Right Through Me (The Obsidian Files #1)

by Shannon McKenna

  He set aside his wineglass and studied his collection for several moments while she covertly studied him, seizing the opportunity to ogle.

  When she dragged her gaze away, she noticed another shelf along the opposite wall with a series of striking carvings on it. All appeared to have been done by the same artist. Some were large, some small. All were of wild animals, some still attached to the rough chunks of wood from which they were carved, as if the animal was trying to escape. She went over to take a closer look, struck by the sense of trapped energy.

  “Those are beautiful,” she said. “Who’s the artist?”

  He was silent for such a long time, she turned around to repeat the question. Then she realized that he was simply reluctant to answer.

  “You?” she guessed. “You did these?”

  He shrugged. “I get insomnia.” He sounded almost defensive. “It passes the time.”

  She looked back at the carved animals. They were detailed, dynamic. Original.

  “You’ve never exhibited your work?” she asked.

  “I’m not into that,” he said. “I just like keeping busy.”

  “You have a lot of energy,” she commented. “I love them. They’re great.”

  He smiled briefly. “Thanks.”

  “So why do you have a fake Delaunay on the wall, but Bosch originals?”

  “Interesting question. I’ll answer it if you explain how you learned to tell an original from an excellent professional reproduction.”

  She shrank back. Put her wineglass on the table. “Some other time. Not now.”

  “Sorry. I’m just curious. Insanely curious.”

  Sneaky bastard. She flushed. “So much for not being nosy. That concludes this evening’s conversation.”

  “We’ll be all right,” he said. “Like you said before. We can just, ah, not talk.”

  Here it was. Her cue to do something sexy and uninhibited. But she felt so freaking self-conscious.

  Noah caressed her arm soothingly, as if she’d spoken her thoughts aloud. “Don’t be nervous,” he said gently. “We both know it’ll be great.”

  If only she could be so confident.

  “All we have to do is get to where we were in my office. I suggest we start with a kiss. Unless you have a better idea.” He put down his wine glass and reached out.

  She shivered as he brushed her cheek with the back of his knuckles. The gesture was tender, respectful, but it went too far somehow. She couldn’t handle tenderness, or any real intimacy. She was too raw. She’d set the limits in advance: she wanted nothing but the physical act of sex.

  She would content herself with that. They both had to.

  Really, it wasn’t like she had anything to complain about. She’d maneuvered herself into the luxury lair of a super-hot guy whose plan was to make her come all night long. The only hitch was that he was disappointed because he couldn’t take her to a fancy restaurant, where he wanted to wine her and dine her and ask her about herself where anyone could overhear. Awww, tough. Poor her.

  He took her hand, enveloping it in his. “You don’t have to be afraid.”

  “Oh, I’m not,” she said quickly. “Really I’m not.”

  “We’ll take our time,” he assured her. “There’s no rush. And I’ll be very gentle.”

  “You don’t have to . . .”

  Too late. He lifted her hand to his lips and started kissing it. Hot, intense, deliberate kisses.

  The experience was new to her. His whole playbook was new. He kissed the inside of her wrist. A swift, hot shimmer flowed right up her arm.

  “I . . .” She stopped, swallowed, tried again. “Shall we—”

  “Get on with it? Let me have a look at you.” He pulled a case out of his pocket, opened it, and removed the dark contact lenses, stowing them. Then he turned his jewel-clear golden eyes squarely upon her.

  His gaze triggered an almost unbearable feeling of exposure. She wanted to hide. Sheer stubborn pride kept her chin up.

  “You’re better,” he said thoughtfully. “But not one hundred percent better.”

  “One hundred percent is not going to happen,” she said wryly. “Unless you wait for a very long time.”

  He nodded, having come to some inscrutable decision. “Come with me, then. If you think you’re ready.”

  She followed him through vaulted spaces full of shadows. Outside, the wind whipped the dark lakewater to rippling whitecaps. He led her into a big bedroom, decorated with the same masculine elegance as the rest of the house. Wood paneled walls, hardwood floor, a vast bed, floor to ceiling windows with vertical blinds made of paler wood.

