Dahlia went with Nicolas because she couldn’t resist him. He seemed to have a very negative effect on her self-control. She wanted to spend every moment with him because someday soon, she would be alone again. It was already too late to protect herself. It had never occurred to her she would find herself falling for him. The very thought of it made her slightly ill. She had learned to enjoy her solitary life. There were hundreds of benefits. She just couldn’t think of them when she was wrapped so tightly in his arms. When he was touching her with such tenderness she ached inside.
Dahlia allowed him to tug her into the bed beside him. She fit her body into the curve of his and instantly felt contentment. It shouldn’t have been that way, she should have felt just the opposite. She never allowed anyone to touch her, and she spent only short periods of time with people, yet she wanted, even needed to be with Nicolas. And that was terrifying.
His arms crept around her, his fingers tangling with hers. “Stop shaking.”
“Are you as afraid as I am?” Maybe it was admitting too much, but she had to ask. She had to know.
“Of course I am. This is new territory for both of us, Dahlia. I’m as vulnerable as you. I honestly don’t know how you got in, but I need you with me.”
“I’m not very lovable, Nicolas. I know that. I accepted it a long time ago.” When there was only Whitney standing in the dark telling her she was uncooperative and she wouldn’t ever get to have the things the others got. Even then, even as a child, she rebelled against that hard, absolute authority. She taught herself things didn’t matter. People didn’t matter.
Nicolas buried his face in the silken tangle of her hair and inhaled their mingled scents. “That’s not true, Dahlia. There was nothing wrong with you as a child, and there isn’t anything wrong with you now. Why do you think your nurse stayed all those years? Loyalty to Whitney? A paycheck? She was as isolated out in the bayou as you were, maybe more. She chose to stay with you, even if it meant deceiving you and living a limited life. She had no other children. I saw the earlier tapes, when you were a child. She was there, much younger, but she stood up to Whitney for you. And she was frightened by what he’d done.”
She rubbed her chin on his forearm. “You mean by the monster he created.”
“Not a monster, Dahlia. A GhostWalker. There are more of us than you know, and we are a family of sorts. You aren’t alone.”
She closed her eyes. She wasn’t alone at the moment and that was enough for her. Nicolas wanted to believe in fairy tales. She’d read her share, hoping for miracles, but in the end, there was no hundred-acre wood to play in with little stuffed animals. There was pain and crushing disappointment and betrayal. Tears burned behind her eyelids, but she refused to shed them, holding Nicolas close to her and allowing the rocking of his body to soothe her to sleep.
* * *
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
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“Someone’s outside,” Nicolas whispered, leaning across her to get his gun. How he managed to be on the wrong side of the bed again was beyond him. He felt the familiar butt of the Beretta in his hand just as the front door opened. He shifted to put his body between Dahlia and the open door of the bedroom. They had slept far too late for it to be morning. Sunlight poured through the window along with the heat.
“I know you’re holding a gun on me, Nico,” Gator’s voice called from the front room. “Put it away. It’s not very nice when I’ve been so hospitable.” Suddenly Gator was framed in the doorway, grinning at them, his black, unruly hair tumbling into his face and his piercing blue eyes bright with laughter. “Oh, I see you are most friendly with each other. And Lily was so worried.” He turned his head. “Ian, Tucker, come look at this. Our man has found himself a little kitty cat.”
“Shut up, Gator, or I’m going to shoot you.” Nicolas put the gun away and looked down at Dahlia. She had the covers pulled up to her chin. Her eyes were enormous and getting bigger by the moment as more GhostWalkers crowded into the doorway to gape at the sight of Nicolas, the loner, in bed with Dahlia.
“And you said he didn’t know what to do with a woman,” Tucker Addison accused the tallest of the group, Ian McGillicuddy.
“I stand corrected.” Ian gave Nicolas a small salute.
Dahlia made a small distressed squeak. Nicolas picked up the gun. “I’m going to start shooting if the lot of you don’t get out and close the door.”
