"And just what did I say?" Indignation and hurt stiffened her back and her tone. She was amazed to see a flush darken his cheekbones, and she watched him curiously as he reached a hand to idly play with the flowers before plucking one out of stasis. He stared at it intently for a long moment before lifting his eyes to hers.
"I have a confession to make. I'm—a fan of yours," he said with great reluctance, and Anya bit back a smile, remembering Frank telling her of Jason's collection.
"Oh?" she murmured in encouragement when he said nothing else.
He sat forward, bracing one elbow on the table and propping his head with that hand, a long finger at his temple. Rolling the stem of the flower between his fingers, he studied her with a seductive intensity that stole her breath.
"About two years ago, I saw a concert of yours on a vid. I've been—a little fixated on you ever since." Her heart tripped at those words and then stumbled again when he reached out with the hand holding the flower, sliding the petals against her skin with serious intent as he traced the curves of her face. "You're a beautiful woman, Anya Vaedrin, and you do things to me that probably aren't legal. When we first met, you said something that made me believe you could see what I felt. That you were amused by it and were mocking me."
It was a deliberate and studied seduction, the kiss of the flower petals, his words and the dark heat in his eyes. She knew it, but knowing didn't stop her from melting. She felt like she was about to slide with boneless ease out of her seat—or burst into flame, one or the other. She could barely remember how to speak. "W-what did I say?"
He smiled faintly and slid the petals over her bottom lip, making her catch her breath. Every inch of her skin was tingling.
"I don't think I'll tell you that. It's bad enough that I couldn't figure out how wrong I was just from watching you. You really are like an angel, and I mean that in a good way this time. It's not your hair or your voice—people gravitate to you because of who you are inside. I was too thickheaded to see that and figure out that you wouldn't do what I thought you did."
While he spoke, he trailed the flower along her jaw and down the side of her neck, spreading heat from that delicate touch. From there he traced the scoop of her dress, and Anya gasped as the petals teased the upper curve of her breasts, her nipples hardening with sharp stabs of pleasure in response. At the edge of control, she snatched the flower from him and slumped back in her seat out of his reach, trying to control her breathing.
"You keep that up, and I'm going to make a scene," she warned in a breathless voice, gritting her teeth as a slow smile curled his lips. Launching herself over the table at him was fast becoming a possibility. "And don't think I don't know what you're doing either."
"What am I doing?"
"You're seducing me to distract me from finding out what I said to you."
"Why would I do that?"
"I don't know." She squirmed with unabated desire, giving him an accusing stare. "Problem is, it's working. So let's change the subject before I do something in public that I shouldn't do."
His smile faded, and he looked away, face darkening and his hand clenching into a fist. At first Anya thought he might have become inexplicably angry again, but when she reached out a tentative tendril of her talent, the flare of passion that she felt from him nearly reduced her to ashes. Closing her eyes and gasping for air, she hunted in desperation for something that would distract them both.
"Th-the Captain…she—she said that you knew her plans."
"Plans?"
"Plans for this station. Plans for change."
"Yes, I know what she's planning."
"Is she crazy?"
That brought his eyes to her, alive with surprise before he grinned. "No, Marta's not crazy. She might be desperate and a little reckless, but not crazy. She is also the most brilliant, courageous captain I've ever served under. Don't worry; things will work out just fine."
"How can I not worry? She's going to use me to start a war." Weighed down by sudden depression, Anya slumped lower in her seat, wondering now if she'd picked the right subject. Maybe it would've been better just to tackle him.
Jason started to speak, but Yun Chi interrupted them by bringing their meals. Straightening, Anya mustered a pleased smile for the waiter and thanked him, trying to look enthusiastic about the meal. It did look good, but her stomach was in a knot and her throat felt as though it would lock shut if she tried to swallow any of it. The waiter left, and Anya reluctantly picked up a fork, poking at her salad with listless movements.
"She's not out for war, you know."
Anya glanced up to see Jason watching her with a wary expression. "Are you going to try telling me it's not a possibility?"
"Nope, it's possible. I never said her plan isn't risky, but I believe it's worth it."
"Why use me? Why hasn't she tried this before?"
He dropped his eyes and started cutting up the meat on his plate. "Our relations with alien species weren't solidified yet. You just showed up at the right time; that's all. She would have found some other way to do it if you hadn't come along, Anya. Don't start feeling like this is your fault."
"How can I not, Jason? The Guild wants me. The captain is going to declare this station a separate state in order to refuse them. People might die…because of me."
He went still, looking up at her with steady intensity. "There are things you don't know, that I can't tell you. Trust me, no one is going to die."
In that moment she realized that she did trust him—implicitly. It made no logical sense. Logic told her that if they tried to pull away from Central, they would be seen as rebels and arrested at the very least, destroyed at the worst. Even if the captain could wrench the station from Central's control, they were looking at a serious fight to keep it that way.
But staring into the calm dark pools of Jason's eyes, Anya felt the tension easing out of her, and a smile curled her lips. "You have beautiful eyes."
His eyebrows shot up, and his mouth compressed as he fought a smile. "Isn't that my line?"
"Well, you haven't used it yet."
