wooden furniture was scattered across the neatly polished floor, and a faux bearskin rug lay invitingly in front of the fireplace.

It all looked cozy and comfortable.

“Bonito!” Octavia enthused. She looked around with apparent appreciation. “It is very…hmm, what is the word? Muy rustico.”

“Rustic, yeah. You could call it that,” he drawled, put the suitcase down, and moved on to check that the rest of the house was secure. He made quick work of the security sweep and opened the blinds covering the terrace doors. Sunlight fell inside, a swirl of dust-bunnies dancing cheerily around him.

“Oh, I am going to like it here,” Octavia said from behind him. After setting her luggage on the coffee table, she propped her hands on her hips and glanced around with a smile.

Rory left her to it and went through the kitchen and out the back door, walking to a small shed several yards away where he knew the generator was located. Though several of the lights inside the cabin were hooked up to solar panels on the roof, he figured Octavia would appreciate a few mod cons while they settled in.

Hell, he would appreciate them, too. Especially a really, really hot shower.

He made short work of turning on the state-of-the-art generator and switched on the solar-panel circuit before going back to the house.

“I like it,” Octavia told him when he walked back into the living area.

“Even with no room service?” He tried to soften the near-snark with a tired smile.

“Who needs room service with a view like that?” Unperturbed by his tone, she headed for the front door, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll bring in the groceries. Why don’t you take a nap? I’ll call you when dinner’s ready, yes?”

And off she went, leaving him with an inward groan at her take-charge attitude. It was the one thing all her personalities seemed to have in common.

Just figured.

With Octavia out of the way, he grabbed his duffel and slung it over his shoulder. A shower, that was what he needed to ease the aches of his abused body.

By the time he emerged, damp and toasty warm, he felt somewhat human again. He found Octavia in the kitchen, the spicy scents of her cooking assaulting his senses and making his mouth water.

“Smells good, no?” she said, not bothering to look up from the pot she was stirring on the propane stove.

“It sure does. Can I do anything to help?”

“Everything’s under control. Just sit and keep me company.” She waved at a chair by the kitchen table and turned to smile at him. “You look much better, querido. How about a drink? I’ve got a lovely fruit juice that’ll go down nicely with aspirin.”

“That would be great.” A beer would be better, but they hadn’t brought any. Damn. He sat down and accepted both offerings.

“How are your bruises?”

“Bruised, but mending,” he joked halfheartedly. “Thank you for asking.”

His gentle politeness earned him a smile. “My pleasure. Let me look at those stitches, though. You’ve been a busy boy.”

Before he could utter a sound, she was standing in front of him, brushing his hair away from his temple.

Sitting in the chair, with her so close she was practically on top of him, he found her cleavage in the very center of his vision.

Shit.

It was like déjà vu all over again.

The air around them thickened. Her top—a slinky fluff of violet Thyra had bought that afternoon—scooped off one shoulder, leaving her creamy, pale skin bare right down to the gentle slope of her breast.

Just inches from his face.

“Uh…Octavia?”

She didn’t hear him…or chose not to. “They look good. But I would feel better if we clean it.” With firm fingers, she tipped his head a bit, to catch light from the window. Which brought his face flush against her bosom.

Holy fuck.

Gently, she probed his wound with a wet cloth. When she moved a fraction, bringing his cheek up against her softness, he closed his eyes, barely holding back a groan.

When she stepped back, and he opened his eyes, he was just in time to see her disappear into the living room, giving him a much-needed reprieve.

Under his breath he muttered, “What the hell is wrong with you, O’Donnell?” He slumped in the chair, trying to beat back the heavy feeling in his groin. “It’s not in your job description to think of her as anything other than an assignment.”

He was amazed how easily just her nearness affected him—no matter which alter was in presence. It was unsettling.

The sensual Thyra and antagonistic Lena weren’t his biggest problems. Most of the time he could barely get past his annoyance around them.

But Joey was a different matter. She was much harder to resist.

And Octavia…nearly impossible.

She returned, carrying the first aid kit. “Here we are, querido. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He gritted his teeth. It was going to be one damn long night.