I told him everything I could remember. The conversation I’d overheard between Mitchell and her client. The scans and tests. Detachment. What Mitchell had told me about their experiments.
“We have to get out of here,” he said.
We. I pressed the tips of my fingers against his skin. “Is that possible?”
He covered my hand with his, playing with one of my fingers as he thought. “I’ve been trying to work something out, but they never let me out of this goddamn room. They’re counseling me, but that’s a sham. And they do that in here too. I was going completely fucking mental until you showed up.”
He rubbed slow circles in my back with his free hand. I rested my cheek on his shoulder and let my thumb stroke his chest. He bent his head, pressing his lips to my forehead.
Back in New Seattle, I’d voiced practical, legitimate reasons for wanting to maintain a professional distance between us. At the moment it all seemed ridiculous. How could anyone turn away from feeling so alive?
But it scared me how much I’d missed him. It scared me how safe I felt in his arms.
The door suddenly opened and Sarah came in. “Come on, Elizabeth. Time to go back.”
My whole body ached at the thought of going back to my empty cell.
Before I could swing my legs down, Murphy’s hand came to my hip, holding me in place. “Give us a few more minutes.”
“Vasco is going to pry you apart if you don’t get up.” The big guard from the medical lab moved into the doorway behind Sarah. “You don’t want to fuck with Vasco.” The threat in the guard’s face made me wonder if Murphy had been giving them trouble.
We stood up and Murphy wrapped his arms around me, kissing my earlobe. “Watch for an opportunity,” he whispered.
He released me and I joined Sarah, glancing back once more. He winked at me, and this small gesture of reassurance, of his own confidence (or at least pretended confidence), gave me hope.
Sarah ushered me back to my own room, leaving me without a word of explanation.
* * *
“Why did you lie to me?” I demanded the moment Mitchell came through my door the next morning.
I’d considered whether I was exposing Sarah by confronting her, but Sarah’s behavior, coupled with the involvement of the other security guard, had convinced me Mitchell had ordered the visitation.
“What kind of game are you playing with us?”
Mitchell eyed me with curiosity, unruffled. “Have you forgotten you’re a research subject and not a patient, Elizabeth?”
“Hardly.”
“And you have no experience with intentionally misleading an experiment participant?”
“Misleading?” I shook my head in disgust. “You have a justification for everything, don’t you?”
“You’re uncomfortable hearing painful truths. I don’t blame you.”
“There is no separation drug, is there?”
“Oh, there is. And you have been on it. It has a calming effect when symbionts are kept away from their hosts for an extended period. Higher doses enable greater distances for more limited periods.”
“Like two weeks?”
“More like two days. Dr. Murphy has never been far from you here. In your case we’ve used it to make you more comfortable.”
“Very considerate. You realize, of course, I’ll never believe anything else you say.”
Mitchell slipped her hands in the pockets of her lab coat, smiling. “I’d thought perhaps you’d thank me. Don’t you feel better after seeing Dr. Murphy? Comforted? Less isolated?”
“I’m not answering any more of your questions.”
She came a step closer. Her amused curiosity morphed into something dark. “That’s all right, Elizabeth. Just listen to me. I’m going to guess that you’re suddenly less interested in detachment, but you were correct to assume that’s our plan for you. If you don’t want to try any of our existing methods, I suggest you work on coming up with a better one.” She turned to go, but called back over her shoulder, “Net access has been unlocked on your display. I’ll be back to discuss your progress in a few days.”
Starts
It was a bizarre arrangement. For a week I’d believed I was going to die, and now my jailer was encouraging me to do the very research I’d planned to do with Murphy back in New Seattle. Different as our motivations might be, Mitchell and I shared a common goal.
I took advantage of the time and resources I’d been given, uncertain how long it might last. I was sure Mitchell would be keeping tabs on my research, and I didn’t want her knowing everything I knew. So I tried to keep things unfocused by searching and reading on many different topics. The digressions made everything take longer, but they also sparked ideas. I spent a couple hours reading about organisms with multi-stage development, like butterflies and frogs.
The following evening I lay in bed thinking about the couple that had detached. My hypothesis was based on the assumption detachment was possible for everyone. That it was supposed to happen. So why had it only happened once? I’d never get anywhere without a good answer to this question.
I groaned and sat up in the bed, rubbing my temples. My eyes ached from all the screen reading.
My door slid open and I glanced up in time to see two guards thrusting Murphy into the room.
The door closed behind him, and he came and sank down beside me.
My heart tried to drag the rest of me into his arms, but I resisted and gave him a smile instead. “What is that hag up to now?”
“I’m glad to see you too,” he laughed. But he looked tired. And troubled. His smile faded as his gaze slipped to the floor.
“Are you okay?”
“You mean aside from feeling useless and trapped?”
So much for the confident optimism. “What’s happened?”
Shaking his head, he reached for my hand. “Nothing’s happened. Just wishing we were anywhere else. How about you, love? Are you okay?”
The barest hint of a fond smile, the slight widening of his blue eyes as he trained them on me—my heart almost won the tug-of-war.
