Blaze of Memory

by Singh, Nalini

  “And your point is?”

  Her gaze was dark with arousal when she blinked them open. “Dev.”

  He waited for her to tell him they shouldn’t keep doing this, damn sure he wasn’t capable of letting her go. Instead, she stood on tiptoe, put her hands on his shoulders, and stole a kiss that was as delicate as it was passionate, as feminine as it was powerful. It just about broke him, driving him to the edge of surrender. All he wanted to do was tumble her into bed and strip her inch by slow inch.

  But she had the reins ... and she took her own sweet time. When she finally stepped back, his entire body was vibrating with pure, undiluted hunger.

  “I don’t understand,” she murmured, lifting her fingertips to touch kiss-swollen lips, “how my race could’ve ever given up such exquisite sensation.”

  His cock pushed against the zipper of his pants, the metal threatening to turn him into a eunuch. “Katya.”

  As a warning, it had no effect. Dropping her hand from her lips, she clenched it over her navel, as if soothing some inward ache. “I feel so ... hungry, so hot, as if my skin is about to burst.”

  He shuddered, voice lost.

  “Is it always like this?” she asked, stroking her hand over her abdomen and back down. Over and over. Until he strode across and replaced her hand with his. She sucked in a breath. “Dev—you’re making it worse.” But she pressed closer to him, sliding her own hand into the collar of his shirt, seeking skin.

  “The things I want to do to you,” he said, barely resisting the urge to pull up her top and slip his hand underneath . . . dip below. He already knew she’d be soft and wet for him, a silken fist he could almost feel.

  Her lips trailed up his neck. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  It took him several seconds to remember what she was talking about. “No, it’s not always like this.”

  “So if I kiss another man—”

  “I’ll kill him.” It came out with ice-cold precision, though his body was burning from the inside out. Tangling his hand in her hair once more, he pulled back her head. “We clear on that?”

  A slow blink. “If my anthropological knowledge is correct, it’s only changelings who’re meant to be so possessive.” Scientific words, husky voice, a sweet feminine body cradling the painful jut of his arousal.

  “Come on then,” he said, shifting his hand to cup her bottom. “Push me and see what happens.” Changing position slightly, he tilted her up ... and settled the heat between her thighs right where he wanted it. She gasped and gripped his shoulders. He smiled.

  “D-Dev.”

  Her stutter was adorable, he decided. Sexy as hell, too. That mouth, those lips, he could look at them for hours, imagine exactly what he wanted to do. “Give me a second,” he said, and broke the delicious contact long enough to walk her backward—distracting her with nibbling little kisses that had her nails digging into his shoulders.

  She made a startled sound when her back met the wall.

  Stroking his hands down to her hips, he ran his fingers to the button at the top of her jeans. Her eyes went huge, but she didn’t stop him. Thanking the gods, he undid the closure and tugged down her zipper.

  Katya knew she should pull away but she had no willpower where Devraj Santos and his wicked hands were concerned. When he tugged at the sides of her jeans, she shifted back, let him push the garment down. He made her lift her legs one at a time as he pulled it completely off her body.

  Then, still crouching in front of her, he ran his hands up the backs of her legs.

  The sensation sent waves of blackness rolling through her mind, but this black fire was as hot, as wild, and as masculine as the man who looked up at her with such sensual possession in his eyes. “Give in,” he whispered. “Let me make you feel good.”

  It was an incredible leap for her to make, for a woman who’d never known intimacy, but she had to do this ... because there would be no second chance.

  CHAPTER 30

  Quickly stifling that thought lest it escape, she watched as he rose to his feet and pulled off his T-shirt. Her throat dried up. “I guess all that kickboxing has its benefits.” She didn’t know where the words came from when her brain was stunned by the raw male beauty of him.

  He chuckled. “I’m glad you approve.” There was an almost arrogant confidence in him, but she liked it. Better that in Dev’s eyes than the terrible pain she’d glimpsed for an instant when she’d spoken of forcing him to invade her mind.

