by Rachel Lee
Gently, gently, his fingertips stroked across her midriff, as if they enjoyed the warm satiny feel of her. No higher did they climb, though she wanted it and began to will him to move his hand, began to will him to find her breast with those tantalizing, tempting touches. Raising her arms, she looped them around his neck in invitation.
A muffled sound escaped him, rising from deep within. She felt the vibration in his chest, and the sound thrilled her. Then he shifted his hold, turning her a little to the side and bending her over his arm.
Her eyes fluttered open when his mouth left hers, and she found herself looking straight into his strange green eyes from a distance of only a couple of inches as he bent over her. They glittered almost like polished gems and held her gaze prisoner as his hand, slowly—oh, so slowly!—eased upward.
Honor caught her breath and kept perfectly still as anticipation filled her. No one had ever… Oh, she wanted his touch so badly! Suddenly unable to bear his stare any longer, she turned her face into his shoulder, buried her eyes and her nose in the soft warmth of his T-shirt and filled herself with the good scent of him.
He murmured something rough and sensual right into her ear, sending chills of pleasure racing along her nerves. Then his hand found her, at first with a gentle, almost comforting touch, as if he knew this was new and might scare her.
But it didn’t scare her; it electrified her. It was better than her wildest imaginings, and unconsciously she dug her nails into his shoulders, encouraging him.
“Damn,” he whispered unsteadily as he squeezed her breast. “Oh, damn.”
A helpless moan escaped her. More. She wanted more. Much, much more.
Almost impatiently he found the clasp of her bra and uncovered her. Honor caught her breath, suddenly aware of him, of herself, of all her inadequacies, imagined or real.
But then he smiled at her, right into her eyes, with an expression of such warmth that she never would have imagined this man to be capable of it. “Beautiful,” he said roughly. “Perfect.”
She squeezed her eyes shut against an almost painful wave of emotion, then shivered with sheer pleasure as he closed his callused palm over her. Slowly, sending exquisite sparks to her core, he rubbed her hardening nipple with his thumb.
And then, utterly depriving her of breath, he bent and drew her nipple into his hot mouth. A low moan of pleasure escaped her, and he made a rough sound in answer as his lips and tongue taught her pleasure beyond her wildest imaginings.
He’s seducing you.
The thought penetrated the pleasurable haze of desire like a cold whisper. A minor irritant. Another tug of his mouth on her nipple banished it. Helpless against her own long-denied hungers, she lifted a hand and tunneled her fingers into his soft hair, tugging him closer.
He’s manipulating you.
The cold chill of that thought came to her just as his mouth moved to her other breast and spread the growing conflagration. A gasp escaped her, and she arched upward, begging for more. Not caring any longer whether he was using her or pleasing her, not caring about anything except finding the answer to the mystery of her womanhood.
Suddenly she was lying on her back on the couch. Ian knelt beside her, cherishing her with his mouth and hands in ways she had only dreamed of before. She clutched him closer, prepared to surrender everything to the relentless need he was building in her.
Remember Jerry.
In a flash her arousal vanished. Suddenly she was filled with the crawling sense of shame that had been Jerry’s legacy to her. The feeling of inadequacy, of downright repulsiveness, he had given her. The fear. The paralyzing fear of a man turning away from her in disgust. Oh, no, what was she doing?
“It’s all right, it’s all right,” Ian murmured thickly. Lifting his head, he caught her face gently between his hands and looked down at her with eyes made heavy-lidded by passion. “Oh, baby, how could you think such a thing? You’re not repulsive. He was the one who was wrong, not you.”
Everything inside her stilled, and the chill that washed through her didn’t spring from memories. Her heart seemed to stop beating, and the rush of blood in her ears became deafening. And as he stared down at her, his expression slowly changed, too. No longer did he look sleepy and aroused. He looked as he had when she first met him, remote and hard.
“Honor…” His voice trailed off, as if he had no words.