“What a poor sport,” Gator groused. “And it’s my house.” He reached for the doorknob, winking at Nicolas as he closed it firmly.
There was a small silence. Dahlia groaned and pulled the cover over her head. “I’m never getting up again. Go away, Nicolas and take that motley crew with you. There is no way I’m going to face all those men.”
“There weren’t that many,” he coaxed, tugging at the cover. “At least they didn’t walk in, in the middle of one of our firestorms.”
“Nicolas, I don’t have any clothes.” She sucked in her breath, her eyes going wide. “You don’t think Lily is with them, do you?”
“No, I’m sure she stayed behind with Ryland.” Throwing off the covers he stretched, then turned back to her, gathering her into his arms. She was stiff, resisting him. Nicolas blew warm air against her skin. She shivered in response. He lowered his mouth to her neck and kissed his way up to her ear.
“That’s not fair,” she pushed at him. She was utterly annoyed that she sounded breathless. That she was breathless. “You can’t be doing that.”
“You’re getting upset, and that means energy is going to come storming into our bedroom. It’s all in the line of duty.” He found her mouth, taking full advantage when she opened it to protest.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her body close to his, her tongue sliding along his teeth, teasing his tongue, drugging his senses with her potent response. He thought himself so controlled, but she shattered his discipline every time. His fist bunched in her hair and his mouth fused with hers as he held her to him. There was instant, urgent need, a tidal wave of heat pouring over both of them. He felt her breasts push against his chest. One leg wrapped around his thigh. He could feel her hot and wet and inviting. The need was beyond his ability to stop. He knew part of it was the fierce energy surrounding them and their sexual desires feeding one another, building too fast, too out of control, but it didn’t matter. Only Dahlia mattered with her petal soft skin and incredible heat.
He caught her leg, guided it around his waist to align their bodies. She made a soft kitten noise, very close to a purr that nearly made him crazy. His head roared with thunder. Lightning seemed to strike behind his eyelids, lashed through his blood. He caught her hips with both hands to hold her still while he entered her. The breath left his lungs in a sudden rush, the now familiar sparks lit up the air around them. Electricity crackled and snapped around them, barely registering in his mind. She was tight and hot and gripping him with a fierce need and hunger every bit as urgent as his own. She practically melted into him, riding him as hard as he was thrusting into her. The only thing in his mind was to bury himself deeper and harder with each stroke. He wanted to crawl inside of her, to feel her hot, slick sheath wrapped so tightly around him.
Dahlia wanted to lose herself in him, in the fire and heat and passion of Nicolas Trevane. He kept her from thinking too much, kept her from facing things and people she didn’t want to face. He did things to her body that burned up the energy, even the sexual energy surrounding them, every bit as efficiently as when she raced over rooftops in the city and through the swamps in the bayou. She could feel the pressure building too fast, too soon, a flashfire between them that ignited instantaneously and just as quickly was used up. She clung to him, digging her fingers into the hard muscle of his shoulder, attempting to take back some of the control to ride slower, wanting to curb the gathering force. It was too late. He was filling her, the friction turning her insides to an inferno, pushing them both over the edge into a wild orgasm. She lay in his ar
ms while her body rocked and rippled. For a moment she was certain the earth moved.
Nicolas held her close to him, his face buried in the mass of silken hair, just breathing her into his lungs. “I wish we had more time, Dahlia.”
“Me too,” she agreed, turning her face up to his throat. She pressed her lips against his chin. “I wish we could go some place where no one would find us and it wouldn’t matter if I didn’t have any clothes.” She sighed. Not so much for her lack of clothes as the inevitable task of facing his friends.
“I’ll find you something to wear, Dahlia,” Nicolas said. “Stop worrying over silly things.” He lifted her chin to kiss her one more time before padding across the floor to look in his pack.
“I don’t think clothes are silly when there are men in the other room,” she pointed out. “Unless you want me to go parading around in front of them like this.”
