The Pawn of the Phoenix (The Memory Collector Series Book 2)

by Jamie McLachlan

  “I want this, Keenan.” I stare into those green eyes that always manage to undo me. “I want you.”

  His concerns immediately dissipate at the sound of my desire. Even if I wasn’t an empath, I could tell he wants me as well. His eyes soften into a comfortable laziness, and he turns to place me on the bed beneath him. He removes his undergarment, so when he lies back on top of me, our bodies meet in a naked embrace. I pull him closer, wrapping my legs around him, and welcome the weight of his body on top of mine. His lips meet mine in an ardent kiss, and the tip of his erection glides smoothly inside me. We move against each other, while the rest of our bodies struggle to pull the other closer.

  He suddenly rolls onto his back, pulling me on top of him, and then sits up so we’re once again in an upright position. His left hand clutches the back of my neck, while his other arm is firmly wrapped around my waist. I continue to taste him, my tongue exploring his, as I lower myself around him, relishing in the feel of accepting him again. I build up the pleasure within me to match his. When we’re both close, he pulls his lips away and looks into my eyes. Our breathing quickens as the intense pleasure between us reaches its climax, and I cry out in ecstasy as his orgasm swirls gloriously around in my head, heightening my own.

  The moment the waves cease, I lower my head onto his shoulder, breathing heavily. The soft ticking inside his mind is almost rendered mute by the fast beating of his heart, and the only emotion I can sense now is an all-encompassing content. Though I’m thoroughly satisfied at the moment, I wonder if I’ll ever have enough of him. I take one last inhale of his scent before I move to climb off him, but Keenan halts my progress, wrapping his arms tightly around me.

  “You can’t stay inside me forever, Keenan.”

  His lips curve to reveal the dimple that always melts my resolve. “As appealing as that sounds, I suppose you’re right.” He opens his eyes and looks at me drowsily. “It would certainly make traveling in public nearly impossible.”

  I pitch my voice in an agreeable tone, but fail to conceal my mirth. “Yes, that would definitely be problematic.”

  “And we’d eventually tire of one another.”

  I laugh. “We don’t need to be physically stuck to one another for that to happen.”

  “No, I suppose not—though it would happen sooner.”

  His dimple reappears, and he pulls me in for a deep kiss. When we separate, the photograph of the young woman I had found in his office surfaces to the front of my mind. We lie down beside one another, and I honestly can’t say what possesses me to say the words that tumble out of my mouth. Perhaps it stems from a mixture of curiosity and jealousy.

  “Is that what happened between you and Celeste?”

  His brows immediately pucker, and an emotion I didn’t expect overwhelms his features. “Who?”

  I simply stare at him for a moment, debating whether or not I should continue down this unpleasant spiral. He’s clearly not faking his mystification, so I have a chance to save myself by changing the subject. But, instead, I plunge further, even if it leads me to my doom.

  “Celeste,” I repeat. “Your ex-lover?”

  “My ex-lover?” he echoes, his frown deepening. “I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about, Moira.”

  “It’s nothing.” I wave my hand dismissively, curling up in the nook of his arm, and rest my head on his chest. “Ignore everything I just said.”

  He doesn’t respond, and his brows are stuck in an expression of deep thought. Though I had told him to forget it, he won’t. What I said has perplexed him, and he’s trying to sift through his memories for a Celeste. He has only ever known one person named Celeste, and he was never romantically involved with her. His thoughts continue to baffle me. Why would he keep a picture of a woman in a romance novel if he never had an intimate relationship with her? Perhaps it was love from a distance? I sigh in annoyance. Now he can’t help but think about another woman right after having sex with me, and it’s my own fault.

  I attempt to change the subject. “I’m pretty sure Mrs. Whitmore heard us.”

  “Probably.”

