Ruin Box Set (4 page)

Chapter Four

Isadore gasped and shook her head, feeling like a
fucking
idiot. “You’re shitting me.” She turned and set her coffee on her dresser and faced him, hands on hips. “There is
no possible way
you read that entire book,” she pointed at the bed, “and
understood
that entire book and are now
speaking
like a bloody genius, and I’m
insulted
that you would even
think
that you could try to even
tell
me something so utterly ridiculous!”

His brows crimped. “Fucking?” He retrieved the book from the bed. “I don’t remember that word.”

She gasped a laugh. “Good one Mr. Tarzan.”

Again he paused, flipping quickly through the pages. “Tarzan.”

“Neither of those are in there, as I’m sure you know! What is your name, sir, and what the hell are you doing here?”

“Scaring you, apparently.”

“No, not scaring, pissing me off. To a scary point.”

He smiled a little, seeming all happy. “I actually understood every word you just said, except pissing. I understand it, but not in respect to how you used it in the sentence.” His gaze lowered as though seeing if she’d wet herself.

“Wow, you’re good. Who sent you? My mother? She sent you to fuck with me?”

He stared at her. “Fuck. You used it in a different sense.”

“It means to mess with my head,” she tapped her temple. “Try to make me think I’m crazy.”

“Is there another book with more words?”

She stared at him, incredulous, then stormed downstairs, retrieved the thesaurus from the bookshelf and ran into him as she turned. “Shit!”

“Shit?” he muttered, curious.

“It means you scared me and you shouldn’t sneak up on people!” she nearly yelled.

“I didn’t sneak up on you.”

She planted the book in his calm, naked chest, not allowing herself to get distracted—for more than a
second
with the tattoos.

He took the book. “I don’t know what they are,” he said.

She raised only her eyes to him. “What,
what
are?”

“The tattoos.”

She gave a light snort.

“You think I’m lying?”

“You sound shocked.”

He smiled and studied her. “I like you like this.”

Her stomach flipped at his words. “Like
what?
Pissed that you’re a con and are playing me like a broken, old, rundown violin? Was it worth the money? Is it Dr. Fresdo? He still pissed that I didn’t let him throw me under the bus so he can take credit for my work?” she  jabbed a finger at him. “That was
my
work,
I
worked my
ass
off for it!” She stormed to the kitchen and banged out pots needing something to do that had lots of banging and slamming involved. “I should have kicked his
ass
when I had the chance, but noooo, he was too
frail.
Frail my
ass!
” She turned and again he was near her, making her jump. “Would you
quit
sneaking up on me!”

She stared up at him, her heart ready to beat out of her chest at seeing the look on his face. That hunger again. His eyes seemed brighter somehow as he stroked her cheek with his index finger. “Silky.”

Shit, was he going to start touching now? Discovering? The sarcastic remarks melted on her tongue with the emotion she heard in his description. Like he’d sought a fitting word and was glad to have it now. “Very funny.” The retort came out all frail and whimpery, like a stupid teenager.

“Despairing azure…” he whispered next. “What is your name?”

Once again, she was caught in his pensive gaze. He’d trapped her before, felt like he looked into her…brain. “Isadore,” she mumbled. Wait. Despairing
azure?
What the hell?

“You like me.” His tone was conclusive but she didn’t like the sound of it, like that was such a disappointing discovery.

“What? I don’t
like
you.”

His face turned hard now. “Don’t lie.” The bite in his words hammered fear into her spine and his lips tightened over perfect teeth as he put his fingers to his temples, clenching his eyes shut. “Stop. Your fear… disgusts me. And your lie infuriates me!” He spun away from her, his breathing labored. “What’s wrong with me?”

The last strained whisper zapped her fear away and she hurried to stand before him. “What’s wrong, do you feel sick?”

“Stop! Don’t give me your remorse. I—” He turned away from her again.

“You what?” She got back in front of him, the persistent scientist. “Talk to me, explain what’s going on.”

He growled and paced, holding his head. “There’s heat… when you’re afraid. Especially afraid of me. In my body. I don’t like it, but not because I want you to not fear me. And then there’s this ice breath in my veins along with it, they seem to be… at war. The ice seems safe, but the heat…”

Fear shredded her stomach as she watched him pace and growl now. Heat. She remembered how hot the room got that night when Jared was there, remembered she’d wanted to ask about that. “The heat, what? Wants to hurt?”

He roared and dropped to his knees. “Stop! Stop it!”

She stared at him, suddenly scared out of her mind at what he was saying. This wasn’t normal science, and try as she did to
make
it normal, he kept adding these impossible components and making this all seem… not natural. But wait a minute, God was science to her, what was she thinking?

Her “stupid” switch kicked into gear and she hurried and knelt before the unstable human. She’d treat it like an episode of some sort. Taking hold of his distractingly rock hard shoulders, she shook him. “Snap out of it! Right now!”

He looked at her, his face shiny with sweat, breathing like he fought a thousand men.

She nodded at seeing his eyes clear a little. “That’s it. Get control of yourself.” She couldn’t imagine how frightening it was to him. The poor man. No sooner the thought hit, he became a snarling animal again, and that close up, it scared the shit out of her and she fell back.

He was on her then, his hand hot around her throat, his face right before hers, breath a fire in her lungs, mixed with those painful shards of cold she’d felt that night. She gasped with wide eyes as he strangled her, fighting herself, fighting the fear that would trigger him. Impossible when she was triggered by strangulations!

