When he tangled her tawny fingers with his darker ones and held them…she let him. She’d never had anyone hold her hands like that. Like the lines of her palms could tell the story of her soul. And she wanted to linger here, with the scent of soap in her nostrils, poised in that perfect moment where she felt like the darkest parts of her were finally starting to come clean. But Ray was still bleeding, and she couldn’t bear that he was in any more pain. “I need to find something to bandage your arms….”
“It’s nothing.” He shrugged as if he’d suffered so much that he’d grown detached from his flesh.
“Maybe there are some Band-Aids or something in here,” she said.
He reached for a towel. “I said it was nothing. You don’t need to play nursemaid.”
It might be nothing to him, but she wanted to bandage him. Heal him somehow. Prove to him that she’d changed. “Please just let me do something for you.”
He worked his jaw, as if the decision didn’t come easy. “There’s a first-aid kit in my pack.”
She fetched it, trying not to think too hard about the other things she found inside—like duct tape and bourbon. When she returned, he extended his arms to her but it was several moments more before the tension left his shoulders and he fully surrendered, which made it easier to rub salve into the lacerations and bandage him. He watched her as she worked, lowering his head so that their foreheads almost touched, and something tightened in her throat. “I’m sorry I did this to you, Ray. You grabbed me. You frightened me.”
He still couldn’t look at her. “I know.”
“I just wanted to get free….”
“I understand.”
She supposed he, of all people, would. She taped the bandages in place around each wrist and stepped back to admire her handiwork. That’s when he reached for her again. “Now let me take a look at the cuts on your hands. It looked like the glass sliced you pretty deep.”
She let him take her hands again, searching for wounds she knew he wouldn’t find. He turned her palms over, first this way, then that, fingertips probing. When a puzzled look crossed his face, she said, “I heal quickly.”
He stared in disbelief. “You broke open that fire extinguisher case with your bare hands and now there’s not a mark on you.”
“My flesh mends like magic. I don’t know how.”
He arched a curious brow, his voice low and even. “A girl like you, with all those diplomas, doesn’t even have a theory?”
“Can you explain everything that you can do?”
He shook his head, slowly. “No. I guess I can’t. That doesn’t keep me from trying to come up with explanations. How long have you had this ability?”
“Since as far back as I can remember. Which, admittedly, isn’t that long.”
“No? You seemed like you remembered something before.” Before she could deny it, he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and made her look at him. “You remembered something when I kissed you. Maybe if I do it again, you’ll give me something more useful than the name of your psycho ex-husband.” She had remembered things when he kissed her, but now, more than anything, she was remembering that kiss. One of her hands still rested in his big calloused palm, and she felt herself lean in to him. It startled her to realize how hungry she was to be kissed again. Maybe it startled him too because his damp fingers went to the sides of her neck, thumbs on her cheeks, like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with her.
But Layla knew. She didn’t want to think, or plan, or fear. She just wanted this.
“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” he rasped. “Do you know how many times I fantasized about wrapping my hands around your neck, just like this, and choking the life out of you?”
She wanted to tell him that she wasn’t that person he remembered anymore. She wasn’t the kind of person who would hurt anyone, but how could she even say such a thing when both of his arms bore the bandaged evidence to the contrary? “I’m sorry I made you hate me, Ray. I don’t remember it, but I’m sorry that I pushed you to fantasize about strangling me.”
His gaze settled on her with unmistakable sensual weight. “That’s not the only thing I fantasized about doing to you.”
“Show me,” she whispered. She wanted to understand. She wanted to feel. Every time he touched her, something inside of her started blooming to life. She wanted to know what the blossom would look like. Every petal and grain of pollen.
Ray looked as if something were twisting inside him. “I can’t.”
“Why not?” she asked softly. “Do you want to hurt me? Is that what you want?”
His eyes closed, as if it shamed him to say, “No.”
“Then what do you want?” It was only a question, but it made something inside him snap. It was almost an audible thing—as if she could hear the crack of his self-control when he jerked her against him, drawing her lips against his. It wasn’t wild and savage as it had been in the parking garage. This kiss wasn’t meant to silence a scream, or to capture the cornered creature she’d been. This time, his lips claimed her, explored her, encouraging her to do the same.
When she did, she heard his breath grow ragged. His big hands drifted down her throat to the collar of her blouse, clumsy fingers fumbling with the tie. She reached up to help him, trembling as they worked at the buttons together. She shivered when the silk slid from her shoulders and fell to the floor, baring her to the air. He didn’t rush to undo her bra, but let his mouth drift down her neck to nuzzle the hollow of her collarbone.
It didn’t seem possible that skin could be so soft. This was madness, Ray thought. He shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be touching her, shouldn’t be kissing her. But he didn’t want to think about anything but her skin, lest it return him to sanity. Ever since he’d changed in that dungeon, he’d lived a thing apart from society, an outsider even to himself. Touching her pulled him back into his body. His physical desire for her grounded him. He wanted to have her, take her, taste her and lose himself inside her if she’d let him.