"I was waiting for the right time. I didn't think politics was it."
She grinned in acknowledgement and stabbed a bite of salad with her fork. "So what can you tell me about her plan?"
"Not a damned thing." He smiled lazily at her before taking a bite of his own food. She suddenly noticed that he was eating a relatively light meal, chicken breast with vegetables. Was he having trouble with his appetite, too?
"You don't think I can get it out of you?"
"No, but you're more than welcome to try." His glance was heated, and Anya watched him through her lashes, a sultry smile curling her lips as several possibilities came to mind. That brought up the memory of their last kiss, and she let out her breath with slow care.
"Hmm, sounds like fun." She also remembered a strange bit of the conversation they'd had and, tilting her head at a questioning angle, she asked, "Who did you think I wrote that song for?"
"What song?" he responded with ease, but she could see by the sudden stillness in his expression that he knew exactly what she was talking about.
"The first song I sang here, Miss you Most. You asked me at Whitey's who it was for."
"You said you wrote it for your parents, right?" he asked without looking up at her, seeming to be engrossed in his food. "Have you heard from them?"
"No, I have not, and you're avoiding the question."
"I'm sure they're all right. If the Guild had them, they'd use them as leverage to force you back there. The Guild hasn't said word one about your parents, so I'm sure they don't have them."
She sighed, irritated at his evasion and even more irritated that it was working. Her mind was now worrying at the possibility of the Guild chasing her parents. "My Mom and Dad managed to raise me, before, during, and after my talent emerged. If they survived that, they can survive the Guild."
He finally looked up at her, a faint smile on his lips and in
his eyes. "You were that bad, huh?"
"I had my moments, but it was my being a tel-empath that really gave them fits. Well at first, they and everybody else thought I'd lost my mind. Even I thought I'd gone crazy. Then I was separated from them for sixteen months…" She paused, remembering the institution and the long, terrifying path towards understanding and control of her talent—a path she'd had to take alone. No one had understood what was happening to her, and no one at the institution would listen when she would try to explain. "They got back a completely different daughter. We had to get used to each other again." She grinned. "Plus, I'd become a teenager without them and was horribly independent."
He gave her a knowing look with a quirk of his lips. "Nice way to put it. But sixteen months isn't very long, considering they thought you were nuts."
"Well, by then I'd learned how to block people's emotions, so I wasn't acting crazy anymore. And I was learning how to harness my tel-empathic abilities, too. I'm not proud of it, but I practiced on the doctors. I worked on them until they pronounced me a miracle cure and sent me back to my parents."
"Did you tell your parents or did they find out the hard way?"
"A little bit of both. It took me a while, but I finally told them what had happened. They were so great about it. Not knowing what had caused me to go off the deep end made them wonder if it was going to happen again, so hearing that I was a tel-empath and not bonkers was a big relief."
"They sound like great parents."
She smiled, looking out over the arboretum and remembering. "They're the best." Looking back at him, she raised her eyebrows. "What about yours? How did they handle two obnoxious boys?"
He narrowed his eyes on her with a ferocious frown. "Why do you assume we were obnoxious?"
"I know you, Jason. You're not exactly meek and mild-mannered."
He gave her a look of feigned affront before grinning. "We weren't obnoxious; we were holy terrors. Keeping us out of trouble was a fulltime job for them. To be honest, it was mostly me. Pete would just tag along, and I never sent him home like I should have."
"I can believe that. He was younger than you, right?"
"By three years. Followed me around like a shadow. Even joined the Fleet after I did, but by then it was more rebellion than anything. I told him not to, so of course he had to join."
"You didn't get along?"
"Not by then. Our parents died shortly after I joined the Fleet—freak accident with a glider—and I felt like it was my responsibility to take care of him. Overdid the protective older brother thing. For years, the only thing we did when we were together was fight like dogs."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
He appeared to be engrossed in finishing his meal, eyes on his plate. "I was sorrier. Every time we got together, I would swear that that time we'd mend our fences, but one or the other of us would end up storming out. Then he died, and it was too late."
Anya swallowed a lump in the back of her throat, studying his bent head with miserable compassion. No wonder he'd jumped the captain responsible for his brother's death. Reaching across the table, she touched the back of his hand with gentle fingers and he looked up. "I'm sorry your brother died. But I'm sure he knew you loved him."
She was surprised to see him give her an easy smile as he turned his hand over and clasped her fingers with gentle warmth. "Yeah, he knew. I told him all the time—of course, when you yell it at the top of your lungs it sounds different." Then his smile changed, and he narrowed his eyes at her in what looked like suspicion. "You're not over there feeling sorry for me, are you?" At the same time, he shifted his grip on her hand and slid his thumb with light seduction across her palm.
She drew in a sharp breath, suppressing a shiver as goosebumps spread up her arm. "Why would I? You're the second in command of the station that's going to change the face of human civilization as we know it—or so the captain says. I'm feeling a little sorry for myself, actually."
A light frown creased his forehead as his thumb made another slow sweep across her palm. She couldn't stop a shiver this time at the delicate pleasure. "Why's that?"
