"Why do you keep saying that?"
He clenched his hands in his lap and shook his head, the way Jonny did when he refused to confide in her. Bianca sighed.
"At least you're safe," she said. "Don't make me make up my own rules for you, Darian!"
"Can I have another cookie?" he asked.
She rose, pitying him.
Dusty wrenched the bedroom door open, even angrier to see Darian and Bianca on the couch, talking. Darian had a plate of cookies in his lap and milk on the table.
She'd asked if Darian was okay. Darian, who had willingly hired a sailboat and sailed straight into a tropical storm. Darian, who he'd just pulled off the bottom of the ocean instead of attending his planning session to deal with the Talon issue.
"He needs an ass beating, not coddling!" he snapped.
Both jumped at his tone, and he waited, wanting to pick a fight with someone. He was exhausted and wired with angry energy. If Jule or Damian were there, they'd take a trip to the boxing ring and take turns beating the hell out of him until his blood settled. If he had a full night, he'd spend it killing vamps until too tired to pull the trigger.
Darian flushed and looked down guiltily. Dusty waited for Bianca to defend him, so he could tear into someone, anyone.
"Your dinner's in the oven," she said. She'd chosen a subject he couldn't argue about. Frustrated, he stalked to the kitchen and opened the oven, sensing her enter.
"I spend an hour at the bottom of the ocean saving his ass because he decides to try and kill himself, and you give him milk and cookies!" he muttered. He lifted the heavy, foil-covered plate out of the oven, stomach roaring at the scent of spiced chicken and vegetables. He'd been too busy to eat again today since the sandwich she made him for breakfast.
"There are enough milk and cookies for you, too," she replied.
He turned to glare at her and almost snapped at her for sitting on the counter. She met his gaze, her features warm. There was compassion in her sparkling gaze despite the gentle humor in her voice. Her warmth and openness disarmed him enough to take the edge off his anger. She wore the camisole that amplified her breasts, her curls captured at the nape of her neck.
"You need a hug, too?" she teased.
"You're playing with fire, woman," he warned.
She flushed again as she always did, and he crossed to her, resting his hands on her thighs as he leaned his hips against the counter between her knees. She leaned back, the audible sound of her breath catching music to his ears.