  Hands on her hips. Warm. A little rough. Perfect. She sucked in a breath, and when he lifted her, it was instinct to wrap her legs around his waist. He moved her until she—“Dev!” she screamed into his mouth as his still-covered cock pushed into her softness, parting her with possessive heat, the thin cotton of her panties no barrier.

  His thumb smoothed over the crease of her thigh, inciting her to move impatiently . . . but that only rubbed her clitoris against him, further tightening the fist that was her body. Breaking the kiss, she pushed at his shoulders. “It’s too much.”

  “You can take it,” he cajoled, kissing her neck, sucking on the beat of her pulse. At the same time, his fingers slid smoothly inside her panties, parting her with even more intimacy. Gasping in a breath, she buried her face in his neck. He smelled of heat and desire and a scent that was pure, aroused male. No, not just any male. Dev. She’d asked him if it would be like this with any other man, but she’d already known the answer—no. It would never be like this again. From the start, he was the only man she’d truly seen.

  His fingers pinched her clitoris, that tiny nub of flesh she’d always known about scientifically but never really understood until this moment. Pleasure arced through her in an almost violent wave, and she could feel that fist within her tightening, tightening.

  “Do you like that?” he whispered against her ear, releasing the pressure to circle the flesh he’d tortured so sensually the instant before.

  “Yes.” She pushed into him, wanting to rub, but held in place by the delicious heat of his body. The weight, the pressure, it ratcheted up her hunger until she could hardly breathe. “Touch me.”

  His lips curved. “Demanding, aren’t you?”

  That smile made her breasts ache, it was so full of promise, of desire. “You’re teasing me.”

  “It’s part of the fun.” One finger flicked over the bundle of nerve endings she so desperately wanted him to touch much more firmly.

  “This,” she said, stroking her hand down to graze one flat male nipple, “is not fun.”

  “On that we’ll have to agree to disagree.” His voice was husky, his skin hot under her touch.

  He was reacting to her, she realized in wonder. Continuing to pet him, she found herself listening to every hitch of his breath, wanting to do what pleased him most. When his ridged abdomen went rock hard as her nails scraped over his nipples, she repeated the caress.

  A single word that turned the air blue. Pulling out the hand he had between her legs, he grabbed both her wrists and pinned them above her head. “Now,” he murmured, eyes locked with her own, “where were we?” His free hand slid back down, over the twisting ache in her navel, under the edge of her panties, and—

  “That’s not fair,” she somehow managed to gasp.

  A kiss that stole her breath. “Who said anything about playing fair?” He rubbed lightly at her cleft, making her entire body clench. “Will you let me in, Katya?”

  She shook her head. “No, you should be punished for teasing me.” But her body was already silken with welcome for him, her flesh lusciously damp.

  “Please?” Another kiss, another intimate touch. And she found herself arching into the finger he stroked gently inside her. The sensation was the most exquisite pleasure-pain, as if her nerve endings were on overload. But instead of wanting less, she wanted more. More and more. Here, in his arms, the torturer’s dark room seemed light-years away. How could nightmares invade when there was so much heat, so much feeling?

  �
�That’s it,” he murmured against her throat as he kissed his way back up to her mouth. “Move on me.”

  She couldn’t stop the strangely fluid movements of her body—part of her knew what to do, how to do it. “More,” she ordered, nipping at his ear.

  “You’re too tight.”

  “More.”

  Groaning, he slid a second finger inside her and pumped once. Twice. Pleasure and pain, a stretching ecstasy. Her arousal peaked, hovered there, waiting, waiting... His thumb brushed her clitoris.

  Everything exploded.

  She felt the back of her head connect with wall as she threw it back, heard Dev’s bitten-off curse, sensed her muscles clenching convulsively around him as the orgasm tore her apart. None of it mattered. For the first time in her life, there was so much pleasure coursing through her body that she was delirious with it.