"You've been leading me around in circles all evening, avoiding and evading like a pro. I've been putty in your hands, Jason Salvatore, and I'm a little put out by that."
His expression became the picture of innocence while his fingers slid through hers in sensual enticement. "I don't know what you mean."
"Than answer me this: What did I say to you to make you think I was invading your emotions? Who did you think I sang my song for? Why can't I know the captain's plans in full?"
His eyes slid away from hers, a rueful smile curling one corner of his mouth. He said nothing for a moment, just watched his fingers play with hers. To Anya at that moment he looked like a sensual devil with his dark hair, dusky skin and midnight eyes. She was well aware that the hunger building in her went deeper than just physical attraction.
"You have beautiful eyes," he murmured, slanting her a sly grin.
She couldn't help but laugh. She was also unable to ignore the heat spreading through her body and decided that the dinner needed to end. "And you are impossible. I'll let you off the hook if you do one thing for me."
"What's that?"
"Frank tells me you have a very large collection of—well, me."
His expression darkened and his grip tightened briefly on her fingers. "Damn man can't keep his mouth shut!"
"I'm aware. I'd like to see this collection, Mr. Evasion."
His dark look deepened into a scowl. "Why?"
By now very familiar with this expression of his and not the least bit intimidated, she gave him a sweet smile in return. "I don't think I'll answer that. Are you finished eating?"
"Yes, but—"
"Then shall we go?" He glared at her and she raised her eyebrows in challenge. "Unless you're ready to give me some answers."
She thought she'd pushed him too far when he released her hand and stood in an abrupt motion, but a tentative touch with her talent showed no anger, only bewilderment and no small bit of panic. Now frowning herself, she rose to her feet, wondering just what he was so nervous about. She knew everything that was available about herself, every interview, event, appearance, and concert—none of which would be embarrassing for him to have. Watching him out of the corner of her eye, she took hold of her flowers and walked with him towards the entrance.
Philip smiled to see them coming. "I hope everything was to your liking."
"It was wonderful, of course. Will you credit my account please?"
Jason crowded next to her, shooting her a narrow look. "She means my account."
"I do not! They give me a discount."
"I picked the place. I pay."
Anya rolled her eyes and sent an aggravated look towards the maître d' who looked like he'd gone momentarily deaf, staring past them with a vague smile on his face.
"You decide, Philip. It doesn't really matter—flip a coin or something."
"Very good, Anya dear. You two have a lovely evening."
I plan on it, she thought, but didn't say out loud. She wasn't truly interested in seeing Jason's collection of her, but she wasn't brave enough to say, I want to spend the night in your arms. Even though she knew he wanted her, she was still irrationally afraid that he'd reject her.
They left the restaurant and started through the station, a strange silence between them. He was also keeping his distance. Anya kept a light touch on him with her talent and was disconcerted to feel his tension and anxiety increase as time went on.
She was on the verge of asking him what the hell was wrong when he spoke abruptly. "I don't think this is such a good idea."
"Why not? Why don't you want me to see your collection? Do you have me in a porn vid or something?"
He shot her a sardonic look. "As far as I know, you haven't done one of those."
"True. So what is it?"
"Nothing. I just—ah…"
She watched him redden, fe
eling confused. What was going on with him?
"It's nothing," he mumbled and gestured down a corridor. "It's this way."
His quarters were similar to hers, except larger. The furniture was Spartan and decorations few, but she barely paid attention to that, concentrating on Jason. The second they entered, he stopped looking at her.
"The vids are in that corner," he said to the opposite wall instead of speaking to her and pointed into the living room. "Would you like something to drink?"
He didn't look it, but his emotions were in a state of extreme upheaval, and Anya was starting to panic a little herself. "Jason…what's the matter?"
"What do you mean?" he said without looking at her, edging towards the kitchen away from her.
"I'm an empath," she stated in a flat tone. "What's the matter?"
He shot her an accusing look before studying the corner of a cabinet with undue concentration. "I thought you said you didn't do that."
"You're the one who told me to pay attention. I have, but not deeply if that's what you're worried about. I don't ever do that without someone asking me to for a specific reason." He said nothing, so she went on, feeling a bit desperate, "So you didn't kiss me angry—I got that. I'm aware that you find me attractive. And now you're in a panic just because I'm in your quarters. Why?"
His skin darkened, and he turned his face away. His emotions spiked in hot mortification at her words, and Anya blocked him hurriedly, feeling her own cheeks pinken in embarrassment. Maybe she'd been wrong—maybe he didn't want her after all. She was about to apologize and head for the exit when he spoke.
"I've—spent a lot of time thinking about you. Seeing you here, in my place where I've imagined you—dreamed about you… I'm—afraid I won't be able to keep my hands to myself."
Anya's knees went weak at this confession, both in relief and in stunning desire. He dreamed of her…she wanted to devour him. In as casual a tone as she could manage, she said, "I don't think that's going to be a problem."
When he looked over his shoulder to meet her gaze, she undid her dress and let it slide to the floor. She was gratified to see him reach out to steady himself on the wall as he turned to face her, hungry eyes roaming over her. She stepped out of her shoes and walked towards him, wearing only filmy panties.
Angels and Ministers of Grace Page 21