He was devouring her with his eyes. With his mind. A part of her, the truly insane part--and Dahlia was beginning to believe there really was one--loved the way he was looking at her. She'd never experienced a man's complete attention centered on her in a sexual way before. And he wasn't just any man. He was . . . extraordinary.
"Well, stop all the same," she said, caught between embarrassment and pleasure.
"I don't see why my having a few fantasies should bother you."
"I'm feeling your fantasies. I think you're projecting just a little too strongly."
His eyebrows shot up. "You mean you can actually feel what I'm thinking? My hands on your body? I thought you were reading my mind."
"I told you I could feel you touching me."
"That's amazing. Has that ever happened before?"
"No, and it better not happen again. Good grief, we're strangers."
"You slept with me last night," he pointed out. "Do you sleep with many strangers?" He was teasing her, but the question sent a dark shadow skittering through him. Something dark and dangerous stirred deep inside of him.
Her eyes jumped to his face. "What is it? What's wrong?" She looked around quickly. "Should I cut the engine?"
Nicolas sat up a little straighter. She was so tuned to him, even that smoldering jolt of jealousy was noticed. "We're fine." But he was uncertain if it was the truth. He was beginning to be alarmed at how they seemed so aware of one another. Nicolas didn't experience emotions such as anger and jealousy. He had fine-tuned his mind to filter out such things, yet Dahlia was shattering an entire lifetime of conditioning.
"Tell me what's wrong. I know I'm not the average person, but I'm an adult, and despite having lived in a sanitarium and having a nurse raise me, I'm not completely insane. I don't want you treating me as less than an equal."
Nicolas studied her expression. Her dark eyes were spitting fire at him. Maybe that was the problem. She was melting the ice everyone said flowed in his veins. "When I figure it out, you'll be the first to know. I don't believe I've treated you as a child or as if you were insane, nor less than an equal. And it wouldn't matter what you thought, if you care to know the truth. I do what I think is right, and I'm not going to worry about what you're thinking." His words surprised him more than they did her. Was he stating a hard fact or striking out at her? Nicolas rubbed his jaw with the heel of his hand. Facing death was easier than talking to women any day of the week.
"Well that's good, because I'm exactly the same way. I guess we understand each other." She turned her head away from him, nose in the air, looking a bit like a drowned princess.
The sun was climbing into the sky and definitely providing a backlight. His gaze once again dropped to her breasts thrust against the thin material of his pale blue shirt. The shirt had become an instant favorite. He ran his tongue over his teeth, wishing he could do the same to her nipple.
Dahlia's breath hissed out of her throat. Slowing the boat, she swung back toward him, glaring. "What is so damned fascinating about breasts? If I show them to you will you stop?" Her hands went to the buttons of the shirt as if she might really rip the material open. There was color in her face and her breath came too fast. "I once heard that men thought about sex every three minutes but you must be setting some sort of record."
"It isn't just any breasts, Dahlia." He reached for the canteen of water. His hand was shaking. Actually shaking. Just the thought of her opening her shirt sent his body into a painful, hard, unrelenting ache.
"Well I have them, okay? Just like any other woman. They're there. I can't do much about it."
Nicolas took a long pull of water and nearly choked as she angrily unbuttoned the shirt and allowed the edges to gape open all the way to her waist. Her breasts were fuller than he'd first thought, jutting forward to tempt him more.
She was beautiful. Her skin was amazing. He swallowed hard. "I don't think that was a good idea."
Dahlia realized instantly she'd made a terrible mistake. His black eyes went from ice cold to a raging fever. His hand gripped the canteen until small dents appeared. Energy leapt between them, fierce and passionate, feeding on him, feeding on her, threatening to consume them both. At once she was hot, her clothes too heavy, too cumbersome, her skin too sensitive. She wanted to rip the shirt away, feel his hands, his mouth, sliding over her skin. She wanted things she'd never dreamed or thought of. Had no idea she even knew of.