She didn’t want words, anyway. It was too late for words. There was only one way to explain what had just happened, because she had never, ever told him about Jerry or the scars from her marriage. Never.
Slowly, afraid that if she moved too fast she might provoke him in some way, she sat up and pulled her blouse over her naked, aching breasts. “I…I think I’ll go to bed,” she said. She felt exposed, raw, invaded. Violated.
And scared.
How could you hide from a man who read minds?
If he could read her mind, then he could very definitely plant thoughts there, as well.
Huddled beneath the sheets on the narrow cot in Ian’s guest room, she tried to organize her thoughts, tried to cope with her feelings, tried to figure out a rational course of action.
Not that anything about this incredible mess was rational. How could you react rationally to things that defied logic? How could you react rationally to things that were…paranormal? Supernatural?
What if there was no ghost in her house? What if all of that had been done by Ian? What if he was responsible for every feeling of being watched, every feeling that someone else was there?
If he was, he could have no innocent motive. He could only intend harm.
She had to get away. But how could she flee him when he could read minds? He must know every thought in her head.
She shuddered and pulled the blanket to her chin. No, she decided, he didn’t read every thought in her head. If he did, he wouldn’t have time for any thoughts of his own. It must happen sporadically, perhaps unpredictably.
And that gave her a chance to escape.
But first she had to sleep. To lull him. With a skill perfected by years of nursing, she set her internal alarm clock for four in the morning. It was the time when men were at their lowest ebb, least likely to be alert. By then he would consider her asleep for the night. He wouldn’t be expecting her to slip away.
The storm had blown over. The night beyond the closed windows was quiet, still, in the predawn darkness. Even the offshore breeze had died.
With her shoes in her hand, her keys and wallet in her pocket, Honor crept down the stairs, taking care to set her foot down at the very edge of each riser so as not to cause a telltale creaking. She had tried, on her way upstairs, to note which steps were noisy, but she was damned now if she could remember which ones they were.
As soon as she got out of here, she was going to get in her car and drive far enough away that she could feel safe from mental eavesdropping and invasive thoughts. Until she felt that her mind was free of violation. Then she was going to try to figure out what in the name of heaven she could do about this mess.
Twice on the stairway she froze, her heart in her throat, thinking she had heard something. Both times the darkness mocked her with perfect silence.
Adrenaline increased her need for oxygen, and she fought to breathe silently when she desperately wanted to pant. Her own heartbeat grew nearly deafening in her ears. Step down. Again. Another step.
Finally she was at the foot of the stairs. A shaft of moonlight poked through the curtains covering the window on the front door and illuminated the hallway. Quietly she inched her way back to the kitchen, wanting to be as far as possible from the stairway, and thus as far as possible from Ian, when she opened that door. The lock was bound to make noise; the screen door certainly did.
Once in the kitchen, she paused, listening, and heard nothing. Finally some deep fear of the evil that had touched her caused her to take a butcher knife from the block on the counter. In case, she told herself. Just in case.
That
’s right. Protect yourself.
The kind of person who could try to make her believe in ghosts, who could wantonly invade the sanctity of her mind, probably wouldn’t hesitate to hurt her.
Don’t let him stop you. He intends you harm.
Yes, she thought, opening the door slowly. Obviously he intended her harm. That was very clear now.
Outside, the night held its breath. Only the irritating background chatter of insects disturbed the dark, motionless air. In the pale, watery moonlight, the Spanish moss turned into shadowy giants, looming figures made of living darkness.
Keep moving. You don’t want him to find you. He’ll hurt you.
She hesitated on the porch step, and something in her squeezed with a tight, dry grief as she thought of what she was losing. All unaware, in the last few days she had given part of her heart to the cold, lonely man she had sensed in him. Even while she had been uneasy about him and his motives, some part of her had yearned toward him. Some part of her had become his.
Now all that was hopeless. Just another source of pain. But maybe she was wrong about him….
