Mind Game

by Christine Feehan

Nicolas groaned. "If the guys ever hear of this I'll never live it down."

  She turned her palm over and gathered the spinning balls into her hand, her fingers closing over them as if holding a great treasure. "Guys? The other GhostWalkers?"

  He nodded, thankful he'd found a way to capture her attention. "Yes, they give each other a bad time, but they're all very close."

  She settled into the bottom of the boat opposite him, stretching out her legs as if she were sore. "I can hear the distance in your voice, Nicolas. What's wrong with them?"

  Inwardly he winced. Trust Dahlia to catch the slightest discordant note in the inadvertent way he'd worded his comment. It didn't matter though, he'd caught her interest and had turned her thoughts away from bailing on him. "You're getting to know me too well. There's nothing wrong with any of them. I think of them as family. I just can't be too close to anyone."

  "Why?"

  He shrugged. "I don't know. I just never learned. I think it's an art. I spent a lot of my childhood away from people, and I guess I'm just more comfortable on my own. I feel a great deal of affection for all of the GhostWalkers. Even Lily."

  "Why would you say it like that? Even Lily? The Lily I remember was always sweet and careful of other people's feelings. She always gave up what she wanted for everyone else." There was a hint of belligerence in her voice.

  Of course she would pounce on that. He nearly groaned aloud. Lily. The one person Dahlia remembered fondly from her childhood. "I love Lily. I do. It's just that she's a woman."

  "She's a woman?" Dahlia kicked at his boot. "What does that mean? I happen to be a woman. What's wrong with women?"

  He grinned at her, a flash of his white teeth in the darkness. "Now I'm the one who'd like to change the subject. Lily's a courageous woman, Dahlia, and she's married to a man I consider my best friend. Without her, I might not be alive. She saved all of us with her courage. Believe me, I not only feel a great deal of respect for her, but also affection. She's just so damned hard to talk to."

  "And that's because?" she prompted.

  His grin widened into a smile. "Because she's a woman, obviously."

  That earned him a small laugh. Dahlia wiped at more of the mud. "I'm almost afraid to meet her," she admitted. "She was the one person I built up as larger than life. I needed her to be real, and because I was a child, so young, the memories wanted to fade, so I made up things about her."

  "If you're worried the real woman won't live up to the one you created, she will. Lily's a very special woman. She opened her home up to all of us, provided medical help for Jeff, who'd suffered a seizure and a stroke. She's worked tirelessly to help us build enough barriers to go into the world without an anchor for short periods of time. The hope is eventually we'll all get strong enough to have families and live in the world like normal people."

  "I've thought about that term so much over the years. Normal. It's such a little word, yet it means everything."

  "It means nothing at all," he contradicted. "There is no normal. Define normal for me, Dahlia. We're all normal and yet abnormal."

  Now that the action was over and the night had closed in, Nicolas was becoming all too aware of her. He directed the boat off the river and up a canal heading toward the very heart of the bayou. All the while, his gaze kept straying back to her. She was tired and needed rest desperately. She was soaking wet and streaked with mud. It didn't matter. His discipline was beginning to fray around the edges. His self-control was losing the battle with the demands of his body.

  She glanced at him, a quick, under the lashes look that said volumes. The harder he tried to keep his thoughts from turning sexual, the more he fantasized. He knew he wasn't containing his sexual energy very well, but there was something about the way the boat rode over the water and the night enclosed them.

  Dahlia sighed loudly and tapped her fingers on the bottom of the boat. "You have three distinct thought patterns. Violence, food, and sex. Not necessarily in that order. And why your sexual energy would be a million times greater than violent energy, only a therapist could tell you."

  There was more than a little humor in her voice, allowing some of the tension to ease out of him. "Don't you think that's a good thing?"

  "I think you're seriously disturbed. Don't you ever just want to curl up in bed and go to sleep?"

  "I thought you were action oriented," he teased.

  "I thought you were sane."

  But she was looking at him. He could feel her gaze moving over his body, a silken sweep that left him as hard as a rock. The boat chugged lazily through the canals, carrying them through a grove of trees. The branches swept the surface, long dangling arms of green to brush across his shoulders. Moonlight spilled onto the water, a silver ball shimmering in the depths.

