Mind Game (GhostWalkers #2)(47)
Author: Christine Feehan

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.

Everything 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.