“That wouldn’t be safe for anyone,” he said and turned to glare at her. His quick flash of primitive possessiveness died a quiet death as he looked at her. Dahlia sat in the middle of the bed without a stitch on looking incredibly sexy with her hair tousled and tumbling down her back. He swallowed a sudden lump. “You have perfect breasts.”
She laughed, just the way he knew she would, the worry in her eyes gone. “You definitely have a fixation.”
He loved the sound of her laughter. For all of her childhood nightmares and the terrible reality of her life, Dahlia found ways to laugh, to genuinely enjoy her world. Her laughter was contagious and all the more treasured because it was rare. “I love to make you laugh.”
“That’s good, because you always manage to say something outrageous. Are my jeans dry?”
He went into the bathroom where they had hung all their newly washed clothes to dry. “Your jeans are still wet, Dahlia, all the clothes are. I don’t have anything small enough for you. I thinking we’re going to have to do a little clothes shopping.“
“I’ll wear them wet. Better to have clothes than not with your friends waiting outside.” She tried desperately to push down the apprehension flooding her. It was natural, but for her dangerous. She should have been embarrassed about making love to Nicolas separated only by a wall from a roomful of other people, but she wished she could stay lost in the heat and safety of their union.
She sighed. She really was becoming one of those women who wanted to cling all the time. As long as Nicolas had his arms around her, she felt very protected. Now, having to dress and face a roomful of strangers, she felt more vulnerable than she’d ever felt. Dahlia tried to analyze why. She had long ago trained herself to care nothing for others’ opinions of her. The hurtful remarks had taken their toll, and her temper had spiraled out into a wave of retaliation each time. It was dangerous to care what others said or thought about her. And it was horribly humiliating to have anyone witness her breakdown of control.
Dahlia took the shirt Nicolas handed to her. “How’s your shoulder feeling this morning?”
“It’s fine. A scratch. The bullet just kissed me thanks to you. Your fireworks distracted him long enough to save my life. He should have just shot me instead of talking about it.”
She leaned over to brush a light kiss over his shoulder. “Well, I’m very glad he didn’t. Give me a few minutes to pull myself together and I’ll be right out.”
“Don’t disappear into the bathroom and leave me without my jeans.”
She looked him up and down, a slow smile curving her mouth. “I don’t know, I rather like you like that.”
“That’s because I’m astonishing.”
“Oh, is that the reason?” How had she become comfortable with him? How come every time she looked at him she wanted to trace the weathered lines in his bronzed face and smooth back the tumble of dark hair? What made her melt inside when nothing and no one had ever done so? The intensity of her emotions shook her, frightened her. Just as before when she’d awakened with her heart pounding in the middle of the night, her pulse went wild and tiny flames licked at the windowsill.
Nicolas glanced at the dancing flames and back at her. A slow smile softened the hard angles and planes of his face. “You just can’t get enough of me, can you? I see your call sign, wanting me to come back to bed.”
She flung the pillow at him, laughing because she couldn’t help herself. “A sane man would run from a room where a woman sets the windowsills on fire.” The tiny flames were already dying down into embers. “He wouldn’t come running.”
“But the wise man knows the real fire is in the woman in the bed, and he rushes to her side to put it out.” He spoke in his best “wise man” voice.
She flung the second pillow at him. “How much damage did I do to your poor friend’s house?”
Nicolas looked at the scorch marks around the window. Most were from the night before. “It adds charm to the place. The resale value is bound to skyrocket.”
Dahlia shook her head at his outrageous comment and reluctantly abandoned the relative safety of the bed. “I’ll come out in a few minutes, just give me a little time to prepare myself.”
“If you aren’t out in a few minutes,” he warned, “I’m coming in to haul you out.”
She rolled her eyes, not impressed with his threat. She could see how Nicolas could be intimidating to most people, but she knew him fairly well now. He would never do anything on purpose to hurt her. “I said a few minutes.”