He tried to be gentle, tried not to maul her, but pent-up need made him brutish. He grabbed her, molding her body against his, smothering her tiny, womanly cries. He wanted to gently slide her skirt down, but instead he yanked it up over her hips then thrust his fingers into her panties. She was so wet that it made him groan, and as soon as he touched her there, she made a needy sound that he was sure would be his undoing.
Dim light filtered through the high bathroom window, chasing away the shadows between them. The scent of salve and soap now mixed with a more earthy musk of desire. Layla shuddered as he touched the forbidden place at her core, not knowing if she should push his hand away or not. The intimidating bulge of his erection pressed against her belly, bringing with it an unfamiliar sensation, both sickly and sweet. Was this arousal? How could it hover so close to the edge of pleasure and pain? She needed something. She needed, wanted, ached. Those were words she never used, words that hadn’t applied to her before now. But in his arms, wearing little more than her bra and panties, the steadiness of his hands on her waist emboldened her. She felt the brazen urge to stroke him. She wanted to grab for his zipper. She’d done it before, but now her fingers faltered.
He encouraged her with his eyes, and whispered, “My scars aren’t contagious, you know.”
She glanced up from beneath her lashes. “It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s that I can’t.” Something was stopping her. She couldn’t lift her own hand to do it. She didn’t know if it was fear or shame or something else. All she knew was that whatever force it was that had made her sleep through the past two years of her life still had her in its thrall. Maybe she was still dreaming. Maybe Ray could wake her. “You need to make me do it, Ray. Make me touch you.”
He looked at her as if she’d suggested he strangle her. “No way.”
“You’ve already used your powers to make me do things I didn’t want to do,” she argued. “Why can’t you use them to make me do things I want to do
?”
“Layla.” He said her name like a warning. Like she was putting him to some kind of test. “This is different.”
She was so afraid it was all going to slip away. If she didn’t seize this one moment of pure heat and passion, she might never have another one. “Help me, Ray. Please make me touch you.”
She couldn’t have asked him again if he’d refused. She was too vulnerable. But he didn’t refuse. He lifted his dark eyes to hers and she felt the penetration as keenly as if he’d grasped her with both hands. Her world slid off its axis, but this time she opened her mind to him and fell into his control as if gravity had drawn her there. She was floating, disoriented, not in possession of herself. He had her now….
“Touch me,” Ray said. A hoarse, terse command.
She’d never be able to describe the way it felt that first time—to feel his sexual mastery over her as she unzipped him. She was free of all fear she might do anything wrong. She’d felt the bulging rigid line beneath his clothes, but it was different to touch his bare erection, and she was startled by its size. Her fingertips didn’t come close to meeting her thumb as they wrapped around his girth. He was hot and hard, pulsing in her palm as her hand moved.
It would never have occurred to her that a man would want such a firm grip, such a rough jerking motion, but that’s how he must have wanted it as she worked her closed fist over his shaft. And it thrilled her. She had no control over the way she touched him, no control over her own hands, and yet, she felt completely free. The absurdity of it made her sputter with laughter and unexpected joy.
“Is that okay?” he asked, startled by her response. It was so much more than okay. It was the most erotic thing Layla had ever known, and she thought her knees might buckle from the sheer pleasure of it.
“Layla.” He said her name again, a harsh whisper, but she’d never heard her own name sound so beautiful before. She could see in his eyes that he wanted her, desired her. She hadn’t realized how powerful it would make her feel. It made no sense that she was so completely under his control, and yet, felt like…like some kind of object of worship. She hadn’t known that a man could make her feel like something he must have. Like something he might die without.
While she stroked him, his fingers searched for the center of her, swirling beneath her underwear in a way that made her squirm. It was all too much. “I need…”
“To come?” he asked, fingers still dancing over her most sensitive spot.
“Yes. No. I don’t know,” Layla said raggedly. “I don’t even know what it would feel like.”
“You’ve never had an orgasm?” he asked, as if he’d misunderstood.
It wasn’t that men hadn’t tried. It wasn’t even that she hadn’t tried to do it herself. It’s just that she couldn’t. How could she explain that to him? His gaze intensified and something started building inside her. She realized that he was doing it. He was trying to make her come with his mind. In the past, she’d shut down, shut off. But Ray didn’t let her. “You’re going to come for me though, aren’t you?”
This couldn’t be happening, but it was. The heat of it boiled up inside her. It wasn’t something she could do for herself, but it was a gift he was giving her. He forced her to feel the pleasure, to open herself up to it, and she gasped. Just then, sexual intensity blossomed, bursting open in vivid color. She never closed her eyes, not even when her head lolled back from the orgasmic pleasure. It was so powerful as it rolled over her, that she lost all threads of self-restraint. A startled cry escaped her lips, then deepened into a moan as her body tensed and released in waves.
Her knees buckled beneath her, her entire body shaking with the intensity of it.
She slumped against him. “You okay?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she said, and honestly she didn’t. She was like some teenager experiencing everything for the first time.
