She shouldn’t have allowed Anka to get her so rattled.
Resolving to ignore him, she tamped her annoyance with both him and her assistant and focused on her studies for the remainder of her shift. She had never been more glad to see the end of a work day, though.
She wasn’t just tired by the time she got to her apartment, she was dispirited. She didn’t want to examine the depression that hovered at the back of her mind, however, fearful that whatever she discovered about her feelings would instantly be known by her resident poltergeist. Her privacy was such an integral part of who she was that it had fractured something vitally important to her to discover Anka could peer into her thoughts as easily as a peeping tom could leer at her through a key hole or a curtain not properly closed. She felt naked and exposed and she hated the feeling.
“I have promised I will not slip into your mind if it displeases you.”
Gaby jumped at the sound of his voice, whirling toward it, uncertain of what she would see.
Anka was lounging casually on her sofa on his side, one arm bent to support his head in his palm.
At least, a man was. It took her several moments to recognize Anka. He was wearing black leather pants and boots. On his bare chest and arms was an elaborate, tribal sort of tattoo. And he had nipple rings and shorn hair that had been lifted into spikes all over his head.
He rolled onto his feet and straightened, holding his arms out in welcome of her observation. “This is close, yes?”
At the question, Gaby blinked, coming out of rigor. “You bastard!” she snarled. “You scared the pure hell out of me! Stop sneaking up on me and stop … peeking into my mind!”
His eyes narrowed. “Woman, I have infinite patience. I have said that I admire your spirit, but I will not tolerate being bellowed at!”
“You won’t have to if you take yourself off!” Gaby shot back at him. “Where did you get that body? Out of a trash can?”
He frowned, looking down at the body that had seemed to please him moments before. “He was not using it anymore.”
“Oh god! Eew! You mean he was … dead?”
“Just slightly,” Anka responded defensively. “He was pronounced OD.”
“This is beyond ick, actually. Playing with dead things is extremely taboo!” Gaby said with disgust. “A lot of really weird fetishes are accepted these days, but not necrophilia! So if you have any ideas that you’re going to use that thing on me, forget it! He’s probably riddled with disease!”
She could tell from his expression that he hadn’t considered that possibility. He stepped out of the body, allowing it to collapse on the floor. Gaby shuddered. “You don’t mean to leave that thing lying there, I hope!”
He looked down at the corpse with distaste. “What am I to do with it?”
“Take it back to where you found it, damn it! They’re probably looking for it!”
“You are a … bossy female,” he growled irritably, but he bent down and snatched the body up, shrugging into it. Assuming an air of regal dignity and displeasure, he stalked to the door and left.
Gaby sank weakly to the floor after he’d gone, covering her face with her hands. She was not, she realized, equipped to deal with the emotional upheaval Anka had forced onto her. As boring as her life before had been, it had at least been comfortable, free of emotional stress in extremes. There’d been plenty of disappointment, but very little excitement.
It would almost have been easier to accept that she was losing her grip on her sanity.
She might at that if Anka was determined to hang around her—his ghost, or whatever he was.
Why, she wondered, was he focused on her?
Because of the fertility ritual he’d performed on her in the temple?
Unlikely.
Because of the sex?
More unlikely, she decided.
He was the fertility god! He’d probably banged just about every female in his city at one time or another. His position in the community would’ve made him practically a … rock star!
She had certainly not encouraged him. She knew that. But had she done something she was unaware of that had somehow formed a connection between them?
Chapter Seven
She was too upset and confused, Gaby realized, to think at all logically—not that she could see a lot of logic in what she was confronting. Feeling drained and weak, she finally got up from the floor of her living room and headed to her bath to try to soak away her tension and chaotic emotions.
Emptying her mind, she settled into the tub full of hot water and focused on relaxing each muscle group and holding all thoughts beyond that at bay. She’d relaxed almost to the point of sleep when she felt the prickle of awareness that warned her Anka had returned.
Without surprise, she opened her eyes to discover him lounging at the foot of her tub, studying her. His expression was intent and filled with a hunger that instantly aroused her body to full attention. At the same time, doubt arose within her.
Swallowing with an effort, she closed her eyes, trying to find the peace she’d felt moments before. Did he really find her so appealing, she wondered? Or was it no more than play acting a role that appealed to him for some strange reason?
She felt him slip into the tub behind her, felt his arms surround her as he drew her back against his chest. His cock nestled against the cleft of her ass.
It was hard and hot and the moment she felt it, the desire rose in her to feel him inside of her again.
“You are so beautiful, Moonflower,” he murmured caressingly against the shell of her ear as he allowed his hands to roam her body before they settled on her breasts, cupping them and kneading them gently.
Gaby sighed. She was a sucker. She couldn’t help it. Whether it was purely all in her mind or not, the fantasy did things to her she couldn’t imagine feeling with anyone else—anyone real. “Why do you call me Moonflower?”
“You remind me of moonlight,” he murmured, amusement in his voice now. “I had never seen hair or skin this pale before.”
Gaby wrestled internally for a moment. “Sheila is far more fair than I,” she said finally. “And younger.”
