25. Kai

TWENTY-FIVE

Kai

As we soared through the sky in a private jet sent to us, courtesy of Sanctuary's owner, my nerves were on edge. I couldn't shake the restlessness gnawing at me, amplified by the dull ache in my body from the injuries sustained during our mission. I glanced over at Zach, who sat beside me, his expression calm and collected as always. We hadn't repeated our declarations of love, and sometimes, when I first woke up, I almost imagined it was a dream. Or one of those intense moments that only happened at peak-adrenalin burst.

I don't recall thinking I would die, but maybe my lizard brain did, and that was why I announced I was in love.

To Zach, and in hearing of Yuri, and anyone else in the vicinity.

Three days on, given Zach was focusing on wrapping up what he now labeled as the Kozlov fuck-up, we'd spent little time together, and when we did, he didn't tell me he loved me, or kiss me, or…

I wanted to know.

Which was why I was being illogical and not saying it first.

Because… yeah…

"You know, if it weren't for these damn pain meds, I'd be flying this thing myself," I grumbled, unable to hold in my irritability with my frailties. Not to mention the man sitting next to me who smelled of sunshine and citrus who was treating me like a freaking invalid.

Asshole.

Zach shot me a glance, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Sure you would, Kai. But for now, just sit back and relax."

I huffed, crossing my arms over my chest. "Easy for you to say," I muttered under my breath, but Zach heard me loud and clear. "You're not dealing with injuries."

"No, I'm not."

"It's not you that jumped out of a low-flying 'korsky that was breaking up around me."

"Uh huh," Zach said as he smiled to himself. Asshole.

"The itching is driving me insane." I tried to shove my finger under the cast holding my left ulna together. It wasn't the pain that bothered me the most—though that was bad enough—it was the incessant itching that seemed to gnaw at my skin from the inside out. Every time I tried to ignore it, it seemed to intensify, spreading like wildfire across my body, and when I was bored—like now—it was worse.

"Stop doing that," Zach warned and prodded my side.

"I wouldn't stop you from scratching if you needed to," I grunted.

He snorted a laugh. "I wouldn't break my arm in the first place," he deadpanned, and wow, that was pushing on my last nerve. Not only had he not mentioned the loving me thing, but he was poking at me.

I sighed, shifting in my seat as we headed back to Shadow Team HQ. The injuries weren't too bad, all things considered, but the itching made them feel ten times worse. I resisted the urge to scratch at my arm, or the bandages on my temple, knowing it would only worsen things in the long run.

"Fuck my life," I muttered under my breath, shooting a glare at Zach. "If Yuri had just given me a heads-up, then I could have tried disarming whatever device they had in the rotors. Then I wouldn't have had to fly the impossible."

Zach sighed, then closed the laptop, and took out the earpiece, pocketing the latter and sliding the former onto the spare seat opposite.

"What will make you stop talking?" he asked, and unbuckled to stand and stretch .

I didn't look at the strip of skin where his T-shirt lifted. I didn't.

"I'm bored, and it hurts, and I want to scratch, and you won't let me," I snapped, and knew I sounded like a four-year-old. Still, I was about ready to stand up myself and then punch him out, just because I could catch him off guard and sit on his belly. Then I could demand he repeat what he'd said about loving me so I could say it back.

Unless I said it first—maybe that was what had to happen?

I didn't move, and then he leaned in and surprised me with a kiss, his lips warm and soft. I melted into the moment, forgetting my earlier irritations as he pulled back with a smirk.

"That's one way to shut you up," he teased.

My chest tightened—he was kissing me to shut me up, not because he felt something for me. All the old insecurities crashed into me; that I didn't deserve actual love, and I wasn't a person who'd grown up knowing what genuine love was.

He kissed me again, but this time, he wriggled onto my lap, his knees on either side of mine, and then, without crushing me, he deepened the taste. I carded my one good hand into his hair, holding tight. He might not love me, but if I got to kiss him like this every day, I guess I could handle it. He leaned back a little, balancing with his hands on the sides, and rested his forehead against mine.

"We need to talk," he said.

"No." I tugged his lips back to mine, "more. "More kissing."

At first I thought he was going to argue, but the kissing won over, and the moment was electric, charged with a tension that seemed to crackle in the air between us. I felt a surge of warmth wash over me, melting away the tension that had been building inside me for so long. If kisses were a language of their own, then I was telling him I loved him with every sensual glide of my tongue, and every whispered sigh. I closed my eyes, losing myself in the sensation of his touch, the warmth of his breath mingling with mine and in that moment, there was only Zach and me, the rest of the world fading into insignificance.

