Mind Game

by Christine Feehan

  Dahlia stood up and shoved back her chair. Her hands were shaking. She put them behind her back. "I need a little space if you don't mind." If she burst into tears she would never forgive him . . . or herself.

  "Wait." He took one step toward her. Glided silently. It felt more predatory than anything else and her heart pounded in alarm. She gave ground, taking a step back even though she knew better. Step to the side, never back up, they just keep coming. A standard training rule.

  "Dahlia, I know I'm making mistakes with you. With us." He set his coffee cup on the table and rubbed the bridge of his nose, frowning when he noted she immediately went into a fighter's stance. "I'm not used to being with other people any more than you are. I don't know how to talk to women any more than you know how to talk to men." He grit his teeth for a moment, feeling like he was making an ass of himself, but he pressed on. "I don't always know the right thing to say. I'm bound to say something that hurts occasionally. Work with me here. Professionally, there's no problem, I know exactly what to do, but personally . . ."

  She shook her head. "I don't know how to be personal about anything, Nicolas. You're not going to get any real help from me."

  "So we have to learn together. Is that so bad? We have common ground. We're both GhostWalkers. There are only a few of us in the entire world. I saw your books. We read the same books."

  "What books?" She challenged.

  There was a small silence. "I'm sure we have the same dictionary." Nicolas watched her mouth soften and shape into a small smile. He snapped his fingers. "Zen Mind Beginner Mind. There you go, I wore out two copies. You had one on your bed. I brought it with me in the pillowcase."

  "You can't have my copy--I love that book." Dahlia was ready to forgive him, mostly because he tried so hard to put her at ease. "You must be hungry. We'll need groceries. I thought maybe if I walked around a bit and let myself be seen, they'll come to us and we won't have to work so hard looking for them."

  "That was a sniper out in the swamp, Dahlia. If they sent a sniper, they were looking for a kill." There was no way to soft-soap it. He wasn't prepared to have her wandering the French Quarter, setting herself up as a target.

  She nodded. "I figured that out. When you said he was like you, I thought at first you meant another GhostWalker, but you would have said like us. You didn't, so he had to be a sniper. How did you know he was following us?"

  "Instinct, a sixth sense, my grandfather's spirit whispering in my ear. I don't know. When I'm out there, it comes to me and I know."

  "Does he do that? Does your grandfather whisper to you?"

  There was no amusement in her voice. She wasn't making fun of his beliefs. There was interest and perhaps a little envy, but Dahlia found nothing strange about his comment.

  She accepted people for who and what they were. She accepted him. Nicolas realized at that moment that Dahlia had led such a different life, so apart, she would never feel the need or desire to judge another for their peculiarities. He doubted if she would ever feel completely at ease with others.

  Nicolas knew he preferred a life apart. But it was a choice. He knew who he was and what he stood for. He never felt the need to apologize or explain, not even to Lily. He respected Lily and even felt a rare affection for her, as he did the members of the GhostWalker team, but the emotion was more about family than anything else. Whatever emotion Dahlia stirred in him ran hot and passionate and deep. She stirred up a dark violence he hadn't known was inside of him, and she brought out laughter, something infrequent in his life.

  "Nicolas, you don't have to answer if you don't want to. I didn't mean to pry." Dahlia touched the back of his hand. A stroke of her fingertip. She left a streak of fire on his skin. "If I had a grandfather like yours, I might want to keep him to myself."

  "Both of my grandfathers were meant to be shared with the world. They did their best to bring peace into other people's lives. Grandfather Nicolas does whisper to me when I need to hear him. To warn me, or to remind me. I feel him close to me. And bousofu is also near when I need him."

  "That would mean?" she prompted.

  "Grandfather, deceased grandfather," he interpreted for her.

  "How many languages do you speak?"

  "Too many. My grandfathers both had many of the same beliefs. A man should gain as much knowledge as possible."

  Dahlia nodded in agreement. "I read a lot and listened to tapes. All of my schooling was done with tutors. None of them stayed long, but I didn't need them. And I didn't want them. They were impatient or afraid or angry because of my strange personality. All of it became negative energy I had to cope with the entire time they were here. Often, it wasn't even me. They were upset before they ever got there."