  The idea doesn’t bother him at all, and he’d gladly do it over again. I don’t need to ask him to know the sex was great, because the answer is all there in his thoughts. But Keenan isn’t an empath, so he doesn’t have the luxury of reading my thoughts. He’s wondering if the experience had been pleasant for me, or if I had exaggerated the intensity of my pleasure. I smile against his chest, debating whether or not I should stroke his ego with grateful affirmations, or if I should leave him squirming in speculation.

  Mr. Hayes enters his mind, and he automatically compares himself to the Dream House Instigator, questioning if I had enjoyed the other man’s company more. Jealousy spreads, slow and steadily, encompassing the floor and spreading up the gears in his mind. It doesn’t stem from a need to exceed the other man’s prowess in the bedroom, but rather from a desire to please me. Apparently, we’re both thinking about other people when we should be thinking about one another.

  I prop myself up on my elbow and look at him. “That was amazing.”

  He narrows his eyes, suspicion quickly overriding his jealousy. “Have you been reading my mind this entire time?”

  “Only what comes to me easily.” I flash him my best innocent smile.

  “I see. And how much is that?”

  “A lot,” I admit. “But it wasn’t intentional. Your mind was too preoccupied on other things to put up much of a defense.”

  He pauses, and I know exactly what he’s thinking. He’s not angry in the least. How could he be when he practically gave me those thoughts? Rather, he’s annoyed he can’t read my mind—that he has to resort to verbal questions and chance the possibility I might lie. So when his mouth parts open, I know he’ll ask for fairness.

  “Since you’ve been listening to my personal thoughts, I think it’s only fair you answer a few questions of mine.”

  “Naturally,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Alright, ask away.”

  He immediately erects a mental barrier, funnelling all his thoughts out of the clock and effectively out of my reach. “Why did you agree to Mr. Hayes’s offer? Was it because you were genuinely interested or was it an attempt to raise my jealousy?”

  “Honestly?” I say, and he nods. “I needed a distraction.”

  He scrutinizes me, his gaze flickering over my face. “Why him?”

  I sigh. “Because the man I wanted didn’t seem to want me in return.”

  “And why do you say that?” He’s clearly annoyed, but I can’t read his thoughts to find the source of his irritation.

  My own frustration rises, and I give him a pointed look. “Because he continuously rejected my advances. Then there was that time he told me I was annoying–”

  “You are frustrating and difficult.”

  “–and an unwanted distraction,” I continue.

  “That as well,” he says slowly. “But I never said you were unwanted.”

  “You didn’t have to. It was sort of implied.”

  “So that’s why you slept with Mr. Hayes?” He’s absolutely calm as he says this, but I can sense he’s simultaneously incredulous and aggravated.

  “Yes, more or less.”

  It sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud, but at the time it didn’t feel absurd. I had wanted Keenan and had even made my desire for him known. Yet he hadn’t responded and had even retreated further away from me after our first kiss. I went to Mr. Hayes, knowing he would divert my mind from thinking about the detective. Was it wrong? I don’t think so, but to Keenan, I would venture to say yes.

  He turns onto his side and peers down at me. “Do you intend to continue to see Mr. Hayes?”

  His barriers are erected firmly in place, so I can only sense any emotion he’s experiencing strongly. I could shatter the wall that blocks my path, but I don’t. I respect his privacy—at least I try to most of the time. Even though I honour his decision to hide his thoughts, I’m
a little peeved he happened to choose this moment. After that question, it would be nice to know his thoughts—to gauge where we stand. If he wants to continue seeing me intimately, then my answer would definitely be no. But if he doesn’t, then I’m undeniably going to need someone else to distract me.

  “Was this only a one-time thing?” I ask.

  He shakes his head, his expression dead serious. “I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way, Moira. I asked you a question, so answer it.” The intensity of his gaze demands me to answer truthfully. “Do you intend to see Mr. Hayes again?”

  I could lie, or I could reply with a sardonic remark. Both would undoubtedly push him further away out of my reach. And after this morning, I’m desperate to keep him within my grasp. There’s a possibility I could get hurt, but that likelihood has always been present the moment I began to have feelings for Keenan. But if we go further, the pain will be much worse. Am I willing to take the chance? I look up into the sea of green that had captivated me the moment we first met and tentatively touch the side of his face. He would definitely be worth it.

