Mind Game

by Christine Feehan

  "It may be the best thing if I dropped you at a hotel," he persisted.

  She hung onto her temper by a thread. This was her problem, not his. "You can go to a hotel," she counteroffered. She felt humiliated and frustrated, and more than anything she wanted to be alone, but she wasn't going to have him take over her job. And there was that secret fear of him now. Fear of his enormous strength and what he could do to her if he lost control. She hated herself for that.

  Nicolas sensed her rising temper. The aftermath of the energy was preying on both of them. "I need to call Lily and see if she has any information for us," he said mildly. "The cell phone doesn't like this area much, but a little ways out and I might be able to get her."

  Dahlia gripped his shirt with both fists. As long as she maintained the physical contact with him, the energy didn't overwhelm her completely. It was another source of irritation to her. She didn't want to have to hang on to him like a clinging vine. "Cell phones have a way of disliking the bayou and the river. It must be a water thing."

  "But what about when you weren't in the bayou? Surely Calhoun gave you a cell phone to keep in touch when you were in town."

  "I melted two of them. He decided it wasn't worth it."

  He looked down at her to see if she was teasing him. Her gaze was all too serious. "You melted them?"

  She nodded. "I melt things. Accidentally."

  Nicolas wasn't touching that. Considering all the melting going on inside of him any time he was close to her he could believe she'd melted a couple of phones. After all, they were much smaller than he was. His breath chuffed out and he took her hand, deciding to try to defuse the situation. "Try not to melt any body parts."

  They lagged behind the crowd as people began to disembark. Nicolas kept his eye on his quarry. "Look how he moves, Dahlia. He's probably ex-military, most likely a mercenary. I'll bet he's good in a fight. Watch his eyes. Nothing gets by him, he sees everything. He just murdered a man, yet he's not even in a hurry."

  Nicolas didn't want to draw attention by lingering too long away from the group, yet it was important to keep Dahlia protected from prolonged exposure to so many people. He timed their exit by watching the man in the dark shirt step to one side and light a cigarette. Clearly he was waiting for the crowd to get in front of him. Nicolas kept Dahlia to the far side, shielding her with his body as they sauntered past.

  His energy is very malevolent.

  Don't get sick or I'll start asking you if the baby is all right in front of him.

  Dahlia nearly choked. She kept her head down and one hand pressed tightly against her stomach where she'd taken the punch. Every step hurt. Longingly she glanced at the water. She would love to be back on her little island, surrounded by her books.

  Nicolas tightened his fingers around Dahlia and pulled her closer to the shelter of his body. He walked past their quarry without even glancing at him, leaning down to murmur some nonsense into Dahlia's ear to make it appear they were completely absorbed in one another as well as to further shield her body from sight.

  And he wished they were really completely absorbed in one another. He'd never had anything or anyone shake his calm, rational world the way Dahlia did. He'd built his entire life on the principals his grandfathers had taught him. He thought he was prepared for everything. He had been prepared for everything--until Dahlia. He could barely keep his mind on saving their lives or tracking his quarry. As they walked in the general direction of the popular restaurant located on the bluff overlooking the river, he struggled to make sense of the havoc Dahlia wrought on him.

  Dahlia was a firestorm to his ice. Where he was cool and calm, she was fiery and seemed out of control, battered by the very energy of every living thing. Where did she fit into the universe? How did someone like Dahlia survive in a place so hostile to her nature? And why was it so damned necessary to him that she survive in a place with him?

  He could accept the physical attraction, even though the intensity might be disastrous. He could even accept his deep need to protect her. He was always the one that looked out for his men, and he took the role seriously. That was part of his character and he was well aware of it. But to find himself obsessed--and that was a good word for it--was uncomfortable. He was trying to keep them both alive, and all he could think about was Dahlia. The sound of her voice. The way her smile flashed at him unexpectedly. It was unnerving how much he thought about her.

  "Don't think about it too much, Nicolas," Dahlia advised in a low voice.

  "About what?" He kept his voice even with an effort. She said she wasn't telepathic on her own and didn't read minds. He didn't want her reading his confusion. Until he knew the answers, he wasn't willing to share the questions.