  "You learned several forms of martial arts."

  "Yes, and for the most part, because I was doing something physical and most of my instructors enjoyed what they were doing, it was fun. Later, as I got older and they were serious about training me, I was faster than the instructors, and some of them would get angry."

  "Honey, that's entirely understandable. You're barely five feet tall, and you can't weigh a hundred pounds. To make matters worse, you're a girl. Kicking some man's butt is not ladylike."

  Dahlia heard the teasing note in his voice and for the first time didn't bristle at his pointing out her diminutive size. "I'm a good eater, in spite of my size. You might be able to live on that stuff in your backpack, but I want real food. I'm volunteering to go grocery shopping."

  "I'll call in an order. There must be someone who's willing to earn a delivery fee. That's what cell phones are for."

  "Aren't you afraid your name is on a hit list right alongside mine?"

  "They have no idea who I am. No one got a good look at my face, and the only one who might have been able to identify me was the sniper they set on our trail. He's not in any condition to tell them who I am."

  "How would he know?"

  He shrugged. "Maybe he didn't know. Most likely he didn't, but we have a feel for one another. How we walk a path, that sort of thing."

  "I see." She didn't, but she was becoming restless. "I need to walk around outside, Nicolas. It isn't you, really, you're being really supportive, but even Milly and Bernadette never spent more than fifteen or twenty minutes with me unless we were outdoors."

  "Am I projecting sexual energy?" He was watching her hands again. She was whirling the amethyst spheres beneath her fingertips, never touching them, keeping them afloat in the air just beneath her palm.

  "There's always energy, but that's not it. You're amazingly low-key. Most of the time, unless it is sexual, I don't feel anything. You're a very restful person to be with."

  "How about going out into the courtyard, Dahlia? You can sit out there and relax. I'll make a list of things we need and call in the order and then make us something to eat."

  She nodded. "Thanks for being understanding. I really appreciate it."

  "Dahlia." He stopped her before she made it to the door. "Is it something I can help you with?"

  She should have known he would see beyond mere words. Dahlia shook her head. "I've always relieved the buildup by physical activity. You saw my gym. I can wait until dark and use the rooftops. I get a little shaky is all."

  "Are you hurting?"

  "It isn't bad--and don't offer pain meds. I don't take them. I have a fairly high tolerance, and I get by."

  He waved her toward the courtyard. Dahlia didn't hesitate. She needed to be alone. Part of it was she didn't want him to see her as she really was. She put her hands out, fists clenched around the spheres. Both hands were shaking. She was used to her routine, the sanctuary of her home. Interacting with Nicolas was exhilarating, but it took its toll. She began to jog around the courtyard, all the while keeping the spheres moving beneath the fingers of both hands.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Dahlia paced back and forth in the small bedroom, her mind refusing to give her peace. Something was wrong. She'd walked the entire parameter
s of the house several times. She jogged in the courtyard. Her dinner, a traditional Cajun dish, wasn't sitting well in her stomach despite having been cooked to perfection. She missed something. Granted, she'd lost everything, and she'd been distracted by running through the bayou and practically sleeping with a man, but she never had so much trouble figuring things out. It was right there, within her grasp, yet she couldn't quite reach it.

  She leapt onto the bed and raced halfway up the wall, taking refuge in physical activity. Someone wanted her dead. They shot Jesse. Was it possible the very people she worked for had sent a team to kill her? Her bare feet beat a small tattoo on the lower part of the wall as she ran lightly around it, circling several times before attempting to race up the wall to the ceiling. Why did they shoot Jesse and not kill him? They would know he didn't know where she was. She was late. She never had contact with Jesse until she reached her house. It was always set up that way. It never varied. She didn't carry a cell phone or a pager or anything else. Once he gave her the mission, she planned it and carried it out alone. Why did they shoot Jesse? Just to torture him? It didn't make sense. It wasn't the first time a recovery had taken a wrong turn, though she always completed the assignment, but there was a strong possibility the attack on her home and family was connected.