  He let her go in first, then stopped just inside the door. “Lights on or off?”

  She shrugged.

  “My call, then.” He hit a switch. A pair of immense floor lamps began to glow softly.

  Caro wished that she’d opted for darkness. She was paralyzed with shyness.

  “You wanted me to take the lead,” he said. “Now you have to trust me to take you where you need to go.”

  She wrapped her arms around herself without answering.

  “Do you?”

  She finally nodded.

  He sat down at the foot of his enormous bed, flanked by the lamps. “Take off your clothes for me.”

  She was flustered, and perplexed. “While you sit there and watch?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Why?” she demanded.

  His face was too shadowed to read. “To turn you on,” he said.

  “Oh! So this is all for my benefit?” she flung at him.

  “And mine. But I’m not the variable in this equation. You are.”

  “Not really,” she said. “Don’t forget that I’ve already danced for you. Twice. And I wasn’t wearing much.”

  “I remember,” he said. “It turned you on then, too. Both times.”

  His unwavering stare had her pinned to the spot. “What makes you think so?”

  “I don’t think that it did,” he said. “I know that it did.”

  His self-assurance was infuriating. All the more so because it was true. Caro slashed back with a sarcastic question. “I see. Then does my lord command me, his lowly bed slave, to do his bidding?”

  “Hot fantasy. Keep talking.”

  “When I’m ready,” she said.

  “I want to please you so badly. Please.” His low voice was charged with intensity. “Trust me.”

  This conflict was winding her so tight, she wanted to scream, break something. But that wasn’t going to get her what she came here for. Only Noah could do that.

  So often, over the past months, she’d felt trapped in a parallel universe. On another plane, some other free, happy Caro still lived, unaware that her ghost self, this current Caro, was trapped in an alt-world version of her real life. It had crossed her mind, in her darker moments, that maybe she had actually died at Mark’s hands on that terrible night and was now imprisoned in an endless nightmare from which she could not awaken. A disembodied soul who floated around, craving human contact.

  The kind only Noah Gallagher could give her. Sensual pleasure beyond her wildest dreams.

  But ghosts didn’t have dreams. She must be real. Noah, too.

  And he was right over there. Waiting for her.

  * * *

  Noah’s fingers dug into the bedcover. It was so hard to sit and watch when he wanted so so badly to seize her.

  Blown glass. She was much too tense for self-indulgent macho bullshit. He’d have to coax her to where she needed to be, but she needed him to be strong, too. She responded to that. He’d seen it in her sig. It would be so easy to screw this up.

  For now, he’d sit, dick throbbing against his pants with every slow heartbeat while she slowly worked it out in her head.

  “Take your clothes off first,” she said. “Then I won’t feel like I’m at such a disadvantage.”

  “You already are,” he said bluntly. “It’d be worse if I were stark naked. You’re just goi
ng to have to trust me.”

  Yes. There it was, that hot glow of hopeful pink and violet, blooming outward from her. Trailing off in transparent wisps.

  She wanted to trust him. Wanted it desperately.

  “You wouldn’t be here with me if doing this didn’t turn you on.”

  “This? Could you be more specific?”

  He leaned forward, pinning her with his gaze. “Yes. Strip off your clothes. Or else keep them on and think about how it felt when I made you lose it. Move the way you did, but without me touching you. Touch yourself. I want to watch, and imagine how it’ll feel when you come for me.”

  Another pink glow over her chest, this one with the sexy orange sunburst pulsing out of it. Responding to heat with heat.

  “Why are you looking at me like that? It feels like you’re reading my mind.”

  She’d changed the subject on him. So suddenly. He hadn’t seen that coming.

  I am reading your mind. He stopped the words, just in time, startled at the overwhelming impulse to tell her the truth about himself. Just blurt out all of it.