“I’m fine. I’ve just been trying to work something out, and it’s making me crazy. Want to help me?” I was hoping to distract him. To distract myself from what he was doing to me. But also I meant it—my brain needed backup.
“I’d like nothing better,” he said.
Murphy scooted back against the wall, holding out his hand and inviting me closer. I hesitated, knowing how hard it was going to be to focus over there. But I didn’t want to be overheard by anyone who might be listening in.
I crawled over next to him, and his arm came snug around me. “What is it you want my help with?” he murmured in my ear.
Uh, good question …
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block the messages my body was sending to my brain.
“Remember what I told you about the ghost who detached, and about the idea it gave me?”
Murphy nodded. “I’ve been thinking a lot about that.”
“I’m stuck on the fact it only happened once. Maybe I’m on the wrong track. Do you think that woman may have just been an anomaly?”
Murphy was quiet a moment. I felt his breath moving in my hair as his hand slid up to the nape of my neck.
“No, I don’t,” he said. “I think I know why it only happened once.”
Surprised, I drew back to look at him. “Tell me.”
“You said this was soon after colonization began, before we were managing ghosts. People’s reactions back then ranged from embracing them, to ignoring them, to killing them. I don’t know anything about the specific case, but Mitchell told you the husband took his own life after his ghost was killed. We could assume his suicide was motivated by her death, and from that I think we could assume they were interacting. Maybe even living as man and wife.”
I gave a quiet gasp. “Interaction. Murphy, of course.”
“The Ghost Protocol put a stop to interaction. Maybe it’s
necessary for detachment.”
“God, how did I miss it? Yes, it makes sense … but…” Good as it was, I found a hole. “What about the people who struggle with following the protocol? Shouldn’t detachment happen in those cases? I mean if that’s it, I should have detached.”
“Unless there’s some threshold, a necessary period of interaction. Or could be there’s also some kind of trigger.”
“Right,” I agreed. “It’s brilliant, Murphy. If we could just get out of here, we could test it.”
He smiled and raised his hand to my cheek. “We’re going to get out of here.”
Despite the smile, the dark cloud had parked on his brow again. I worried he was hiding something from me.
“Please tell me what’s wrong,” I whispered.
His lips parted like he was going to answer, but instead he slowly traced my bottom lip with his thumb.
“Murphy…” Don’t change the subject. But it was too late. I’d already forgotten what we were talking about.
“Remember back in New Seattle you asked me not to kiss you? You said it wasn’t what you wanted.”
Oh, help. I swallowed. “I don’t think that’s exactly what I said. I think it was more along the lines of it not being a great idea.”
“I’m sure you were right about that.” His lips touched the tip of my nose. “And yet.”
If I lifted my chin even a fraction, my lips would meet his. Trembling, I dropped it instead, staring into the little well at the base of his throat.
He cupped my face in his hands and brought our gazes back in line. “Would you be angry if I kissed you now?”
My heart bashed itself against the bars of its cage. “What if I said ‘yes’?”
Murphy smiled. “I might do it anyway.”
“Then why bother asking—”
“Elizabeth.” He pulled me close. “Shh.”
There was nothing tentative about his kiss—his lips moved urgently against mine, opening me up to him. My hands slid up to clutch his shoulders, and my lips and tongue followed his lead.
Coiling his arms around me, he dragged me into his lap. “Do you trust me, Elizabeth?” he whispered.
Breathless, I tilted my head back to look at him. “What?”
He kissed me again, softly this time, and murmured against my lips, “Do you trust me, love? I need you to answer me.”
He’d broken his own protocol, throwing away his career in the process, because he believed it was the right thing to do. For punishment they’d locked him away in Mitchell’s dungeon, and still he wanted to be with me. To help me. Did I trust him?
“I do, Murphy.”
His eyes warmed and I pulled him close again. I let my back arch as I kissed him, and his hand glided down my cheek and neck, over one breast, and down to my hip, igniting every nerve ending in its path. His fingertips teased the skin between my pajama top and bottom, and I felt the tingle of heat a few inches lower.
I couldn’t remember anything that felt as good as him touching me.
I was struggling with the simple task of breathing in and out when his hand slipped into my top, brushing the outside of one breast. Heat flashed across my skin.
“Do you think they’re watching us?” I gasped.
His fingers stroked the nipple lightly, and a whimper of longing forced its way from my throat. He said, “Let’s turn out the light and pretend we’re somewhere else.”
Pressing my forehead against his cheek, I sat holding him, asking myself what came next. Unfortunately no one seemed available to take my call. The heat pulsing at my core was causing automatic shutdown of various functions, and rational thought had been the first to clock out.
“Do you know how long we have?” I asked feebly.
“They said they’d be back in the morning.”
“They’re letting you stay the night? Did they say why?”
“Love,” he groaned, dropping his lips to my throat, “I don’t care why.”
His mouth moved into the vee of my top, and his hands glided up my back.
Sucking in a deep breath, I untangled myself and wriggled away. His half-choked groan of disappointment was pitiful, but before it concluded I’d tapped the light panel at the head of the bed. Except for a single, amber perimeter light glowing just enough to guide a sleepwalker to the bathroom, the darkness was complete.