  Dahlia raced up the side of the wall until she was upside down, hanging from the ceiling. It took a great deal of concentration. Her mind was not sufficiently following the process and she fell like a rag doll, hitting the bed and bouncing slightly, the breath slammed from her lungs at the jolt.

  "What the hell are you doing?" Nicolas stood in the door looking disheveled and shaken from his usual calm. "Are you out of your mind?"

  Dahlia sucked in air, enough to allow a smooth somersault that brought her upright and sitting tailor-fashion in the middle of the bed. She shook back her hair and looked at him. "I missed something important."

  He couldn't help staring at her. Drinking her in. Dahlia wasn't shy or vain, or even modest. She didn't seem to notice her personal appearance. She sat on the bed, the covers rumpled, in a tank top that bared her shoulders and midriff and a loose pair of cotton drawstring pants. With her hair tumbling around her and pooling on the sheets she looked mysterious and feminine and all too sexy when she clearly wasn't trying.

  A frown slipped across her face. "Quit fixating on my breasts. You cannot do whatever it is you're thinking right through my shirt, thank you very much. For heaven's sake, do you ever think of anything besides sex?"

  "Apparently not," he admitted wryly. "I've never had the problem before I met you." He was damned if he'd be embarrassed. He could see the darker outline of her nipples through the thin white tank top, an intriguing shadow that tempted and beckoned and begged to be suckled. It wasn't his fault the woman never wore adequate clothing.

  "What were you doing? People don't walk on ceilings."

  Dahlia studied his face. His long black hair cascaded to his shoulders and looked as if he'd rubbed his hands through it over and over until he was completely rumpled. He wore a thin pair of sweats and nothing else. Heat radiated off of him, nearly shimmered in the air so that the temperature in the room rose several degrees. He was so beautiful he took her breath away. She stared at him, dazzled. Starry eyed. Idiotic.

  Dahlia pressed her lips together. She was no better than he was at controlling the sexual awareness leaping between them. The moment they were together, it spread until it enveloped them and burned them up. She tilted her head. "Why is it that you emit such incredibly low energy, even in the most violent circumstances, but when you're with me the energy becomes a tidal wave?"

  "You don't censor, do you, Dahlia?"

  She shrugged her shoulders, drawing his eye to the line of her neck. He could plant little kisses right along her neck. Take small bites to the curve of her breasts.

  Dahlia pressed her hands to the aching swell of her breasts and heaved a sigh. "You just aren't going to stop, are you?" She frowned. "Should I be censoring? I don't have a lot of experience in conversing like this. Do you want me to censor the things I say? Milly told me once that I was too outspoken."

  Nicolas rubbed at his pounding temples. There was a strange roaring in his head. He always wondered what the proverbial walking hard-on meant and decided it was a person . . . him. No matter how much he meditated, the moment he went to sleep, he dreamt of Dahlia. Erotic, sexy dreams of her soft skin rubbing against his. Of her mouth sliding over his chest, his belly, edging lower until he thought he'd go out of his mind. Her hand wrapped around his erection, fingers slipping over him, dancing and teasing and stroking long silken caresses. As hard as he tried to control his wayward thoughts, she crept into his mind. He transferred his hand to the back of his neck, rubbing hard to ease the tension. "This is worse than basic training ever was, Dahlia, and no, I don't want you to censor."

  "What's worse than basic training?"

  "Wanting you. I even want you in my sleep. What the hell is that? I am completely disciplined at all times. What have you done to me?"

  Unexpectedly, Dahlia laughed. She lifted the thick mass of her blue-black hair off the back of her neck and let it fall in a cloak around her. "I'm a voodoo queen, of course. I've cast my spell, and it's too late for you to get away from me."

  He wanted to swear. He wanted to cross the room and pin her down on the bed and see if she dared laugh at him then. She'd melted whatever ice had run in his veins, and now she was sitting there in the middle of the damned bed laughing.

  The smile faded slowly from her face, from her eyes. She pulled the pillow to her chest protectively. "It wasn't you, this time, Nicolas, it was me." Color crept under her skin as she made her confession. "I thought it was safe to indulge in a few fantasies. You didn't say you were affected when I was thinking about you."