  Her sig was doing it to him. She wanted him to read her mind. She wanted to be seen, heard, known. She ached for it.

  “I’m figuring you out,” he told her. “I can’t help it. It’s just who I am. I observe, gather data, analyze it. I’m designed for that. With no off switch.”

  “How can you analyze data if I don’t give you any?”

  “But you do,” he said. “It doesn’t matter if you talk about yourself or not. You tell me about yourself with every word, every move, every blink.”

  All at once, she flared so bright, he almost winced. Yes. This was the vein of gold he had to follow.

  She couldn’t resist her own curiosity. “Like what? What am I telling you now?”

  “You sure you want to play this game?” he asked. “It might take you someplace you aren’t comfortable with.”

  “I’m never comfortable,” she said. “Besides, you’re just bluffing.”

  OK, bombs away. He took a deep breath. Ramped up his AVP to the max, something he almost never did on purpose, but he was already so turned inside out by his reaction to Caro, it hardly mattered. Fuck it.

  “You grew up near Boston,” he said. “I hear the accent, but I don’t hear it very often. You’re pretty good at faking Seattle-speak, though. You’ve made an effort.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “OK. I see where this is going now, and I’m done,” she said. “That’s enough.”

  She wasn’t done, though. Not by a long shot. Her colors were going crazy.

  He pushed on. “You didn’t grow up rich. Lower middle class, at best.” The look on her face made him quickly add, “Just being objective. I grew up dirt poor myself.”

  She looked around his bedroom, dubious. “You? Really?”

  “Yes,” he said. “But we’re not talking about me.”

  “I don’t want to talk about—”

  “You’re alone in the world. No one to turn to.” He hesitated, and added, “Until now.”

  She took a slow step back. “Lucky me.”

  “You’ve been running for a while,” he went on. “I see it in your eyes. I know that vibe. Constantly on your guard. It wears you down.”

  “Oh, please,” she scoffed.

  “Want me to stop?”

  “Yes. No.”

  He went with the last word. “You got involved in something dirty by accident. Someone used you.”

  She stiffened with shock.

  “Tell me his name, Caro,” he said softly. “I’ll kill him for you.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “In your dreams.”

  He ignored that. “What do you do when you’re not dancing?” He could guess, and he’d be right. But he was pushing too hard. He needed to back off.

  “Noah.” There was a quiver of panic in her voice. “Stop it.”

  He just sat there, concentrating with all his strength. Taking her in. Trying to feel his way to the next step without losing her. “You’re scared of me,” he said.

  “No, I’m not. Not at all.” For the second time in minutes, he was unable to read her. He had to figure out how the fuck she did that. No one ever had.

  “OK then,” he said. “Take off your clothes.”

  Chapter 11

  This was harder than it should be, for a woman who’d been dancing professionally in scanty clothing to survive. But she had no costume to hide behind here. She was dressed to disappear, not titillate.

  And undressing in front of this incredibly charismatic guy would be intimidating even if she’d been wearing silk and lace.

  Caro crouched to untie the graying laces of her kicks, wincing as she peeled off socks that had multiple holes in them. Yikes.

  She was so excited couldn’t breathe. Her heart thudded against her ribs. She longed for filmy layers, something soft or stretchy to peel off and let whisper to the ground. All she had was the black long-sleeved jersey pulled over various other T-shirts, layered for warmth, bulk and blurring.

  Once those were off, she had the frayed bra to feel self-conscious about, considering it barely contained her C-cup boobs. It had been bought back in a previous era of her life. Back when she still had reason to display cleavage.

  Which she still had, despite living on what she thought of as the fugitive diet. Boobs were great for belly dancing, but aside from that, they were a nuisance for a woman on the run. They had to be contained, concealed. They ached, bounced, and attracted attention. Which she wanted about as much as she wanted a dose of radiation poisoning.

  For the first time in a long while, she was glad to have them. She strained to reach the clasp, let the bra fall. Shoulders back. Tits high. In your face, dude.