  "I love it out here. Does that make me sane?"

  "Yes." There was pleasure in her voice. Warmth. She yawned. "I wish I had more clothes. I'm tired of being wet and muddy."

  "I was trying to get you to the point you didn't think clothes were strictly necessary."

  She laughed softly and drew her knees up to her chin. "Really? And how long have you been planning on getting me naked?"

  "Since I caught a glimpse of your bare bottom. The image is there, Dahlia, forever in my mind, and weak man that I am, it isn't going away. You didn't help matters when you unbuttoned your blouse either."

  "How very reassuring. Are you about to start fixating on my breasts again?"

  He closed his eyes and savored the memory of the sun shining through her wet shirt. "You're incredibly beautiful, Dahlia."

  She was silent, watching him closely. Feeling for his emotions. Checking to see if he was sincere. "Thank you. That's a nice thing for you to say." She rubbed her chin on top of her knees. "Mostly I've been told I look like a witch. Too-big eyes, too much hair. Too small, too everything. No one ever used the word beautiful before."

  "Incredibly beautiful," he qualified. "Get it right Dahlia." He consulted his map again and turned without hesitation into another branch of the waterway. "We're almost there. And I love your eyes." He was particularly smitten with the small expanse of skin around her midriff and her intriguing belly button.

  Dahlia wasn't about to tell him what she found attractive about him. He was already far too arrogant and sure of himself. He didn't need to be told she could barely contain her own sexual energy. She loved the way he felt around her. She'd never had anyone want her the way he did. She could feel the energy pouring off of him, reaching out to swamp her, to raise her own temperature several degrees.

  She rubbed her chin back and forth across her knees, her body feeling too full and heavy and tight in her skin. It shocked her how sensitive her breasts were, rubbing against the material of her shirt and aching with need.

  "You feel it too, don't you?" he asked.

  "I feel what you're fantasizing," she admitted.

  "Other men must have had sexual fantasies when they were around you. What about Calhoun? Come on, Dahlia, is this really a first?"

  "Yes. And I don't like it. It makes me moody and uncomfortable and edgy. I feel like scratching your eyes out for making me feel this way. And that sets up violent energy and that sets up heat and eventually something--or someone--gets burned."

  She did sound edgy. He shouldn't have been pleased, but he was. He could make her feel all those things when no one else had. "Well, at least life with me isn't boring."

  She smiled just like he knew she would. She didn't want to, and she hid it against her knees, but he caught the brief flash of her teeth and the curve of her mouth. "I should have told you I love your mouth. Every time I look at your mouth I want to kiss you."

  Dahlia wasn't touching that. She watched the outline of an island take shape. "Is this the place?"

  "If Gator drew the map correctly. What's that noise?"

  "Alligators calling to one another. They're in love."

  They rounded a bend, and a small dock came into sight. The cabin was just back f
rom the pier. Grass covered the ground surrounding the house. To his dismay, an alligator rested on the wooden dock and another in the yard. "Do you think they moved in while Gator was gone?"

  "It's very common on these small islands to have alligators share your yard."

  "Well get your flamethrower ready, we may need it."

  Dahlia burst out laughing. "You don't give off enough energy to stoke the fires, Nicolas."

  He turned his head and looked fully into her eyes, causing her heart to jump wildly. "Little liar."

  Nicolas's tone was so silky smooth, such a promise of passion and pleasure Dahlia shivered, her entire body aching in reaction. How in the world could he make her so aware of him not only as a person, but also as a male? It was silly. It was too dangerous. Someone had to think with brains instead of other portions of the anatomy. She sighed and stepped out of the boat, carefully avoiding the alligator as she tied the boat to the dock. "We're just visiting," she assured the creature.

  "Don't you dare pet it, Dahlia," Nicolas warned, his heart in his throat. He wouldn't put it past her. "You give me gray hair with the way you seem to have no fear." He pushed a hand through his hair in agitation. "I think I've been more afraid since I've been around you than at any other time in my life. And it's damned uncomfortable."