  "Whatever it is you're thinking about. It isn't worth getting more upset over."

  "People have upsetting thoughts, Dahlia."

  "I know. Believe it or not, I'm a person, and I actually do think about things. I even have regular emotions. I once saw a man kick a dog, and I got so upset three houses behind him caught fire. I was nine years old." She glanced up at him, checking to see how he took it. Telling him something important. Something they both had to know. "Can you imagine if I ever got into an argument with my husband? He's silly enough to disagree with me over the amount of milk that goes into tea or some other inconsequential thing. Poof. He goes up in smoke."

  When he looked down at her, she was already looking beyond him to the river. "What happens when you feel pain?"

  "From the overload?"

  "No, just regular pain. You stub your toe. You get a cold. You get punched by some man in the street because I'm too slow on the trigger." There was a hiss of anger in his voice. It came out of nowhere, that slow smoldering burn that seared his belly and flared with a dark heat that threatened to consume him. His palm slipped over her stomach and lay there gently. The touch was meant to be impersonal, to soothe her. To take away the pain. It turned into something altogether different. Not sexual, but intimate. And her skin burned through the thick material of the dark sweatshirt. Or maybe it was his skin. He shouldn't have been able to feel her, yet he did.

  She closed her eyes against the emotions swamping her. Or maybe it was energy, she honestly couldn't tell anymore. She wanted to run away from him. Away from everyone. Her head pounded and her skin itched and felt too tight for her body.

  "Don't try to run out on me, Dahlia," Nicolas cautioned, reading her easily. His voice roughened, sounded edgy. "You're so busy trying to keep an emotional distance you're forgetting what we're doing here." He pulled her from in front of the window where her face could be reflected and drew her around the side of the building, pushing her back into the heavy shrubbery.

  Her black eyes blazed at him. "Of the two of us, you're far more afraid of emotional commitment than I am. I may have limits, but at least I put myself out there. You're so busy taking care that nothing disturbs your perfect tranquility that you've forgotten to live your life."

  The air fairly crackled with electricity. Nicolas could feel the rising energy beginning to surround them. It fueled the raw emotion building inside of him. He also glimpsed their quarry walking along the street toward a small blue Ford that was parked a block up from them. The man seemed to be in no particular hurry, almost sauntering as if he hadn't a care in the world.

  He glanced around, saw a taxi parked close to a restaurant. Certain the cab was waiting for customers, Nicolas had a twenty-dollar bill in his hand when he signaled. He kept a firm grip on the nape of Dahlia's neck, keeping them connected. He told himself it was because he needed to stay close to her to keep the energy at bay, but the truth refused to stay in the back of his mind. He was the one that needed the connection. They were at odds, and he needed the reassurance of physical contact.

  "You're dragging me." Dahlia pointed it out with a little bite in her voice.

  Nicolas actually snapped his teeth together, inwardly swearing. It was insane the way he was always so off balance around her. Ins
ane, and damned uncomfortable. The worst of it was, she could walk away from him. She might not like it, and she might even fantasize over him now and then, but she could do it. And she was the emotional, fiery one. He couldn't walk away. He had no idea how it happened, how she had managed to crawl inside of his lungs until he couldn't breathe properly without her.

  "Get in the cab." He made it an order knowing she hated orders.

  He didn't know how it happened. He had been perfectly fine without her for years. He'd never given much thought to finding a woman to share his life. He lived a life of solitude, going where he wanted, not tied to anything emotionally or physically, and it was his preference. Until he found himself in Louisiana with a woman who could shake him up with one look.

  Dahlia slid onto the backseat of the cab. The pressure welling up in her chest was amazing. Anger was hot and furious. Just like the intensity of the passion she shared with Nicolas. She dragged air into her lungs. They fed off each other. There was no other explanation. When she touched Nicolas, he cleared outside energy away from her. When they formed the arc of energy between them, they built the strength and passion of it together, one feeding the other's intensity.