  The energy in the room changed. His face changed, going tense. He swallowed hard. No longer calm.

  She was glad. Rattling his cage gave her a rush of power. She posed proudly, just waiting. Savoring the heat. The pressure of his eyes. Like a touch.

  “Caro,” he whispered. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

  Aw. Gee. Her face flushed, and her breath got stuck in her chest. She opened her mouth to thank him. Thought better of it.

  “Come here,” he said.

  She inched forward carefully. Gravity got wonky around this guy. When she was within his reach, he began to unbuckle her belt. It was a man’s belt, bought to keep her jeans up on her ass so to avoid having to buy smaller clothes.

  The buckle gave way. Noah tugged on the ends of the battered strip of leather.

  She stumbled forward until she stood between his powerful thighs, his face inches from her naked breasts. Her nipples tightened to rigid points at the heat of his breath. His gaze was so fierce and focused, she felt like it burned her skin.

  “Don’t,” she whispered. Having no clue as to why she said it.

  “Don’t what? Look at the perfect tits in front of my face?”

  “The X-ray eyes thing,” she told him. “Not fair. To look at me that way, read my mind, try to tell me all about myself. That wasn’t the deal.”

  “The deal was, no questions. I didn’t ask any.”

  She shook her head. “But somehow you keep pushing me.”

  Noah put his hands around her waist, his long fingers splayed over the curve of her ass. Her jeans slid down, catching perilously at her hips. One wrong move and they would fall. “I do it because I know you want me to.”

  “What makes you think that?” she demanded.

  “I’m just paying attention.”

  She felt almost afraid to breathe. “I can’t do this,” she whispered.

  He tugged her closer. “Yes, you can,” he said. “You need to. You want it so bad.” He pressed his face to her breasts.

  Caro moaned as his hot mouth moved over her. He held her in a tight, possessive grip as he suckled and licked. His touch released a torrent of energy, making her vision dim, her head pound. Reality itself warped inexplicably, narrowing down to a single glittering
point . . .

  And exploded, shooting light all through her body. She blacked out for a moment.

  She found herself draped over his shoulder some time after. Clamped in his strong arms, feeling his heartbeat. Her hair hung down over his back.

  Her head was too heavy to lift. “What the hell?” she whispered.

  “You came,” he said softly. “A whole body orgasm. Just from me kissing your breasts for a little while. Amazing. I’ve never felt anything like that in my life.”

  It was his fault, she wanted to say. He was the one who did it to her. She could not take responsibility for something so unfathomable.

  “Get those pants off.” A brisk tug, and they were around her ankles, panties quickly following. He admired her muff, stroking her hips, moving his hands along the tender skin of her inner thighs. Her nails dug into his shoulders as he teased her mound.

  “Climb up on me,” he urged. “Straddle me, knees on the bed. You are so perfect. I cannot believe you’re real.”

  She swayed there unsteadily, stark naked over his fully clothed body. Her legs splayed wide, on either side of his thighs. Wide open to his gentle exploring touch.

  “Take off your clothes,” she told him. “I’m going to leave a huge wet spot on your bespoke pants.”

  “My dry cleaner can worry about that.”

  “I insist,” she said sternly. “I can’t handle this. Me bare-assed and you with the white dress shirt, all buttoned up. I know you’ve got a mysterious plan to drive me mad with desire but those buttons are seriously bugging me.”

  “It seemed like it was working for you,” he pointed out.

  “To a point. I’m falling to pieces while you stay cool and composed. Give me the satisfaction of getting you disheveled. Look at you. You could be in a boardroom, closing a billion dollar deal. Not fondling a naked woman in your bedroom.”

  “Not with this hard-on, I couldn’t.”

  “No one would know, with that poker face,” she scoffed. “Someone could be blowing you under the table, and no one would ever know.”

  His swift grin flashed. “Stimulating scenario. One more orgasm first?”

  “The shirt,” she said, relentless. “Off with it.”