  He counted to ten silently to give himself time to collect his scattered control. "You didn't tell me you had fantasies about me. Especially erotic fantasies."

  She sighed. "You don't have to throw it in my face. I am human after all. I may have been raised in a sanitarium, but I do have the usual hormones."

  A slow, very male, smile of satisfaction settled on his face, relieving the grim lines. "For which I'm grateful. Why did you stop? It left me frustrated. I wouldn't be complaining if you'd finished what you started."

  Her flush deepened, and her gaze shifted away from his face. When he stirred as if to take a step toward her, her eyes widened in alarm and he immediately regained her full attention. "We don't really need to talk about that. I've thought of something else important."

  "If I'm going to survive the night, we definitely need to talk about it." He folded his arms across his bare chest.

  To Dahlia, he looked like a statue, lovingly carved of stone. Someone had paid attention to each detail of his body, of his face. She sighed as she pressed the pillow tighter against her midsection. "I didn't know exactly what to do."

  He had to strain to hear her confession. He stood looking down at her, wondering how he could be such an idiot when he was reputed to have a high IQ. His smile widened, until he was grinning like an ape. She was just so beautiful, looking flustered and embarrassed, caught with her erotic fantasies just as he had been.

  Dahlia threw the pillow at him--hard. "Go away. I'm thinking about very serious matters and you're not helping."

  He caught the pillow in midair and stalked her across the room, looking every inch the prowling tiger. "I think sex is a very serious subject." He sat on the edge of the bed.

  Dahlia glared at him. "You take up a lot of space. And air. I can't breathe with you in the room."

  "I'm teasing you, Dahlia." His voice was so gentle, almost tender, and her heart did a funny little flip. She wished she had the pillow back.

  "Are you going to tell me how you managed to run across the ceiling?" he asked.

  "I didn't manage it. Only partway, and then I fell. It's a matter of bending gravity." She shrugged her shoulders again, and he tried not to
stare at her flawless skin.

  "Bending gravity?" She would never cease to amaze him.

  Dahlia nodded, her face brightening. "Not exactly bending it, more like shielding it or modifying it. Basically, I have to gather a tremendous amount of energy in one place, which for me isn't all that difficult, and then I turn myself into a kind of energy superconductor."

  He nodded. "I've noticed, but that doesn't explain how."

  "I began playing with energy when I was child. I build a strong magnetic field around me, and as the energy builds up, it causes the nuclei of the atoms, in whatever part of my body I choose, to spin very fast. If I manage to align the nuclei with each other and get them spinning fast enough, then I can create a gravity field and aim it so it counteracts the earth's gravity field."

  "And then what happens?"

  She grinned at him. "Every woman's dream. I lose weight and can utilize the field to play in. I can run up walls and do all sorts of things. I'm not actually running up the wall, you know. I'm moving my feet to give the illusion, but I'm actually floating. Like an astronaut. It isn't the same thing I use out in the field when I'm working. This requires a tremendous amount of concentration actually. Going onto the ceiling is extremely difficult because I have to be upside down and use the top of my head as the superconductor. Which is why I take a few falls now and then. To make it look as if I'm running up the walls I have to make minute adjustments in the gravity field strength of various parts of my skin." She waved her hands to dismiss the subject. "It keeps me mentally balanced to try new things. It's just fun."

  He smiled at her. She had no idea how special she really was. She was more embarrassed to be caught running up the walls and falling from ceilings than she was to be naked in a towel in front of him. Because she found it fun. The knowledge burst over him like the rays of the sun. She was embarrassed to be caught playing.

  "It's amazing, Dahlia. You must have put in a tremendous amount of study time on antigravity fields and how they work. What made you decide to try?"

  "When I was little, I didn't know what I was doing, but energy gathered around me, rather than dispersing as it normally would seek to do, so I played with it. I prefer to keep my mind and body active, and since I'm all about energy, I do my best to learn as much as I can about both. There are a few physicists who are working on superconductors, and I think they'll discover very soon that controlling gravity is possible on a much larger scale than they first thought." She frowned and rubbed her chin. "Though they'll first have to figure out how to create organic, room-temperature superconductors. And they'll have to realize that they can direct the effect several different ways, not just upward."