"Ohh, child." Amelie gave a slow shake of her head, her tone implying both shock and sympathy. "You truly have not lived, have you?"
"Maybe not." Because the woman was blind, she didn't see Corinne's wistful smile as she answered. She was glad for the privacy of her thoughts as she gathered some of the empty plates from the table. When Amelie got up to help, Corinne gently placed her hand on the woman's shoulder. "Please, sit. Let me take care of cleaning up, at least."
With a sigh that seemed equal parts resignation and contentment, Amelie sat back down in her chair at the table while Corinne cleared the rest of the dishes and flatware and started a basin full of hot, soapy water at the sink.
As she set the dishes into the suds, Corinne couldn't help feeling that the food had tasted more flavorful, the soft jazz music in the other room sounded more soothing - everything around her seemed brighter, more vivid and potent - after the pleasurable hours she'd spent in Hunter's arms. She wondered what it might be like to feel this way all the time. Was this what it was like for mated pairs within the Breed?
Was the intense warmth blooming in the center of her being simply a reaction to the physical comfort Hunter had given her, or something more?
She didn't want to let him into her heart. God help her, but for a very long time, she hadn't considered there could ever be room for anyone except the child she'd been forced to surrender. But when she thought about Hunter's kindness toward her, when she considered all that they'd been through together in the past few days, she could not deny that he meant something to her. Something much more than the warrior she'd initially distrusted - even feared - and now looked to as her closest ally.
Her unexpected friend and, now, her lover.
The formidable Breed male who had bonded himself to her inexorably, if for no other reason than she'd begged him to.
It was a sacred gift, and he'd given it to her for use as a tool in her personal quest. He'd given her the most priceless, intimate thing he had, with hardly the slightest hesitation. She felt Hunter's presence stir the air behind her now, yet the low rumble of his voice still made her pulse kick when he spoke. "All the memory card data has been sent to Gideon. I've also scanned the relevant paper files, in case any of it proves useful."
Corinne dried her hands on a towel, then pivoted to face him. "What did he think?" she asked, not at all reassured by his grim tone. He was holding back somehow, his face neutral. Unreadable. When she'd first met him, that schooled look had unnerved her, made her curious; now it simply worried her. "Did any of it mean anything to Gideon?"
"He will let us know." Hunter crossed his bulky arms across the large SAINTS lettering emblazoned on the tight black-and-gold sweatshirt. The sleeves barely reached halfway down his forearms, and now the fabric stretched even tighter across his broad shoulders. "The situation at the compound is not ideal at the moment. But Gideon has said he'll get back to us as soon as possible if his analysis yields anything promising."
"Okay," Corinne replied, telling herself it was a start. She had little left to lose when it came right down to it.
Nathan was still out of her reach, despite the blood memories Hunter had read for her. The lab records they'd found in Henry Vachon's storage unit were all they had to go on now -
those, and Gideon's considerable technological skills. She had placed her trust in Hunter, and he in turn had placed his own in the Order. Corinne had to believe that if there was a solution, she would find it so long as she had Hunter on her side.
The hard part now would be the waiting.
She blew out a small sigh. "Okay," she said again, giving a resolute nod as though to convince herself it was all going to work out in the end.
As she turned back to the sink to finish washing the dishes, Amelie piped up from her seat at the table. "Everything all right back up in Boston with my sister and her man?"
"Yes, ma'am," Hunter replied. "Savannah and Gideon are both well."
"That's good," she said. "Those two deserve their happiness more than most anyone I know. I suspect you and Corinne do too."
Mortified at the turn in the conversation, Corinne kept her head down, scrubbing at a stubborn bit of dried rice that clung to one of the plates. She tried to concentrate on the music playing quietly over the stereo - a tune she immediately recognized - casting about for anything to focus on but the gaping silence that seemed to emanate from Hunter's direction. She rinsed the suds off the plate and set it into the wire drainer on the counter, feeling her skin prickle with a current of awareness that rippled in the air behind her. It drew closer, and when she glanced to her right, she found Hunter standing beside her, a red-and-white checkered dish towel in his large hands.
Corinne couldn't take his silence, or the meaningful look he fixed on her as he stood there, letting Amelie's assumption hang between them like a question.
"It's not like that for us," she blurted. "Hunter and I, we're not ..."
Amelie's answering chuckle was as warm and rich as butter. "Oh, I wouldn't be so sure about that, child. I wouldn't be so sure about that at all."
"We're not," Corinne said, infinitely quieter this time, surprised she was able to speak at all for the way Hunter watched her, standing so close she could feel the heat of his body reaching out to her as surely as she did his gaze. His golden eyes rooted on her, hot and unflinching, sweeping her back in an instant to the hours of passion they'd shared just down the hallway from this very spot.
"I know this music," he murmured, his head cocked toward the jazz song that floated in from the living room speakers but his gaze still holding her in its heated grasp.