The distance between them melted away. His body touched hers, his bare chest rubbing against the tips of her breasts. His hands tunneled in the wealth of her silken hair, fisted, holding her still while he bent down, his gaze as fierce and intent as the energy surrounding them, holding them captive in its burning center. He dragged her head toward his. His mouth fastened on hers, took possession. Fire leapt from her to him, raged between them. The kiss went on and on. It wasn't enough. It would never be enough.
His tongue slid into her mouth, danced a long, sensual tango. His mouth moved over hers, demanding. Urgent and wild. The back of her head fit nicely in his palm and he held her to him, kissing her soft mouth, her chin, her throat and back to her mouth again. The roaring in his head grew. His body hardened and grew until he thought his clothes might split. He had to have her. Had to make her his.
Her skin drew him. Soft, softer than anything he'd ever touched. It was impossible to think or reason with her tongue teasing his, her teeth biting at his lips and his chin, her breath moving in his lungs. He tasted her neck again. Nibbled his way to her throat. Felt the gasp as he lapped at her nipple. Heard her breath explode from her lungs as he fastened his mouth on her breast. She made a single sound, inarticulate, but her hands came up to cradle his head.
He feasted, devoured her. Something in his gut clawed for more. Heat rose until he thought he might catch fire. He did catch fire, somewhere in his belly--it roared, a conflagration out of control. He yanked at the knot on the shirt, desperate to get to her, desperate to have all of her.
Dahlia felt his mouth slip off of her breast, felt his tongue lap at her skin, teasing her every nerve ending. Both of his hands went to the knot at her waist. Her head was spinning, dizzy with need, with hunger. There was so much heat and pressure, she could barely stand with wanting him. Dahlia drew in a deep breath of air, closed her eyes, and shoved him away from her--hard. She turned and dove into the water, away from the boat. It was the only way she could save them both. He had no idea what was consuming him, but she knew. She'd dealt with it all of her life.
She went deep, letting the water cool her heated skin. It hadn't occurred to her that such a thing could happen. She'd never been physically attracted before. Jesse certainly wasn't attracted to her, nor had she been attracted to him. She hadn't been prepared at all for the explosive chemistry between Nicolas and her and she handled it all wrong. She'd actually kissed him back. Not just kissed him, she'd practically eaten him for dinner. The thought of facing him was more than she could bear.
Dahlia surfaced a distance from the boat, treading water while she fumbled for the buttons on her shirt. She was still so sensitive even brushing against her skin sent shock waves through her body. She didn't want to think how he'd be feeling. The boat was headed her way, and he didn't look very happy. She waved him off. "Go. Get away from here, Nicolas. Take the boat and go." She was trying hard to save him, but she could see from the harshness on his face that he didn't want to be saved.
Nicolas stopped the boat beside her. There was no ice at all in his eyes, rather a raging fury. "Get in the boat," he said, his voice grim.
"Get away from me. Do you think it's going to stop?" Angry, she hit the water, sending a plume splashing over him. He didn't even wince as the droplets settled over his head and chest and ran down to the waistband of his jeans.
She ducked her head beneath the water on the pretense of slicking back her hair. Dahlia used the brief moment to force her mind away from where those drops were heading. What the droplets would touch as they raced down his
belly to his groin. She broke the surface, her heart pounding. "I know the bayou. I'll be fine. Take the boat and get out of here."
"Damn it, Dahlia, I'm not asking you again. Get in the damned boat. I'm not a filthy rapist. You were right there along with me, feeling the same thing."
She saw it then, his shame at his lack of control. His fear that he'd frightened her. His sexual frustration that must be every bit as bad or worse than her own. She reached for the rim of the boat and held herself there, tightening her fingers until her knuckles turned white. "Nicolas, it wasn't you or me. Not like you're thinking. I'm all about energy. Even sexual energy. You were throwing it out there. I was too. We were both feeding it, and it swallowed us. We can't be together. We just can't take the chance."
Nicolas sat very still just watching her. What he wanted to do was yank her back into the boat and weld their mouths together. Their bodies. He craved her like he would a drug. He made himself breathe. In and out. He could read the desperation in her eyes, the fear. Not of him, but for him. The tight coil in his belly began to relax. Not giving her time to argue or think, he simply caught her small wrists and lifted her into the boat. "We're adults, remember? Now that we know it can happen, we'll be more careful." He managed a quick, teasing grin. "Until we don't want to be careful."
