Mermaid in a Bowl of Tears (Exit Unicorns Series Book 2) by Brandner Cindy

Author:Brandner, Cindy [Brandner, Cindy]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Starry Night Press
Published: 2007-05-31T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Forty-three

History Lessons

BY MID-SEPTEMBER DAVID KENDALL knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’d taken complete leave of his senses. For if he hadn’t, there really wasn’t any explanation for the insanity that had provoked him to sneak the big, black Irishman named Pat to the showers for a respite from the filth of his surroundings and the hellish shell of the overalls.

Taking the hood off and feeding him had merely become an accepted rite between the two of them. He could do no less, and it was little enough, considering what the man endured each and every day. Somewhere around the fourth meal they’d shared, David, against his own better judgement, took the man’s cuffs off as well. He’d merely said ‘thank you’ in that polite manner that was quite disarming, and did not refer to it again.

Pat had mentioned casually two days before that he’d give a decade or so of his life for a hot bath and David had immediately begun to consider how he might arrange exactly that. Having spent all his adult years in the British military, David was nothing if not resourceful. Two carefully placed bribes, an extra shift, and a carton of cigarettes had gotten him all the averted eyes and closed lips he needed. And had gotten him here, closed in a small space with a man of whom he was half-afraid, and wholly attracted to. Not, David was wise enough to know, a good combination for anyone.

There was a sense of immediacy to the man that David had never encountered elsewhere. Of raw and barely leashed savagery, held in check by a gentle civility that was profound in its parameters.

He stood at the sink, back to David, which, David knew, was a sign of unprecedented trust. He’d not seen the man turn his back to anyone, unless forced, since he’d been brought in. Recent events considered, it was only natural that the man should be distrustful and yet here he stood, bare from the waist up, carefully and leisurely shaving his face. He was a dichotomy, that much was certain.

His stubble was blue-black and heavy, the bruises around his eyes fading from black to a deep purple. His hair, slick as an otter’s pelt from his recent shower, gleamed in the same shade. And against all this darkness his shoulders and back seemed uncommonly fine, like ivory carved to fierce perfection; his backbone a deep line between smooth planes of muscle, falling from broad shoulders into a narrow waist, stomach flat and hard. The thoracic line well defined, ending in a fine strip of black hair that led down—David wrenched his thoughts back abruptly, aware that the other man was suddenly still, muscles like cut silk under the smooth expanse of skin, his gaze black and hard in the mirror. He flushed and glanced away quickly, cursing his fair English skin for the truth it always told. He’d broken too many rules tonight and the ground under his feet was becoming increasingly unstable.

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