  She cleared her throat as Nicolas folded his much larger frame into the backseat beside her. She waited until he gave the driver instructions before sliding her hand into his. She waited to see if he'd pull away from her. The waves of anger were still rolling off of him, but his fingers tightened around hers.

  "We're amplifying each other's emotions." She said it in a low voice. Starkly, without embellishment, staring out the window while she did so.

  Nicolas closed his eyes briefly. She was right, and he'd known it all along. The knowledge that he'd been aware of it on some level, yet allowed his emotions to be amplified anyway bothered him almost as much as his need to be with her. What did he really know about her, after all? He looked down at her. She was everything he'd ever wanted, he just hadn't known it. What the hell was he going to do about it? He rubbed his thumb along her fingers in a small gesture meant to soothe.

  Breathe with me. He needed her to draw him back from the edge of some precipice he didn't fully understand. Whatever anger had swirled in him so stark and raw and ugly had turned just as fast to a fierce, driving need to merge with her. To drag her as close to him as he was to her.

  He wanted her to need him on the same stark elemental level. It was difficult for him to have to admit he wasn't as in control of his thoughts and feelings or even his world as he had always believed.

  Dahlia felt the change in the energy as they both began meditative breathing. Rhythmic, controlled, deep. She felt the dark anger evaporate, released with the air moving in and out of her lungs. Out of his lungs. A flash of excitement sent a fresh wave of energy spilling around them. She tried to breathe through that as well.

  What is it?

  You felt that? Dahlia watched him nod. We're getting more in tune with one another. I feel the slightest change in your mood and now you're able to do the same with me. You never felt energy like that before, did you?

  Nicolas took his time thinking it over. He could catch thoughts at times. He could definitely sense emotions. If he had ever "felt" energy, it was prior to a physical attack on him. Perhaps black anger in a very aggressive person. Was he gaining strengths? He didn't know if he wanted the same curse as Dahlia had been gifted with.

  It's just that we actually controlled the energy together, Nicolas. The excitement radiated out of her. Maybe our first try wasn't that successful, but this really worked. I've never really controlled it. I've managed it. Kept it under wraps until I could find a place to get rid of it, but we actually breathed together and I found the tranquil little lake in your mind and the energy just floated away. Dahlia couldn't begin to tell him what a breakthrough it was. She'd tried for years to do meditation and chanting practices and nothing had ever worked. The meditation had helped to ease the burden, but she had never managed to just allow the energy to dissipate. With Nicolas, she had finally accomplished it. It seemed a miracle to her.

  I've noticed your ability to use telepathy has grown stronger. I don't need to hold the bridge entirely by myself. You're meeting me halfway.

  Dahlia blinked. I am? That doesn't make sense. I have no telepathic ability. I never have. I can send my thoughts if the other person is a strong telepath and they do all the work.

  I'm not doing all the work. Nicolas put his arm around her. She'd gone from angry to happy to alarmed in the space of a few minutes.

  What does that mean? Dahlia didn't want to be telepathic. She had enough to handle with the "gifts" she had.

  "Pull over," Nicolas said suddenly, startling her. "Right here, let us out."

  Dahlia looked out the window and saw they were well out of town, just over a bridge near the water. The cabbie parked under a small grove of trees. Nicolas handed him several bills before getting out of the car. He was careful to retain possession of her hand and to keep the taxi between them and any observers. Almost immediately he drew her into the sanctuary of the grove of trees. They watched the cab drive off.

  "Where is he?" Dahlia hadn't seen either the blue Ford or its driver.

  "On the other side of the bridge. He pulled onto a dirt road and got out of the car. He was walking up the road."

  "That's not good. There's no cover."

  "I didn't expect them to make it easy. They'd want an out-of-the-way place they could use to get information out of anyone they bring there, and one easily defended. With no ground cover along the road they can see anyone approaching."

  Dahlia sank down gratefully onto the ground and drew off the sweatshirt. It was already hot, and the tank top she'd worn beneath was clinging to her skin. "I guess we wait here all day?" She braided her hair and tied it into an intricate knot to get it off of her neck. Her body desperately needed sleep, and it would allow her not to dwell on what had flared between them on the ferry.