She took her time over her hair. She had no makeup and rarely wore more than mascara and lipstick, but still, it would have made her feel less vulnerable had she had makeup. Her jeans were uncomfortable and a little wetter than she would have liked, but the shirt was a deep blue and hid the fact that she hadn’t bothered with her wet underwear. Her skin was getting chafed from constantly wearing soaked clothing.
Dahlia took a deep breath and pushed open the door. She knew they were all GhostWalkers with heightened awareness, and she knew they would know the moment she walked into the room, but she still wasn’t prepared for the sudden silence or the way all eyes turned on her. She felt as if she were caught in the glare of a bright spotlight. Her hand slipped into her pocket to caress the amethyst spheres that always seemed to impart comfort to her. She expected waves of energy to hit her, but the impact was minimal. Nicolas and at least one other in the room helped to ease the bombardment from natural thoughts and emotions.
“Dahlia.” Nicolas crossed the room to slip his arm around her, knowing the contact would help provide a further barrier. “Come in and meet everyone.” At the sight of her looking small and fragile and apprehensive, every protective instinct he had welled up. “I know it’s a bit overwhelming to meet us all en mass, but at least you’ll get it over with quickly.”
“Kaden Bishop, ma’am.” A tall man with intense eyes and a hard edge to his mouth greeted her first. Dahlia knew immediately he was an anchor. He had the same calming effect on her that Jesse Calhoun and Nicolas had.
“Sam Johnson, ma’am.” A handsome man with coffee-colored skin, stocky and powerfully built with heavy muscles, he seemed to take up a lot of space.
“Ian McGillicuddy, ma’am,” the tallest of the group proclaimed. He had a shock of chestnut, reddish hair that any woman would have wanted and laughter in his brilliant brown eyes. His skin was fair, and to Dahlia he looked like a giant.
Dahlia nodded to the three men and turned her attention to the other side of the room. Her mouth was inexplicably dry. Nicolas seemed to sense her rising tension because his hand tightened on her arm as if afraid she might run. The urge was there, welling up, robbing her of any semblance of calm.
“I’m Raoul Fontenot, ma’am, but everyone just calls me Gator.” The owner of the cabin had a rich Cajun accent and the bad boy look that could melt hearts at twenty paces. Dahlia felt the cabin was growing smaller with each introduction. Each man stood tall with wide shoulders and bulky muscles. She felt ridiculous standing near them.
Nicolas exerted pressure on her, and she realized she had taken a st
ep toward the front door. She made herself stop, forced a smile when her lips were frozen.
“Tucker Addison,” the last man said. It was impossible to adequately describe his skin. A rich dark bronze stretched over rippling muscles. His hair was closely cropped in military style, but she could see tiny spirals springing up ruthlessly in spite of his efforts to tame it.
“Nicolas has talked about all of you.” It was the only thing she could think to say.
Gator grinned at her. “Now, ma’am, don’t be believing anything that heathen says.” He dropped the ends of most of his words, using don instead of don’t, but she recognized the rhythm in the way he spoke. It was familiar, a drawling warm molasses that spread over a listener slowly. It was something to hang onto in the midst of such a large gathering.
Dahlia curled up in the chair nearest the door, thankful it was open and she could hear the noise of the swamp. It helped to steady her. “It was nice of you to lend us your cabin.”
He shrugged. “It’s all in the family, ma cher.” He looked at Nicolas. “Jeff Hollister would have been here, but he’s still recovering. Lily works that poor man on his therapy every day. He says she’s a nag, but she’s got him walking with a cane now instead of the walker, so he’s improving.”
“Lily won’t let him do anything else,” Sam said with satisfaction.
Dahlia could feel the affection the men had for their injured comrade. Some of the affection was mixed with anger. The energy was moving through the room to her, gathering together to surround and pour into her own terrible mix of emotions. “Who is Jeff Hollister, and what happened to him?”
GhostWalkers 2 - Mind Game Page 24