The water was still running in the sink. Their bodies were still tightly pressed together, and Ray braced himself to steady her. Her hair had all come down around her face, framing it in disheveled wisps, and Ray realized that he’d made her come. He’d made her do it. The exhilaration of controlling her like this, the thrill of having this kind of power swirled together with his arousal in a way that made him fear he was going to take it too far. That he could do this to her, that he could do anything to her, was almost as exciting as knowing that she wanted him to.
Staring into her eyes like this, he could force her thighs open without having to touch her and he wanted her so much that he didn’t trust himself. If this was going to happen, it had to be the old-fashioned way. He took her by the shoulders and turned her around so that he couldn’t look into her eyes, then placed her hands flat on the countertop. The break in mental connection was abrupt and painful, something that he eased by rubbing his erection between her thighs, and against her pantied ass. She arched back for him in clear invitation. She even rubbed against him, like an affectionate cat.
She was ready for him and he didn’t have to make her do this. She wanted him. With that heady thought, he pulled her cotton underwear to the side, brushing the shadowy curve of her belly with both hands. She smelled so good, and when the dark curls between her legs came into view, he felt drunk with need. Intoxicated. He pressed between her thighs, slicking himself in her wetness before attempting to push inside.
And that’s when she went cold.
Chapter 9
I watch you, I mock you
And you just stare.
Break me into pieces—
Now many of us are there.
Layla wished she hadn’t looked at herself in the mirror. She didn’t even recognize the woman she saw there bent forward over the sink, arching her back like some animal in heat. Her pupils were so dilated that her eyes were nearly black. Her hair was tousled and her body was shaking with the aftermath of orgasm. She was wild and hungry, like a stranger who’d waited in the desert a thousand years for someone to happen by and solve her riddle. But who was that in the reflection? Certainly no one she’d ever seen before. “I look…”
“Sexy,” Ray said, his body still positioned to mount her.
“I look like a slut,” Layla said, shame choking her like a mouthful of sand.
Ray paused, his hand still warm on the small of her back. “No—”
“Yes I do,” she snapped, straightening up and hugging herself, her bare arms no substitute for the protection of clothing. A maelstrom of self-loathing swirled in her mind. Slut. Whore. Tramp. “I look like a half-naked prostitute and I’m behaving like one, too, so it’s really no wonder that you’d treat me this way.”
Ray blanched. He started to say something, but Layla didn’t hear it. She pushed past him into the bedroom looking for something, anything to wear. He followed, lumbering after her as if he couldn’t quite get the blood back into his brain. When he finally spoke, he said, “Layla, what the hell is going on?”
She shrugged, sitting on the edge of the motel bed, pulling the quilt around her body. The memories were coming back now. All the men she’d questioned. All the things she’d done. “I remembered something.” That shook him out of his sluggishness. He was at her side in two steps, crouching in front of her. “I remembered you,” she said, biting her lower lip. “I remember questioning you, day after day. I remember all the confessions you signed saying that you’d worked for the enemy.”
His expression darkened, both hands rubbing the stubble of his face. “They were lies, Layla. I’d have signed anything to get out of that hole.”
“So I was an interrogator just like you said. I asked you questions. I tried to earn your trust. I tried to get close to you and find your vulnerabilities. You wanted to know my real name and I almost told you. I knew you were developing feelings for me…” She watched him swallow, his pride too strong to allow him to admit it. “And I used that.”
“Why?” he asked, his expression pained. “Why did you do that?”
Layla lifted her chin. �
��To help the U.S. government break you before another soldier or civilian died.”
Ray slammed his hand against the bedside table. “I was innocent, damn you!”
Her accusation obviously infuriated him, instantly and powerfully. He looked like he could tear the whole room apart, like he could kill her, but when he reached for her, he just took her face in his hands. “Layla, you need to listen to me. I didn’t do anything but risk my life for my country. Someone told you otherwise, and I need to know who. What was the evidence against me?”
“I don’t know,” Layla said. “I don’t remember.”
Fury burned higher and hotter in his eyes. “I need you to remember. I’ll make you remember.”
In her half-naked humiliation, she felt angry and defiant. “Oh? How are you going to manage that?”
“I have an idea or two,” he said with a dark laugh. “Every time I get your pulse racing, you seem to remember something else. The first time I touched you, you whispered my name. I kissed you, and you remembered your ex. I bent you over a sink, and now you remember questioning me. What happens if I throw you down on this bed and give you what you really need?”
“Don’t,” she said, putting her hand on his chest.
He grabbed it and twisted it just to the edge of pain. “You know I can do it. In fact, you want me to do it. All that crap you said in there about how you looked like a slut, that’s just an excuse. You’re just scared, and maybe you should be, because let me tell you something, I’ve done worse things to unlock people’s memories than get them off.”
The coarseness of his language seemed to physically scrape her skin. All the bravado went out of her, and she was left only with her vulnerability. “You don’t understand,” she whispered. “I’m not like this. I’m not this person who…who…has sex in a stranger’s motel room.”
“We’re not strangers,” Ray said. “And it’s pretty clear to me you don’t know who the hell you really are. You think you’re some demure little rabbit, but do you want to know what I saw inside your mind?”
Dark Sins and Desert Sands Page 9