Dahlia swallowed hard. She had courage, he had to give her that. Respect for her grew with every moment in her company. She didn't back away from him, but held her ground. They were both standing up, and she had a long way to look up. "It could happen, Nicolas. You've never seen what pure energy can do, but I have. I generate heat when it happens and fires start. People get hurt."
"Have you ever made love to someone, Dahlia?"
His voice was so low she had to strain to hear him. She felt the surge of darkness, of danger, something lethal and deadly emanating from him.
"No, I've never wanted to get that close to anyone."
"Until now." He wanted to hear her say it. At least give him that much. He needed that much.
"Until now," she agreed.
Nicolas stepped away from her, sank back into position. "Thanks for not pushing me into the water. You must have thought about it."
"Don't give me too much credit." She made her way to the motor. "I wasn't certain if I shoved, you'd fall." She sent him a quick grin before turning to the task of speeding across the water.
Nicolas stared toward the thick brush and heavy trees and tried not to think about the taste and feel of Dahlia. He made it a mental exercise, clearing his mind, allowing the thoughts to enter without dwelling on them and letting them go out again on a tide. He was certain of only one thing. He knew Dahlia was part of him. How and why didn't matter. Nothing, no one, had ever thrown him before. She mattered to him. What she thought, how she felt. And he wanted her.
It was nearly noon when Dahlia eased the boat along a rickety pier. "This is where we get off. We'll have to catch a bus or hire a taxi from here."
"I'll have to break the rifle down. Even so, the two of us look memorable in these clothes. And your shirt is transparent. I don't think I can take a bunch of men ogling you." He didn't look up as he took his rifle apart and carefully wrapped it before putting it in his pack. The ammunition belt followed, along with every other visible weapon.
Dahlia gasped and crossed her arms over her breasts. "You could have said something."
"I didn't want to embarrass you." This time he did look up, only a small glance.
She had the impression of a fleeting smile. She caught the shirt he threw her and hastily put it on. "Next time, I'm pushing you in," she vowed.
CHAPTER SIX
Nicolas walked through the large condo, checking all the exits, learning where the windows were and which made good escape routes. The main entrance opened out onto the street corner so they could choose either direction if they had to leave in a hurry. He noted there was also a street entrance through the locked wrought iron courtyard gate. The courtyard was large with overgrown plants, shrubbery, and large shade trees. It provided excellent cover should they need it. The condo had an upstairs with a balcony that also gave them access to the roof. Calhoun had chosen the location with care. They had cover, escape routes, and were near the river as well.
Dahlia opened a vault, hidden in the wall behind a picture of wild horses racing through waves. Inside were weapons, ammunition, and a great deal of cash. There were also a number of identity cards. Driver's licenses, Social Security, and other forms of ID in various names with pictures of both Jesse Calhoun and Dahlia Le Blanc.
Nicolas thumbed through the papers Dahlia had taken from the safe earlier. All the while, he was conscious of the sound of water. Dahlia was taking a shower. No matter how hard he tried to prevent it, his imagination insisted on conjuring up a vivid picture of Dahlia naked, wet, her hair slick and her face turned up to the hot spray. He closed his eyes against the image and groaned softly. Where had all his self-discipline gone? His tremendous control? He couldn't blame energy, sexual or otherwise, for his fantasies. It was the glimpse of her bare bottom, the curve of her hip. Her bare breasts gleaming at him in the sun. Or maybe it was her smile. She didn't smile often, but when she did, Nicolas could swear it was for him alone, no one else. And then there was her skin. . . .
"Hey! Lover boy! Stop mooning around and hit the shower. You smell like a swamp rat, and it just doesn't do a thing to put me in the mood." Dahlia stood in the doorway, a towel wrapped around her like a sarong. Her hair was up in a towel and she was dripping water all over the floor. She'd obviously come downstairs straight from her shower to scold him for his indiscretions, but changed her mind.