  I offer him the truth and hope it doesn’t cut me open. “Not if I can have you.”

  “Good,” he says quietly, instantly relaxing. The pad of his thumb softly strokes my lips. “Because I’m not the type who shares. If I’m going to have you, then I want all of you. That has to be something you’re willing to give me.”

  My initial reaction to his words is fear. I don’t even know if I’m capable of giving him what he wants, but I’m desperate to try. It’s an entirely different form of submission than the one every other person has demanded of me, but his words promise me his own surrender in return.

  He kisses my lips softly. “Is that something you’re willing to do, Moira?”

  “Yes,” I breathe.

  The moment the word has left me, Keenan presses his lips against mine. His tongue slips into my mouth, and his mental barrier crumbles away. He’s willingly allowing me into his mind, and I eagerly step into the clock. The soothing tick, tock fills my thoughts, brushing away my anxieties. The gears and cogs turn sluggishly with his content, unlike the whirring of his usual mental activity. I trail my fingers along a gear, and Keenan moans against my lips. The sensation is even more intimate with our bodies entwined, and he relaxes beside me. I continue farther into the clock, relishing in his pleasure. It’s the most he’s ever allowed me to explore, and soon I’m wandering down a hall. Steam rolls from the metal floor beneath me, creeping between the cracks to caress my skin. The back of my neck beads with perspiration, and my eyes flicker to the line of doors on each side of me.

  I imagine each door contains specific memories, and I smile. It figures his mind would be so efficient and organized, rather than like the chaotic landscape of Evan’s mind. When I had entered the dream weaver’s mind, there had been several objects strewn across the meadow. I’m actually surprised by Keenan’s construction, because I usually only see such a landscape in a blocker’s mind. I’m desperate to know what lies on the other side of each door, but touching them would only bring his attention to them. So I continue, simply content to look. I love his mind and could spend hours just listening to the gears whir.

  One of the farthest doors happens to catch my attention, and my heart thunders wildly. There’s an empath’s insignia carved into the wood—a sign someone has tampered with his mind. Thankfully, it’s not the Phoenix’s. Instead, it sort of looks like someone’s initials. Yet that still doesn’t calm the anxiety that settles in the pit of my stomach. The outline isn’t on fire, so I assume there is no persuasion involved. But the fact there’s a mark at all means an empath has meddled with his memories, because only a memory blocker imprints an insignia on a client’s mind. I’m simultaneously intrigued and terrified to know what memories are locked behind this door. What was so painful in your past you had an empath block it, Keenan?

  “Is something wrong?” he asks, noticing me still beside him.

  I retreat from his mind, and my gaze focuses on his. “Not at all.”

  His eyes narrow, and I pull him closer to cover up the fact my heart is pounding loudly in my ears. I try to suppress my inquisitiveness, because there’s no way I can possibly ask him what might be concealed behind those doors. We lie in his bed for a while before we dress for the day. He ties my corset for me, and for some reason it’s more erotic than when he took it off.

  The moment we head downstairs, Mrs. Whitmore has already set up breakfast in the dining room. She eyes us curiously, her mind offering her thoughts to me without resistance. She knows we had spent the night together, and she doesn’t approve at all, her lips pressing into a firm line before she leaves. Keenan and I eat in companionable silence. Once in a while I feel his eyes on me, so I glance up and smile at him. His light-green eyes narrow fractionally in suspicion before his lips quirk with amusement, and though I catch a glimpse of his dimple each time, the gesture never reaches his eyes. He knows something is on my mind, and my silence is frustrating.

  When we finish eating, he pulls me into his arms and leisurely kisses me. He tastes delicious and feels so right, and I melt in his grasp. We’ve now kissed several times today, and I have to admit I’m enjoying our new arrangement. The sound of me sighing against his lips satisfies him, and I press into his mind to find out why and am immediately surprised by the answer.