  "I'm going to scout the area closer to the road and make sure I'm right, but yes, we can rest here." He lowered his pack to the ground beside her. "At least you're outside and away from people."

  Dahlia bunched up the sweatshirt and curled up on the ground, her head pillowed on the thick material. "I'm going to sleep while you go do whatever it is you do. I'm exhausted."

  She looked vulnerable lying on the ground. His stomach tightened into a knot. Nicolas hunkered down beside her, handing her the canteen. "I won't be long, Dahlia." He pushed stray tendrils of hair from her face.

  She gave him a faint smile. "Take all the time you need. I intend to sleep. I require a lot of sleep in highly traumatic situations. This would be one."

  He continued rubbing strands of her hair through his fingertips. "I thought you had a difficult time sleeping."

  "I said I require sleep. It isn't exactly the same thing."

  "Are you going to worry about me?"

  "Absolutely not. You're a grown man."

  He laughed. "You have a little mean streak in you."

  She looked smug. "It's what makes me so appealing."

  He started to rise. Dahlia caught his arm. "Did you bring that raggedy blanket with you?"

  Nicolas could feel the sudden tension rising between them. She did her best to look nonchalant, as if it didn't matter in the least, but he swore he could hear her heart pounding. Her gaze shifted away from his and her hand dropped away.

  "I've got it." His voice was gruffer than he intended. He found the piece of cloth with its tattered edges pushed down inside his pack. He extended the scrap of material.

  Dahlia half sat to take the blanket from him. She reached for it slowly, her fingers curling around it almost reverently. He watched the way she stroked it, like a child might, almost as if she didn't know what she was doing, or as if the gesture were automatic. Her fingertips brushed the edges, a small caress. She smiled up at him. A genuine smile, but there were tears in her eyes. "Thank you, Nicolas." Her voice sounded strangled.

  Every
thing in him wanted to gather her into his arms. "You're welcome Dahlia." He turned away from her because he had to. Because his feelings overwhelmed them both. Because she would think it was pity, and she'd hate him for it. Because she was eating him up inside. Watching her take comfort in a silly piece of cloth, as if the damned thing represented her family, her past. . . . And it did. He cursed Peter Whitney as he walked away from her.

  Nicolas wanted to be her comforter, not some scrap of material that should have been tossed out years earlier. Not once in his life had he ever thought he was in over his head. Not as a boy in mountains when his grandfather had vanished, leaving him to find his way home. Not in the dojo during training when he was "attacked" by several grown men with much higher rank, not during his Special Forces training or the first time he was dropped into a jungle alone on a mission. But he did now. He had no idea how to bind Dahlia to him.

  As a child he'd grown up without a mother or even a grandmother. He had never really explored emotional relationships or marriage. He'd never been given advice on the matter. The closest he'd really come to seeing a relationship was watching Ryland Miller pursue Lily. The man had lost his mind. Nicolas had a feeling he'd joined the ranks of men losing their minds over women.

  Nicolas shook his head as he moved along the edge of the river, keeping to heavy brush. He needed a good position to study the terrain they'd be crossing that evening. He also wanted to get some numbers on the force they'd be facing. It was possible Calhoun was already dead and they were putting their lives in jeopardy for nothing. He was on a reconnaissance mission, and it was familiar to him. He could lose himself in the work and not think about the violence of his emotions when he dragged Dahlia's body to his. Not think about the heat and the need and the aching hunger. He groaned and closed his eyes, shaking his head, drawing on his inner strength to push her out of his mind. He achieved a measure of calm, but had to acknowledge she was with him, somewhere twisted around his heart and entwined deep inside him where he never was going to get her out.

  Nicolas cut branches from a plant that grew in abundance along the river. He fashioned a covering for himself, taking his time, weaving it into a fair replica of the bushes he would be moving through. He had all day, and he was a patient man. He simply became the plant, moving in slow motion across the reed-choked bank so sluggishly it was impossible to detect him. He lay right out in the open, on his belly, stretched out among the plants and bushes, crawling his way up the river until he had the old dilapidated house in sight.