"You're not helping me with my overactive imagination," he pointed out as he walked toward her. He paused beside her, close, trapping her body between his larger frame and the doorjamb. Deliberately, slowly, he reached out and touched her face. He thought it a small victory that she didn't automatically pull away. She braced herself for his touch, but she didn't wince as he drew his finger down her cheek to the side of her mouth. "You have incredibly beautiful skin."
Her eyes went black. Wary. He felt her tense, but she still didn't flinch away.
"I want to kiss you again, Dahlia."
Her eyes were huge. She lifted her chin, but didn't break eye contact. "I want to kiss you too, but that doesn't mean we should. It's dangerous. And we don't even know each other."
A faint smile came out of nowhere. "I'm willing to get to know you intimately. Very intimately. That would solve the problem quickly." His thumb slid over her velvet-soft lower lip, stroked small caresses there. He was fascinated by the shape of her lips. He could actually taste her in his mouth--haunting, feminine. Addicting.
Heat flared between them, smoldered there. Dahlia inhaled sharply. "Nicolas." There was an ache in her voice.
His fingers curved around the nape of her neck. He knew better. It wasn't that he didn't understand the consequences. It was just that nothing mattered but touching her. Getting close to her, skin to skin. Burying his body deep inside hers. The rest of it was just details. He had a primitive need to leave his mark on her, so that she would always be his. Always want him in the way he wanted her.
Dahlia could feel the heat swamping both of them. It would take so little to just wrap her arms around his neck and burn in the fire, but it wouldn't be fair to Nicolas. He had no idea what he'd be getting into, nor how dangerous it might be. She took a deep breath and pushed one hand against Nicolas's chest. "Go take a shower. Use cold water, it will help."
It took him a moment to control the urgent demands of his body. As he stepped away from her, the pad of his finger slipped down her throat and trailed over the swell of her breast before he dropped his hand to his side.
Dahlia shivered at his touch. She remained still, only inches from him, refusing to back away . . . or move forward. "Fortunately, Jesse stashed some clothes here for me. He's a thoughtful man."
"Is that what you call him? I think interfering busybody w
ould just about say it all. I like you without clothes."
"Nicolas," she cautioned. "I'm hanging on by a thread. You're supposed to help."
"Tell me why again, and I'll work on it."
"We don't know what can happen." He was still standing close enough that she could feel the heat of his body. His need was urgent and evident and he made no effort to hide his arousal. "And," she held up her hand before he could speak, "I'm not completely comfortable with you yet."
He sighed softly. "You managed to think of the one thing to say that gives me no other recourse." He went up the stairs, his body aching for relief.
Nicolas would normally revel in the hot shower after such uncomfortable conditions, but he found he was different. Soaping the mud from his hair, he contemplated his uneasiness. As a rule, he enjoyed solitude. He needed seclusion. Isolation was his chosen way of life, so much so that he normally avoided people, yet he felt reluctant to be away from Dahlia.
He was a methodical man, one who thought things through logically. As he showered, he forced his mind to regain discipline and control. He should have been the one controlling the situation, not Dahlia, and yet she had stopped them both times. His lack of discipline when he was all about discipline confused him. Determined to recover his normal tranquility, he used the training ingrained in him by his maternal grandfather, Konin Yogosuto. Automatically he began deep breathing. He concentrated on his teachings, beliefs that were a part of his life, a part of who he was. Unification of mind and body. Complete harmony in the universe. One with the universe. Where there is chaos, there must also be calm. He repeated the soothing mantra, allowing the familiar teachings to center him.
Energy, sexual or violent, even normal energy, swarmed to Dahlia. He created the energy simply by thinking of her. By wanting her. If he was to find a path with her, he needed to find a measure of control. Dahlia was a unique woman, one who had lived a life of solitude and betrayal. She wouldn't trust him until he earned that trust, no matter how attracted they were physically. Dahlia needed friendship and she needed to feel "normal," whatever that might be. Whatever it was, he was determined he would find a balance that would work for them.
Mind Game Page 10