When we pulled apart, the attendant reminding us we needed to buckle up for landing at the private airport near Shadow Team's HQ; we were breathless and flushed with emotion, and I was embarrassingly hard.

"We'll talk later," Zach said, his tone brooking no discussion.

"Oh joy," I teased.

He didn't smile or roll his eyes. If anything, he was serious and focused on packing away the laptop. By the time we finally landed, I was relieved to be back on solid ground, even if it meant enduring the discomfort of my injuries a little while longer. There was no hassle with passports or customs; instead, we were whisked away from the airfield in a sleek limousine.

As we arrived at Swim Central, tension hung thick in the air between Zach and me, and then it was a mess of medical checkups, reports, files, and when I made it to bed, exhausted, and wanting sleep, I'd avoided talking to Zach at all.

Best that way.

My itching eased off, and I was on the cusp of sleep when my door opened.

"No more tests," I muttered, expecting Doc Jen to be hovering, but the door closed and then there was the whisper of footsteps on the tiled floor. The covers lifted behind me, and I knew it was Zach just by the scent and weight of him. I knew . He snuggled in behind me, the big spoon, his arm over my waist, his warm hand on my belly.

"Hey," he whispered, and I made a non-committal sound. "Are you too tired, or can we talk?"

He wanted to talk about regrets and how he didn't mean to say he loved me when we were curled up in bed. What an asshole.

"No," I blurted.

He patted my skin and relaxed behind me. "No, you're too tired, or no, we can't talk?"

"Both."

He chuckled, and I felt him shift to get comfortable. What was he doing? Was he actually going to sleep in this not-very-big bed with me? I lay there for at least thirty seconds before the unfairness of life, and the itching, and my hard-on, got to be too damn much. Without thinking about how it was going to hurt, I wrenched myself free from him, turned sharply and loomed over his stupidly pretty face, illuminated by the moonlight through the open drapes.

"If you don't mean it, then why say it, and why don't you fuck off now if you didn't mean it? Because I meant it, and if you don't care that I meant it, then why are you even kissing me and groping me?"

He blinked up at me. "Huh?"

"You said you loved me, and now you're being all you…" I waved at his face, which unbalanced me and made me put too much weight on my arm, which freaking hurt.

"I'm being what now?" He reached up to touch my face, and I nearly got away until he curled his hands in my hair and tugged me down. "Use words I understand, babe," he added.

"Don't call me ‘babe'!"

He wrinkled his nose. "How about Snookums then because I can?—"

"You said you loved me!" I shouted, and he winced. "And I said it back."

"I know. I was there." He frowned, carded his hands into my hair, and cradled my head. "What's wrong, babe?"

I didn't correct his use of babe, because it was sweet, and I wanted to keep it to examine later. "Nothing!" I lied.

"I do?—"

"It's just that your stupid face is so stupidly pretty, and I love you, and if you don't feel the same way back, and you want to talk to me about how you don't want me then—oomph!"

He rolled us—carefully—but enough to make my breath catch, and then it was him looming over me. "You're a fucking idiot, Kai Henderson," he muttered, and stole a kiss from me I wasn't expecting.

It wasn't fair that he was such a good kisser and stole my breath so easily. Then he moved back, and although I chased for more, I'd already accepted he wanted to talk about how we shouldn't be together.

"Don't kiss me again," I begged.

"Why?"

"It will hurt more when you leave."

He frowned again. "I'm not going anywhere unless you want me to, and even then I'll fight you. Kai, Jesus, I wanted to talk about how falling in love with you might make us being a team hard, but if you wanted to make it work, then maybe being in love with each other might be as easy as breathing. "

I gaped as I ran his words through my head and worked out what to say. "You did?"

"Of course. I spoke to Ethan, and he has the same concerns, but maybe we don't partner with each other on missions. Maybe we?—"

Now, it was my turn to kiss the words out of his mouth.

"I love you," I said when we broke for air.

"I love you too."

"But no one's splitting us up. We work together. A team."

He grinned down at me. "And that's what I told Ethan. He hates it, but after he grumped for a while, he muttered some shit under his breath and stalked off, so I think I won."

"You probably didn't," I warned him.

"Tough. It's you and me together. Always."

"Always."

I wriggled to widen my legs, letting him slot between them, but still, he didn't rest his weight on me—my forever-caring man. He was hard; I was hard. We were kissing; we loved each other.

The rest was white noise.