  She watched him shrug into his pack. "I've been taking care of myself for a very long time, Nicolas."

  He didn't answer but went past her to the cabin. A member of Gator's family checked on it weekly, keeping the bayou creatures from invading, so the cabin was neat and tidy and the propane gas tank was full, allowing them to have hot water. Nicolas lit a few of the gas lamps rather than working on the generator. They were both tired and needed a hot shower and sleep.

  In spite of the slight wound to Nicolas's shoulder, he insisted Dahlia take the first shower. She was grateful for the warmth of the water as it washed the mud and grime from her body. There were gobs of mud in her hair, something she hated, and she shampooed it several times to make certain it was clean. Her arms ached when she lifted them to rinse the heavy mass of hair, she was that tired, and yet with the water pouring over her sensitive skin, she could imagine Nicolas's hands and mouth following the trail of the small droplets. She closed her eyes and turned her face up to the spray, hoping to wash the thought of Nicolas away. Needing to wash him away.

  The door opened and she whirled around. The curtain was steamy but still transparent. Nicolas grinned at her, holding his hands up, a clean shirt in his fist. The smile faded from his face as he stood there looking at her. He cleared his throat. "I'm just getting the dirty clothes. I thought I'd wash everything and hang it up to dry. At least you'd have clean clothes. I brought you another shirt." The entire time his hot gaze burned over her body, touched her in places so deep she thought she might melt.

  "Go away, Nicolas. Right now." She didn't try to hide from his gaze. She didn't want to. She wanted him looking at her, devouring her with his eyes. She was in dangerous territory, they both were, but when he looked at her like that, she couldn't help but want him. Her voice was nearly an invitation.

  "I'm going, Dahlia, but only because you're so tired I can feel it. I'll wash the clothes tonight. You crawl into bed, but leave room for me." He didn't want to turn away from her. It was hell having the ability to feel her emotions, to read how tired she was and how much her body needed to sleep.

  "Do you think sharing a bed is a good idea?"

  "It's the only idea. If I can't at least lie down beside you, I'm going to go out of my mind."

  "Have you considered that if we really made love, Nicolas, we could set the bed on fire?" Her fingers slipped over her breasts with the bar of soap. The water cascaded down to rinse the bubbles away.

  Nicolas sucked in his breath. "You're deliberately torturing me."

  "Probably," she agreed.

  He stood for a moment in silence, looking at her with far too much hunger, then he abruptly gathered up her soaked clothing and went out.

  Dahlia slumped against the shower stall wall, staring after him, her body overheated and throbbing. She had no willpower when it came to Nicolas Trevane. She shouldn't sleep in the same bed with him, dressed only in his thin shirt and nothing else, but she knew she would.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Dahlia woke to heat. To fire consuming her. The light fabric of her shirt almost hurt her ultrasensitive skin. Hands stroked her thighs, soft hair brushed along her skin. She felt the lick of heat as a tongue slid up her leg. If she were dreaming, her body thought it was real and was responding with a buildup of pressure she couldn't begin to ignore. She turned her head and met Nicolas's dark stare. Her heart jumped at the concentrated hunger in the depths of his gaze.

  "How long have you been awake?" Her mouth had gone dry and her pulse was racing. He was turned on his side, propped up on one elbow, watching her intently.

  "Hours. I don't know." He reached out and touched her lower lip with the pad of his finger. "I dreamt of you taking a shower with me. And then I dreamt of you swimming naked with me. And then I dreamt of waking up and finding you next to me just like this."

  She couldn't stop the slow smile. "You were dreaming very specific details, because I felt you touching me."

  "Where was I touching you?" There was a raw ache in his voice.

  "I felt your hand on my thigh."

  He shifted position, a small movement, but it brought him close to her. His head dipped lower toward her stomach as his hand slid slowly up her thigh as if savoring every moment. "Like this?" His voice was a sinful temptation, nothing less.