One second after the light blinked out, I felt his hands at my waist and his breath in my ear. He raised me to my knees, hands moving up my sides, lifting my top over my head. He trailed his hands down my arms, letting them settle on my breasts. I gasped as he pulled my back into his chest. Even through his shirt, his chest felt hot and solid against me. His muscles flexed around my shoulders as he squeezed me closer.
My backside connected with his hips and my breath caught in my throat.
“I feel like I’m going up in flames,” he muttered low in my ear. “Jesus … how I’ve wanted you.”
His hands glided down to my abdomen, fingers slipping in and out of the waistband of my pants.
“Murphy,” I groaned. “I wish I could see you.”
He grasped my shoulders, turning me, and placed my hands on his chest.
“See me.”
I fumbled for the hem of his shirt and tugged it over his head. Then I flattened my palms against him, moving them slowly over the muscles of his chest and shoulders, down his flat abdomen to the light tracing of hair that lead into his jeans.
“Take these off,” I said, running my fingers along his belly, above his jeans.
“Yes, ma’am.”
On an impulse I grabbed a belt loop and held him in place. I bent and planted a kiss low on his stomach and he quivered. Just the smell of his body was enough to reduce me to a tingling mass of sensory cells.
While he tugged and kicked and worked himself free of his jeans, I pushed my pants over my hips and dropped them on the floor.
We came back to the middle of the bed and he put his arms around me. He bent to kiss me, hands sliding down over my backside. He crushed me against him, the evidence of his arousal hard against my stomach.
I took hold of his shoulders, pulling him with me as I sank back onto the bed. His fingers circled and stroked my breasts, and I arched hard against him. When I finally felt the moist warmth of his tongue against my nipple, I gasped and tensed against him. The first gentle sucking sensation forced a cry from my lips.
“Kiss me,” I pleaded. Keep me quiet.
Murphy raised his head and found my lips. He took my upper lip gently between his teeth and slipped a hand under one hip. I pressed my legs apart, and his body settled between them. He reached down, fingers sliding and caressing, and we moaned together.
“Is that the spot, then?” he whispered.
“I—”
Whatever I’d been about to say was incinerated in the explosion that followed. I clung to him, shuddering, whimpering to keep from crying out. Flares erupted along the length of my spine, and my body went taut as heat arced across my abdomen. A cry started out of my throat and he covered my mouth with his. I wrapped my legs around him, and he gave me a deep, forceful kiss that receded to soft and sweet as the flares burned down to glowing embers.
“Okay?”
I whimpered again, rubbing the back of his neck as I tried to find my voice.
“I’ll take that as a ‘yes,’” he said with a chuckle. His hand stroked up my side and cupped one breast.
“Why don’t you come a little closer?”
I felt his smile against my cheek. “Relax a minute. There’s no rush,” he said.
“That friend of yours cozying up against my thigh might beg to differ.”
Murphy laughed, nuzzling me. “Kind of you to worry about my friend.”
“Well, I admit I was hoping you might introduce us.”
He kissed my earlobe. “I think you can hardly avoid the acquaintance at this point.”
“Which point would that be?” I reached down and touched him, lightly s
troking with my fingertip. “This one?”
He growled and shifted his hips. I pulled my knees back, ready to feel him inside of me.
But he froze above me. “Elizabeth, I—this is your first time, isn’t it? I mean, technically. Physiologically. Do you think…?”
My mouth dropped open. “Oh God, it never occurred to me. I … I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter.”
“You’re sure…”
I pulled his head down, murmuring in his ear, “You’re going to make me beg?”
“Mmm, maybe.” He pushed gently into me, both of us gasping from the sensation and sudden closeness. He kept his thrusts shallow and slow until the aching became more than I could stand. It wasn’t a virginal ache—it was an ache of anticipation drawn out to the point of torture. I squeezed his hips and pulled him all the way in. He gave a shuddering moan.
“Elizabeth, you feel … you feel amazing.” He kissed my neck. “Am I hurting you?”
“Hurting—no. Don’t stop, Murphy.”
He moved in widening spirals, opening me bit by bit so he could push deeper, his slow, building rhythm intensifying my need. I drifted right to the edge, fingers digging into his back, and the spirals tightened, came faster, until the final explosion rocked my body, blasting me right out of that godforsaken cell.
* * *
His forehead kissed mine, and we lay panting together, sharing a moment of quiet, self-conscious laughter. I forgot where (and what) we were—we could have been any two people in any universe.
Murphy sank beside me and I listened to his breathing level off. I wished I could see his face.
“Will you tell me what’s wrong?”
He cleared his throat. “That’s not the sort of thing a man generally wants to hear when he’s just made love to a woman for the first time.”
I smiled and rose up on my elbow. “I’ve never felt anything like that. I want to do it again as soon as possible. But something’s bothering you.”
“Much better, love. Anything that was wrong you’ve made me forget.”
I frowned into the blackness. “Murphy.”
His hand came to my face and stroked back my hair. “The only thing either of us should be worrying about is getting out of here. There’s nothing more important. Except maybe this.”
Ghost Planet Page 13