  Dev watched Katya’s face fill with pleasure and wanted only to undo the zipper on his jeans and take her. But no way in hell was he doing that with Tag and Tiara down the hall, not to mention Cruz. It had been hard enough to keep things quiet this long. A little more and his control would be shot to smithereens.

  But no matter that they hadn’t consummated their attraction, they’d crossed a line tonight and there’d be no going back from it. His jaw set. He would fight for her, for the woman who’d woken from that hospital bed and started to battle for her right to live. No one would take that right from her.

  Soothing her down from the sexual high, he carried her to the bed. Heavy-lidded eyes opened to give him an inherently sensual look as he laid her down. “What about you?” Fingers trailing over his chest.

  He caught her hand. “Later.” Pressing a kiss to her lips, he thought he glimpsed a fleeting shadow, but when he looked up, her eyes were closed as she gave in to the kiss. “I have to go.” He’d have given anything to spend the night by her side, but he needed to sit down and go over the implications of the previous day’s conference call. The agitators were becoming more and more vociferous. Something had to be done—but how could he embrace a “solution” that would rip his people apart from within?

  Katya’s fingers on his cheek. “You have so much weight in your eyes, on your shoulders. I wish I could share it with you.”

  The honest offer made something clench in his chest. Bracing himself on one elbow so he could look down into her face, he echoed her hold. “That you made the offer is enough.”

  He wondered what it would be like to have someone of his own, someone he could trust absolutely. The irony was, the only woman he could see in that role was the one woman he couldn’t ever trust. “Get some rest,” he said, brushing her hair off her forehead. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  She opened her mouth, then closed it. “Tomorrow. Good night, Dev.”

  He wondered if she’d been about to ask him to stay before thinking the better of it. The sense of loss lay heavy on his shoulders as he got off the bed and picked up his T-shirt. Then, unable to simply leave, he moved back to the bed to press a kiss on the exposed curve of her neck. “Have good dreams.”

  Half an hour later, as Katya finished dressing, she held Dev’s final comment close to her heart. There’d been such care in those words, such tenderness. It had made her hesitate, but this was her only option now that she’d given up on getting him to enter her mind. He would be furious, but he’d also be safe—she couldn’t hurt him from so far away.

  Doubt hit again.

  What if her actions weren’t her own? What if she was meant to run, to go wherever it was her heart and soul insisted she go? What if the compulsion was only another clever trap?

  “No.” She knew these thoughts were her own. She knew. But how? Frowning in concentration as she laced up her sneakers, she felt a headache coming on. But this time she didn’t retreat... and the answer appeared from the mists.

  “You’re a blunt instrument, nothing more.” A single fingertip touching her forehead. “There’s no room for subtlety.”

  “Why?” she asked, too numb to be afraid anymore.

  She didn’t expect an answer, was surprised when he spoke again. “Subtlety requires mind control. You’re not worth that much of my time.”

  “What am I supposed to do until the triggers activate?”

  “You’ll exist. Though, of course, not much of you is left anymore.” A spreading blackness in her mind, tentacles digging deep, clawing and vicious.

  Swallowing a cry of agony, Katya bent over, fist pressed to her stomach. Oh, God, it had hurt when he’d done that. It had hurt so very badly. She’d been little more than the most primitive of creatures by then, but she remembered the final torture, the final obliteration of her psyche.

  “But I didn’t die, you bastard,” she whispered, rising to a standing position though nausea continued to churn in her stomach, a trickle of blood snaking out of her nose. Wiping it with a tissue, she stared at the door. “And when you locked me in this prison, you also freed me.” Because no one could strike at her through the PsyNet. No one could spy on her. No one could stop her.

  All she had to do was get out of this house.

  Which might’ve proved very difficult had there only been the three other adults in the house. All three were dangerous. And Dev ... well, she wasn’t even going to think about taking him on in a physical fight.

  But there was a fifth person here. A telepath.