He didn’t pretend not to know whom she was talking about. “But you are my flower,” he murmured, sending shivers of awareness through her as he nibbled the side of her neck. “When you are nestled next to me, I imagine I can smell the sweet nectar of your flesh, feel the petal softness of your skin.”
She supposed his love talk was a bit flowery and archaic, but she found it appealed to her. It didn’t sound corny when he said it. It made her feel … beautiful and desirable. No one had ever made her feel like that before.
His last comment pierced her lazy euphoria, though. “Imagine?” she asked, twisting in his arms to look up at him.
His gaze moved over her face and then his expression hardened with reluctance. His eyes became shuttered.
When he said nothing more, she turned again and settled back against him. Glancing down, she studied the sharp contrast between his dark skin and the white, white skin of her breasts and belly that had never seen the sun at all. She protected her skin as best she could whenever she was outdoors, but even so her shoulders and arms were darker than her natural skin tones. Lifting one of his large hands from her thigh where it had come to rest as she’d turned to look at him, she examined it, tracing the lines in his palm, exploring his long, tapered fingers with hers before she matched their hands palm to palm.
His hand dwarfed hers, made her feel delicate and feminine.
“It isn’t real, is it?” she said sadly.
She heard him swallow. She felt his breath within his chest as it moved against her back, felt his warmth. She’d felt his breath against her skin, his mouth. She’d felt his sex nestled snugly within her own, found glorious release in the feeling of connection between the two of them. No one had ever given her such rapturous climaxes. How could none of that be real?
She shivered, abruptly cold, when he withdrew. I
n a moment, though, she felt him lifting her upward. He turned her so that she was facing him, sitting wantonly astride his lap where he had perched on the edge of the tub.
“You cannot begin to imagine the hunger you stir in me. I want to feel this as you do,” he muttered in a rumbling growl that seemed equal parts frustration and desire as he fisted one hand in her hair to tip her head back and lowered his head to cover her mouth with his.
For a split second, she felt nothing, and then she opened her mind to him and his scent and taste flowed through her in a heady rush. She felt the heat and pressure of his mouth, the faintly rough texture of his tongue as he explored her mouth, ravished it with his possessiveness. Closing her mind to her doubts, Gaby reveled in the heated cloud of pleasure that enveloped her.
Her palms and fingertips tingled with sensation as she lifted her hands and skimmed them lightly along the bulges and dips of his strong arms, across his broad shoulders, and then downward over his hard chest. She felt his heart pounding against her palm as she cupped his bulging pecs and when she traced a path downward, she curled her fingers around hot, turgid flesh that jerked within her grip.
Nothing had ever felt more real, more right.
Crazy she might be, but she loved the feel of him. How could every inch of her body, every fiber of her being come alive with the taste, and touch, and feel of him if none of it was real? Everything inside of her wanted to join with him, to feel him as a part of herself.
He broke the kiss as she rose up to guide his cock into her passage, watching her movements, his hands catching her buttocks to help her to balance. He surged upward when she had engulfed the head of his cock within the mouth of her sex. The moisture slickened walls of her passage fisted around him in need as he bore down on her hips to slip deeply inside of her.
He pressed his lips along her throat as she threw her head back in ecstatic pleasure at feeling him surging deeply inside of her. She felt the nip of his lips and teeth, the warm wetness of his tongue as he explored her throat and the side of her neck and her ear.
She turned her face into his cheek, blindly seeking his lips once more as he slowly surged and retreated along her passage, massaging her deeply as he ground his groin against her. He met her offering with a ravenous need that was contagious. Heat surged through her at the urgency of his kiss. She felt her body climbing toward its peak with dizzying speed. She struggled against it to hold onto the pleasure only a little longer, but it was like fighting fire with gasoline.
Her body fluttered with the first threatening quakes of release. He broke the kiss, catching her tightly against him as he set a more desperate pace, driving her control beyond her grasp. A long, keening moan broke from her lips as her body began to quake and seize with release.
The intensity of her climax drained her of energy. She leaned weakly against his chest, her cheek resting on his shoulder, trying to gather her wits, to fight the desire to simply allow herself to drift away on the cocoon of bliss that closed around her. The soothing stroke of his hands as he caressed her body brought focus to her dwindling awareness of her surroundings. Something teased at her mind. She was inclined to simply ignore it, but it defied her attempts to push it away.
He hadn’t come, she realized finally. She hadn’t felt his hot seed inside of her. She hadn’t felt his body convulse with the same pleasure that she’d experienced.
With an effort, she lifted her head from his shoulder and met his wary gaze with confusion. He lifted a hand and skimmed it lightly over her face. “Sleep, Moonflower.”
* * * *
Gaby resisted when she felt herself drifting toward consciousness. She felt far too good to give it up, but even as she uttered a deep sigh and snuggled deeper into her pillow something began to tease at the back of her mind that wasn’t all warm and fuzzy. It was as she began to wonder if it was morning already that she realized she couldn’t recall going to bed, and then she remembered everything.