This was just a drill. This wasn’t real. He wouldn’t kill her. He wouldn’t…

Something hard pressed into her thigh as he growled, and right there in the middle of dying, her rebellious, lonely body immediately knew what it was and like a dry shriveled leaf in the rain, she responded to it, answered it with a thrust of her hips. It was purely instinct. Delirious death reflexes.

He leapt off and the shock in his face seemed to cut the power surge in half. Plastered up against the wall as though
she’d
been the perpetrator, he eyed her with wide eyes.

She got up and held a hand out to him, holding on to her anger. “Listen to me. Mister.” She heaved and coughed a few times. “You will not do that again, do you understand?”

He closed his eyes and nodded, covering his face with both hands. “Why do I need to kill scared people, Isadore? What is wrong with me? And people who are bad.” He dropped his hands and stared at them. “I want to kill bad people too. And…” he slowly raised his head, torment drawing his brows, “weak people. I want to hurt weak people, Isadore. Weak and scared people, they make me…
sick.
”

Isadore was speechless with a
Well shit. That’s not good
.

He shot a hand out as though warding her fear off. “Sorry!” she exclaimed. “It’s just… this is new to me.”

He stared at her, winded again. “I hate it even in myself. Any kind of weakness or-or imperfection, it’s like I have to have everything
perfect.
But look around us, what is there that’s perfect?” The conundrum was clear in his wide eyes. “Nothing is perfect!” he said, angry and pacing now. “What is wrong with me? I need answers.”

“I will get you answers.” She fought to sound confident.

He turned to her, hope in his bright green eyes. “How?”

“I’m a goddamn scientist, that’s how,” she snapped.

He closed the distance and pulled her into his arms and hugged her, sending her emotions running for cover.

“Uh… I can’t…”

He shoved her away with wide eyes.

“Don’t do that!” she exclaimed, putting a yard’s distance between them.

He appeared confused, looking at her like he’d just stumbled into yet another pile of shit. “Why does your body do that?”

The question threw her. “Do what? Use your new found words and speak plainly.”

He lowered his gaze to her heaving chest. “Your nipples hardened and your…” his gaze lowered more, “clitoris did as well.”

Oh dear God. She covered her face, shame spinning her away from him just as he began to growl. She snapped back around. “Are you kidding? I can’t be ashamed? Fuck me, do I have to be pissed all the damn time for you to not want to kill me?”

He calmed immediately and let out a breath of relief, bending over and holding his knees. “That’s not even the worst of it.”

She focused on keeping fear out of her mind. “Really,” she said dryly. “And by the way, that reaction in my body? That was a false reading on your part.”

“No, your nipples did indeed get hard, as did your clitoris.” He raked a hand through his hair, like that was the least of his bothers but she couldn’t keep her mouth out of overdrive.

“It’s a purely reflexive response, like eating, or-or sleeping.” She widened her eyes, “or
yawning!
”

He paused to regard her, his head angled. “Maybe. But not you, not in this case. You clearly liked it.”

She gasped. “I did not!”

He stormed to her, breathing heavy, but she held her ground, even shot her finger in his face. “You have the
same
instincts.” She quirked her brow, waiting for acknowledgment. “Oh no you don’t, don’t you dare look clueless!”

“I’m…” he spun and began pacing again. “I’m not sure about my instincts.”

“Not sure? Crock of shit.”

He looked at her annoyed. “What is a crock of shit?”

“What you just said is.”

“No, the term, what does it
mean?”

“It means those words you just strung together is the equivalent to earthenware full of fecal matter! A
crock. Of. Shit.
”

His lip quirked as he thought. “That’s disgusting.”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“Well, it’s not like a crock of shit pertains to the topic either.”

“It’s
slang.
And it should have been listed.” She nodded rapidly.

“Well, excuse me, I must have missed it, Miss Isadore.”

“So, what, are you trying to tell me your man parts are broken?” She waved a finger at his midsection. “You’re saying you’ve never been aroused?”

“Not that I know of, no.”

She choked on incredulity. “Have you had sex before?”

“No, I haven’t.”

She threw up her hands, “Ugh. Seriously. You’re a virgin.”

“As far as I know.”

His tone was dead serious and Isadore snorted and cocked a hip. “As far as you know,” she made her tone derisive then pointed right at him. “I call bullshit.” He gave her another perplexed look and she wagged her finger, refusing to be sidetracked. “I’ll get you a
slang
dictionary soon, don’t worry, but there is no way, you’re going to convince me you’re a virgin. So, that brings us to finding out how you got here and what happened to you that brought on this
massive
amnesia. Are you willing to go to the hospital and be checked out?”

“What?”

“What? What do you mean what, hospital, run tests, find out what’s wrong with you, or right, whatever.” Isadore tried to get a hold of her anger, she was being too harsh. She couldn’t help it. Hard nipples, virgin, yeah right.

“Of course I am willing,” he said. “When can we do this?”

She hated how excited he sounded, and sincere. Bastard. “Are you hungry?” She was ready to start over, she didn’t want to scare of her new found project.

The subject change softened his handsome face. “I am. Always.”

“Yes, you said that. How have you been eating?”

“I’ve been eating here.”

“Here? And how?”

“When you’re gone, I come in and eat.”

He said that like it was clearly the normal and practical thing to do. “Is that so. That’s illegal, you know.”