  He’d contacted her yesterday, while Sascha was visiting—Katya didn’t know how he’d circumvented Tag. When that curious mind had brushed hers, she’d been so startled, she hadn’t pulled back. And he’d talked to her.

  I’m sorry they scared you away last time.

  Surprised at the clarity of that voice, she’d answered without projecting, hoping he’d pick it up. They were trying to protect someone. This telepath, she’d realized at once, knowing that there was no way to wipe the information now that she had it. So she’d have to make sure no one would ever again rip open her mind. You shouldn’t be talking to me. Go back before you get in trouble.

  A quiet pause. You’re like me. You’re scared, too.

  I’m trying not to be, she’d answered honestly. How about you?

  I like Dev—he makes me feel safe.

  Me, too.

  Another pause. How come you want to leave?

  She’d sucked in a breath at the ease with which he’d picked out that thought, even if it had been at the forefront of her mind. That’s not good manners, to read someone’s thoughts.

  He’d been silent so long, she had thought he’d gone. Sorry. Quiet. So quiet. I don’t know all the rules.

  It’s okay. We all had to start somewhere. Wanting to help, she’d taken a chance and carried on the conversation. Just remember—if it’s not something you’d want someone else doing to you, you shouldn’t do it to them.

  I understand. I won’t take your thoughts again.

  Thank you.

  But since I already did—how come you want to leave?

  I have something I need to do. Something that pulled at her until it felt as if her tendons would tear from her bones, a pounding, secretive need. But how could she have any secrets? Ming had taken everything.

  A tendril of mischief had brushed her mind and it had had a sense of newness to it, as if the boy had never played. I can help you.

  No. I don’t want you in trouble.

  My mom used to say that boys are meant for trouble.

  The utter sadness in that sentence had broken her heart. She’d heard wonderful things about Sascha Duncan—she hoped all those rumors were true. Perhaps the cardinal Psy could mend this boy telepath’s own shattered heart. That sounds about right.

  I have a plan. A hesitant whisper.

  Charmed despite herself, she’d asked, Okay, I give. What is it?

  And when he’d told her, she’d realized the stupid simplicity of it might just work better than every other thing she’d come up with. However, it all depended on whether the child could keep himself awake till the right moment.
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  So she waited, ready.

  But when the scream came, she jumped sky-high. Moving to the door as she heard footsteps running toward the front of the house, she twisted the knob and stepped out into the corridor, heading toward that very area. Her breath stuck in her throat as she passed the open doorway of a room from where she could hear a number of voices. The front door was locked and alarmed in spite of the unexpected interruption.

  She moved to the windows. Alarmed and locked, all of them.

  Aware her time was about to run out, she told herself to think. She could break a window, but knew she wouldn’t get five feet before Dev, Tag, or Tiara ran her down.

  You’re a scientist.

  Heart thudding, she crept back down the hallway, made a quick stop in her bedroom, then headed to the kitchen, hoping against hope that her young co-conspirator would be able to keep them occupied for a few more minutes.

  As she’d expected, a fresh pot of coffee sat on the counter. One of the three would likely not drink it, being off shift, but it would dramatically change the odds. Sliding out the medications she’d lifted from the apartment in New York, she dissolved a highly specific combination into the liquid.

  A quick stir and she was done.

  The drugs wouldn’t hurt the others, just make them lethargic, and if she was lucky, sleepy. She could’ve used more but she hesitated—the Forgotten did have Psy genes . . . Unwilling to do serious harm, she retreated, the rest of the drugs still in her possession.

  She was back in her room pretending to read when her door opened a fraction. “What was that noise?” she asked Tiara.

  “A nightmare.” The other woman didn’t explain whose. “Wanted to tell you not to worry.”

  “Thanks.”

  And then Katya waited.

  There was some movement for the next hour, people murmuring, steps to the kitchen, back to the living room. Sometime after nine thirty, a door closed with a quiet snick—one of the three going to bed. Waiting another twenty minutes to give that person time to slip into sleep, she pushed off the blankets and got up.