Anka was stretched out on the edge of the bed beside her, his back against the wall. She blinked at him several times and closed her eyes again. “That was a dirty trick,” she muttered, but without heat. Because despite the dark thoughts hovering at the periphery of her consciousness, she still felt … wonderfully replete.
And then her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten.
Ok, so fabulous sex didn’t do anything for that kind of hunger.
And nothing at all, apparently, for his hunger.
She lifted her head and stared at him a long moment. “You can’t feel what I do,” she said, determined to know the truth.
He turned his head to stare down at her for a long moment. His eyes were tumultuous, but it was hard to say what emotions were seething inside of him. His expression was taut, but not angry. “I feel … more than you imagine.”
Gaby pushed herself upright. “I want to understand.”
She could almost hear him grinding his teeth then. “I want,” he said harshly. “We all want things that we cannot have.”
Anger surged to life as Gaby stared at him in surprise. “My mind isn’t primitive, you superior asshole!” she snapped. Rolling off the bed, she stalked from the room, slamming the bathroom door behind her.
For all the good that would do, she thought angrily. If he wanted to come in he didn’t even have to use the fucking door!
He didn’t follow her. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or not, but when she went back into the bedroom to find clothes, she discovered he was gone … or maybe just not in a form she could see. She didn’t sense his presence, but then she was still too ticked off to focus on anything else.
By the time she’d fixed herself a light supper of soup and sandwich, she’d calmed down somewhat. She was still insulted, but it had occurred to her that he probably hadn’t intentionally insulted her.
It didn’t make it any better to think he considered her intellectually inferior because he was used to being around humans of inferior intelligence, or at least far less knowledge. From what she understood, humans basically had the same capacity for learning now as they’d had as soon as modern man had emerged. They had just taken many, many centuries to accumulate knowledge that they could share with one another.
So what was he, she wondered as she settled in her living room to stare at the blank screen of the TV? Obviously, he had no intention of enlightening her.
Energy, she realized almost at once, but something else. If he’d been pure energy, he wouldn’t have had consciousness, would he?
His kind had to be something along the lines of spirits, or ghosts, she decided. Except she wondered if they’d ever had a physical form of their own. She’d begun to think Anka hadn’t despite the fact that she’d connected the mummified remains with him, still thought of it as ‘his’ body because even in its current state she could see that it had once been as he appeared to her now.
Or was there a ‘they’ at all?
At the museum when Anka had left he’d shifted from form to energy, appeared only as blue light. When she’d ‘dreamed’ in the temple, she’d seen the blue lights all around her before they’d taken the form of the dancers. Somehow, though, she didn’t think it had been others like him. She hadn’t ‘sensed’ but one real presence, as crazy and unprofessional as that seemed to her. She was certain, somehow, that he’d been alone in the temple.
In any case, if he knew there were others like himself, wouldn’t he have been searching for his own kind if he felt the ‘urge’ to procreate?
That alone seemed to indicate that there could not be others, or at least that he didn’t know of any others.
That realization made her feel empathy for him and a connection with him that she hadn’t felt before. She had always been alone. Which was worse, she wondered? To be surrounded all day by others and still feel apart from them, as alone as if they hadn’t been there at all? Or not having even that much?
Was that why, or at least part of the reason, he seemed to want to attach himself to
her? Had he gone into her mind and discovered that she had no one either?
Or was it only that the time most creatures in nature felt at one time or another had come upon him—the need, desire, instinct to procreate—and he was single mindedly searching for the way to complete the cycle?
That thought was an unhappy one. He’d made her feel special in a way no one ever had before, in a way she’d been starved to feel, she realized with more than a little anger, embarrassment, and disappointment. She felt—stupid to have succumbed to the illusion of being important, special, when it seemed likely that he’d only ‘chosen’ her because she was available, or most handy at the time.
It was disturbing how lowering that thought was, how deeply it wounded her. She felt herself sinking into a veritable quagmire of depression over it, found herself picking apart every moment they’d been together and re-examining it for the flaws she was suddenly certain must be there.
She should have felt ridiculous and silly every time he called her Moonflower. Instead, it had made her feel beautiful and desirable, cherished even. He said it so caressingly, as if he’d been saying ‘dearest’, ‘sweet heart’. He must know her name like he seemed to know everything else about her, but he never called her Gabrielle, or even Gaby.
It robbed her of individuality, she decided. It seemed to her, then, that it was a way of getting around acknowledging her as a person. It was like the guys that developed the habit of calling a woman ‘baby’ so that they wouldn’t fuck up in the throes of passion and call their latest lay Cheryl when she happened to be a Debra, or whatever.
He didn’t feel what he made her feel, either. She’d been too enthralled by the things he made her feel to realize it before tonight, but he didn’t really share her passion. He could make her cum so hard she felt like she’d had a brain seizure, but he wasn’t similarly affected. He didn’t cum.
Because he couldn’t. He might be a real entity, but he wasn’t an entity of the physical world. Everything he did to her happened in her mind. He made her body believe it sensed his touch. He made her believe she could feel his heat, taste him, breathe his scent.
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