No! He violated your mind. Invaded the most private place you have. Exposed your secrets.
Her hand tightened on the knife handle, and she stepped off the porch. She had to get away. Had to.
By the time she reached the end of the holly hedge that separated their yards, she was sure she was going to make it. Relief eased the rapid pace of her heart. Now all she had to do was get into her car and drive into town. She would be free, and she would be able to think, able to come up with some kind of plan.
“Going somewhere?”
Gasping, she whirled around and came face-to-face with Ian. The moonlight caught him from the side and made his face look like a carved mask, made his eyes glitter.
“Damn it, Honor,” he said, “you could get hurt out here! I just got shot last night!”
He reached out toward her. She panicked.
Protect yourself! Stop him!
Instinctively, without conscious thought, she raised the ten-inch butcher knife in self-defense. “Stay away!” she gasped. “Stay back!”
But he shook his head and continued to reach for her. With an agonized cry, she lunged at him with the knife.
What came next happened in a blur, so fast that the next thing she knew she was being held hard against him, her hands firmly captured behind her back. The knife was gone. For a long moment she strained against his hold, trying to break away, panting almost wildly. He held her effortlessly, painlessly, moving with her struggles and preventing her escape.
And then realization washed through her in a tide so cold she felt chilled to the bone. She had tried to hurt him. Had tried to stab him. Oh, God, she was losing her mind!
“Shh…” he said, shifting his hold to a gentler one as he felt her sag in shock. “Easy, honey. Shh… It’s okay.”
“Oh, God,” she whispered into the soft cotton of his T-shirt. “What was I doing?” His heart was racing as hard as hers, she realized. Adrenaline filled them both, unsatisfied by the abortive fight. She tipped her head back and looked up at him, tangled feelings pulling her in a dozen directions.
Passion, never far from fear, surged suddenly. She felt it as an almost physical change in the atmosphere, and then his mouth was on hers, his tongue plundering her hot depths as if treasure were hidden there. As hungry as he, wild with the need for something human and warm, she tugged her hands free of his grip and dug her fingers into the hard muscles of his upper arms. Heat. She needed his heat, needed his hunger, needed to find reality in his strength and his passion.
Suddenly he tore his mouth from hers. Another gasp escaped her as he effortlessly lifted her into his arms, reminding her of his vast strength, reminding her that he could probably snap her in two with his bare hands. But his hands, though hard as steel, didn’t hurt her. They touched her flesh with exquisite care.
He carried her back to the house with long, impatient strides. His breathing never even deepened as he mounted the stairs with her in his arms. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind as to what was coming now. The fires they had ignited between them had never been doused, and fear and anger had fueled the blaze with adrenaline.
Nor could the primitive cavewoman he had first awakened in her protest. Only a couple of days ago she had wanted to lie on the hard ground and take him into her without thought, without caring, without affection. Now, however much she distrusted him, she cared, and caring made the need so much more intense. So much more undeniable.
He set her down on his bed, an iron cot hardly wide enough for two. It didn’t matter. Lying over her, his leg pinning hers, his arms holding her tight, he plundered her mouth with a kiss so hungry, so needful, that it forced everything else from her mind. She became woman at her most basic.
There was little tenderness, a lot of eagerness and some roughness. He stripped her clothes and his own away with equal impatience and molded her flesh with touches that just missed being painful. She didn’t care. How could she care when this man made her feel so wanted? Oh, how she needed to be wanted!
His mouth closed on her nipple, sending spears of longing straight to her womb. His hand stroked the smooth skin of her hip, and then dived impatiently between her thighs, seeking her heat, her moisture, her life-giving core. Wildly she arched, an inarticulate cry escaping her. She was caught in a storm, with no desire to escape. Whatever he took was rightfully his.