  She closed her eyes briefly and shifted her legs until his heavy erection was pressed against her skin. Until she could feel the drop of moisture bearing witness to his urgent need. "More. It was more, and your hair brushed over my skin and felt erotic." She touched his hair. He wore it long, and it was falling free around his face. He was a beautiful man with a darkly sensual body made to bring women long nights of passion. Her fingers slid over his face, the angles and planes, memorizing his handsome features.

  His hands pushed her thighs apart, moved up to find the buttons of her shirt, slowly slipping each button free. "Do we need this?"

  "We might. We might need a bucket or two of water, Nicolas." Her breath caught in her throat when his knuckles brushed her breasts. "This is so dangerous. Are you sure you want to take the chance? We have no idea what could happen."

  "Aren't we scientists?" He pushed aside the edges of her shirt and bent his head to press a kiss on her tantalizing midriff. "I thought we were scientists. Experiments are our life's blood." His silken hair caressed her skin, sent shock waves rippling through her body. His lips traveled lower, found her belly button so his tongue could take a leisurely dip.

  Every cell in her body came alive, sang, burned. The air crackled around them. Dahlia stiffened and pushed at his head. "Did you hear that?" She turned her head to look around them. The heat enveloping them was fierce, the sexual energy rising to engulf them. Tiny sparks glittered in the air like sparklers.

  He kissed her stomach, blazed a trail of dancing flames from her belly button to the triangle of inviting curls at the junction of her legs. "Fireworks. Naturally there will be fireworks. Stay with me, Dahlia, don't think of anything beyond me."

  Her fingers fisted in his hair. "I don't want anything to happen to you." His hands whispered over her thighs, added to the heat building in the room, building in her body. Dahlia heard her own soft moan and moved restlessly, needing more. Aching in places she didn't know she had.

  Nicolas rested his forehead on her stomach for just a moment, trying to catch his breath. His hands trembled as he caressed her skin. He wanted to go slow, to make this time perfect for Dahlia, but the pressure inside of him was building in direct proportion to the heat surrounding them. It felt as if a volcano lived and breathed inside of him. He wanted to ravage her, drag her into his arms and devour her hungrily, but he forced a slow assault, using his years of discipline
to savor the softness of her skin. To hear her small gasps as he kissed his way along the curve of her hip and the nip of her waist. His tongue teased each rib and found the underside of her breast.

  Dahlia nearly came off the bed. "Nicolas, it's too much." She had two handfuls of his hair, her hips moving restlessly in invitation, but her eyes wide with fear. "I don't know if I can stay in control."

  He nibbled his way around her small breast. "The beauty of sex is that you aren't supposed to stay in control. You get to let go." His breath was hot against her nipple, teasing it into a tight peak.

  "What if I start a fire?"

  "What if you don't? What if we have our own fire, right here, burning between us, using up all that wonderful energy? I'm willing to try." He closed his mouth around the tantalizing invitation of her breast. "I'm more than willing to try."

  She cried out, wrapping her arms around his head to cradle him to her as lightning forked through her body. If fires started around her, she wasn't certain she'd know; she was burning from the inside out, a conflagration she couldn't hope to put out. There was only Nicolas with his sinful mouth and his commanding hands and the sheer pleasure coursing through her body. The energy building heightened her senses, drove the heat through her until she felt liquid and needy.

  His hands were everywhere, but never fast, moving with leisurely slowness, as if they had all the time in the world. Dahlia didn't know if she could stand the slow assault on her body. His mouth moved over her breast, nuzzled her nipple and flicked it with his tongue. Each time he pulled at her breast a fresh trickle of warm welcoming liquid glistened invitingly between her legs.

  His hand glided up her thigh, cupped her entrance. Dahlia gasped as his finger slipped into her.

  "You're so tight, honey, and so hot, and I don't know if I can wait."

  "I don't think you should."

  "You have to be ready for me. I don't want you to be uncomfortable. There's no reason for it. It just takes a little bit of patience." He rested his head on her stomach while his finger pushed deeper into her. His tongue traced the edge of her triangle. "I can be patient." He prayed for patience.

  "I don't think I can." Dahlia looked up to see sparklers in the air. Her hair crackled with the building electricity. "We have to do something right now."