  I stare up into his eyes. “I don’t regret any of it, and I meant what I said earlier.”

  He inhales deeply, and his annoyance bleeds into me. “We’re going to have to settle on some rules.”

  “I don’t think I like the sound of that. I’ve never been good at rules. I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but I’m quite disobedient.”

  He smirks and continues. “I understand you cannot help but sense my emotions. But my thoughts are off limits, unless I have invited you into my mind. Do we understand one another, Moira?”

  I grin. “Yes. Anything else?”

  “Our relationship doesn’t interfere with the investigation.”

  “Our relationship?” I echo, surprised.

  “Precisely,” he continues. “And you will not use seduction as a means to acquire information from anyone.”

  My heart flutters wildly. “I can agree to that as long as I’m permitted to use my powers of seduction on you.”

  “Of course, and I’m glad you find my rules so agreeable. Is there anything you would like to request?”

  “Yes,” I say, suddenly nervous. “I’m not your concubine.”

  “I assure you that was never my intent.”

  My anxiety vanishes, and I smile. “I believe you, but that’s not what I meant. I’m not your concubine, so I don’t want to be treated as such. My rule is I sleep with you in your bedroom.”

  He opens his mouth to speak, but Mrs. Whitmore enters the dining room. Her eyes widen at the sight of us embracing, and Keenan casually releases me. She mumbles something under her breath and busies herself with clearing the table. Keenan and I head out into the foyer to escape her not-so-subtle glares. Before we leave the house, I rush upstairs to grab something from my room. I had promised I would never enter his mind uninvited, but I never vowed to suppress my curiosity or my attempts to delve into his past. Besides, it’s not like he has any intention of leaving my past behind. I figure the Chief would most likely know who Celeste is since he’s known Keenan for ten years, so I slip her photograph into my pocket.

  Keenan regards me suspiciously when I accompany him in the foyer, but doesn’t ask any questions. He opens my jacket, and slips it on for me. Once my arms are through, he leans forward so I feel his heat on my back. His lips move close to my ear, and his breath tickles my neck.

  “I look forward to our new sleeping arrangements,” he says quietly.

  A shiver courses through me, and I instinctively turn my face toward him. My cheek brushes against his, and he leans closer. Mrs. Whitmore appears in the hallway, and her sharp inhale startles both of us. Keenan pulls away an
d clears his throat, while I smile sweetly at the housekeeper. We leave the house and drive down Churchill Road to the police station. We’re quiet during the ride there, but it’s not an awkward silence. It’s the sort of quiet between two people who are content to simply be in each other’s company.

  When we enter the station, Rick calls for our attention. He begins asking the detective for a day when we can visit him and his fiancée, and I decide to take this opportunity to speak with the Chief while they sort out the details. I casually inform Keenan I’ll wait for him in the Chief’s office before slipping away from him so he can’t stop me. The Chief’s eyes widen in shock when I enter his office alone, and he stares at me in a perplexed moment.

  “Where’s Keenan?”

  “Speaking with Rick.” I sit down in the chair across from his desk. “I needed to speak to you alone—without the detective.”

  He frowns and fidgets with his red whiskers. “What is it?”

  I remove the photograph from my pocket and place it gently on his desk. The moment his eyes fall on the picture, his heart rate escalates and beads of sweat gather on his forehead. He knows who the woman is, and his mind immediately focuses on the door with concern and fear. Before I entered his office, I was already dreading the answer to my question. But the Chief’s reaction makes my stomach churn with a mixture of suspicion and alarm.

  “Who is the woman in the photo?”

  The Chief’s eyes dart back to my face. “Has Keenan seen this?”

  “No.”

  “Good,” he mutters. He swallows and wipes the sweat off his forehead. “I don’t know if it’ll do anything, but I suggest you keep that picture far from Keenan’s grasp.” Before I can ask why, he narrows his eyes. “Where did you find that picture?”

  “In his study.”