Raising his head, he muttered guttural words of encouragement as his touch lifted her higher and higher. Too fast, too fast, she thought dizzily, and then stopped worrying as he took her closer and closer to the brink she dimly sensed was waiting.
“So sweet,” he growled in her ear, sending another river of excitement pouring through her. “Come on, honey. That’s the way.”
When her hands clawed for purchase, tearing at the sheets and him, he guided them up to the headboard and wrapped them around the iron spindles. “Hang on,” he said roughly, and settled between her legs.
Gasping for air, she clung to the headboard and looked up at him from eyes that were dark with arousal. He loomed over her in the dark, so huge, so powerful, so strong. She’d never thought, never dreamed, never imagined, that anything could be so overwhelming. Every cell in her body was begging for him, for completion, for the answer to the screaming ache he had awakened in her.
He touched her. Gently, finding that delicate knot of nerves, he lifted her higher and higher until she hung suspended in exquisite agony and nearly screamed his name.
“Now!” he said hoarsely. Slipping an arm beneath her hips, he lifted her to him and took her in one swift, deep thrust.
If there was any pain, she was past noticing it. The precipice was close, so close, and his every movement drove her nearer the edge. Letting go of the headboard, she grabbed his shoulders, digging her fingers into smooth, muscled flesh, drawing him down, needing his weight as she had never needed anything. Needing him.
“Let it happen,” he growled in her ear. “Damn it, Honor, let go!” and then, with a single long, deep, twisting thrust of his hips, he pushed her over the edge.
And moments later, his face contorting, he arched into her and followed her over.
It occurred to her that she could curl up into a tight little ball and pretend to be catatonic. She could deny all knowledge of the woman who had just lain beneath this man and acted like a wild thing. She could fake a multiple personality and blame the last fifteen minutes on someone else.
It had been hot, swift, and very, very basic. Nothing romantic about it. Sighing, she turned onto her side and buried her face in his warm shoulder and decided not to deny anything. Her mind could never have conceived of such a thing, but now that it had happened, she admitted she wouldn’t have missed it for anything.
He drew her closer, squeezing her. “You okay?” He sounded gruff.
“I’m fine.”
“Good. I don’t usually come on like gangbusters, but…”
She covered his mouth with her hand. “If you apologize, I’ll get embarrassed. If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to skip that part.”
A low rumble of laughter rose in him, and then he astonished her by rolling to his feet and sweeping her up into his arms. The first time he had picked her up with such ease, she had been uncomfortably aware of how dangerous his strength could be. This time she felt confident that he wouldn’t use it against her.
At least not right now.
In the bathroom, he set her on her feet and bent over to turn on the shower. Taking the opportunity to look at him in the light, she trailed her gaze from his broad shoulders to his narrow waist and hips…and saw blood. As a nurse, she knew about these things, knew that she certainly shouldn’t be embarrassed by anything so perfectly normal and natural—but she was anyway. Somehow it was different when it was her blood. She closed her eyes.
“You should have told me,” he murmured huskily. “I could have hurt you.”
“I thought you could read my mind,” she said weakly, grabbing his shoulders as he lifted her into the shower.
“Only when you broadcast at top volume. Never purposely. We’ll talk about that later, I promise.”
Slowly she opened her eyes and looked right up into his. At this moment they looked almost…tender. His hands moved over her carefully, soaping her with exquisite care. Her heartbeat grew heavy, and she drew a deep breath.
“Is that why you ran?” he asked. His hand slipped between her legs, washing her oh-so-carefully.
“Is this an interrogation technique?” She gasped and dug her fingers into his powerful shoulders. “When you knew how I felt—” She broke off abruptly, unable to continue. “I don’t know exactly what happened. When you knew that, I thought…well, I thought you might be responsible for that feeling I get sometimes. Like someone is in my mind.”
His eyes darkened, and he turned her suddenly so that the shower spray rinsed her.
“Come with me,” he said harshly. “Let’s get out of here. Let’s go somewhere away from that…thing.”