Playing With Fire (Phoenix Fire #3)(68)
Author: Cynthia Eden

The truck’s driver side door groaned when she shoved it open. Dante climbed from the vehicle and followed her up the old steps that led into the house.

Heavy boards crisscrossed the back door. She bit her lip, then glanced at him. “Ah, you think you could . . . ?”

With a yank, he had both boards falling onto the old broken steps.

“Thanks.”

They went inside. Judging by the way the house looked on the outside, he’d expected to see dust, spider webs—anything but the too tidy space that waited him.

“From the front, no one can see any lights on in here.” She’d turned on several lights already. “The windows are tinted, and thick curtains also help to block the interior light. If anyone glances this way, the place will keep looking abandoned.”

Even though it wasn’t.

“I told Charles we’d regroup at midnight, so we just need to lay low until then.” She headed for the spiral staircase. It had probably once been the talk of the town. Now the steps squeaked beneath her feet. “There are a few habitable rooms upstairs. Take the one that you want.”

She wasn’t even looking at him. Just heading up those stairs.

No.

He rushed across the room and caught her hand, stilling her on the fifth step.

“Dante?”

His gaze raked over her. “I saw your eyes . . . in the face of a child. You said—you said someone had killed you.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Wrong. She knew exactly.

“You sound different when you lie.”

Cassie stilled.

He leaned toward her. His fingers brushed over her cheek. “I like the way your skin feels. Like silk.” He inhaled, drinking in her scent. “And I f**king love the way you smell.”

And the way she tasted.

Cassie’s hands flew up and caught his. “Stop. ”

He frowned at her.

“You don’t know how much it rips my heart out every time this happens. You die and you burn and you come back—and you don’t remember me.” Her laugh was too bitter and rough.

That wasn’t the way her laugh should sound. He knew that, even if he couldn’t recall the actual sound of her laughter.

“I got lucky when Jon took me to the ranch. You actually remembered, but it still didn’t change the way you felt about me, did it?”

Dante could only stare at her as a dark tension swept through him.

“I don’t think you do feel.” She swallowed and pulled in a ragged breath. “I think you want and you lust and maybe it is because of what I am.” Her lips twisted. “Siren.” Said like a curse.

His muscles hardened.

“You look at me and see a stranger.”

No, he saw a woman that he knew belonged to him.

As he belonged to her.

“I look at you and see the man who keeps breaking my heart.” She dropped his hand as if he burned her.

He’d burned plenty of people.

Not her. Never—

“Why do I love someone who doesn’t even know me?”

It was his turn to pull in that ragged breath.

Even softer, she said, “Someone who can’t ever love me back.”

She straightened her shoulders and carefully eased up a few steps. Putting distance between them. “I can’t handle you right now. I’m too . . . raw. And you make me feel too much.”

His hands clenched into fists so that he wouldn’t reach out to her.

“Dammit, remember me!” Cassie suddenly yelled. “I don’t want to be so forgettable to you! I never forget you! I never gave up on you! I just—” She broke off, and there was more of the bitter laughter that sounded so very wrong coming from her. “You can’t help it. Just like I can’t help loving you.” She spun away. “But I’ve got to learn how to try.”

Dammit, remember me!

Those had been the only words he clearly heard. Those words and her bitter laughter.

He stayed on those stairs as she raced away from him, and images began to flood through his mind.

Cassie had said . . . she was a siren.

Sirens are dangerous. So dangerous . . .

A whispered warning that came from within.

He squeezed his eyes shut and saw images of her.

They were in a crowded bar. Her eyes were wide and scared. He leaned close to her. “I’ve dreamed about you,” he whispered. His hold had tightened on her wrists. “In my dreams . . . you kill me, Cassie Armstrong. ”

Another image. Another time. Another place.

Cassie stood in front of a broken mirror. Blood dripped down her arm. “They’re coming. I have to get it out, or they’ll get me.” She drove a shard of glass into her shoulder and his phoenix roared inside.

Cassie and blood. They were bound in his mind. The blood . . .

“I’m not your f**king experiment.”

She flinched before him. “I didn’t say that you were.”

“But you want to put me in your lab, right? Want to run your tests . . . cut me open . . . just like they did.”

“I’m not like them.”

“Aren’t you?”

The images kept coming, rolling through his mind until all he could see was—

“You killed me. You were there when they cut into me. When they tortured me . . .” She’d stood before him, eyes so wide. “You were in a white coat. In a lab. You were one of them.”

“Let me explain—”

There was nothing to explain. “I should have left you to die when I had the chance. ”

Dante glanced to the top of the stairs. The pipes were moaning. Cassie must have turned on the shower.

He began to climb those steps.

I should have left you to die when I had the chance.

His words.

They were alone. All alone . . .

You killed me . . .

Cassie wasn’t getting away.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The water beat down on Cassie, and it was really freaking cold. Ice cold. But that was fine. She needed the chill to freeze the heat that Dante had stirred within her.

Just from his touch.

She squeezed her eyes shut and turned into the blasting water. She’d told him she loved him. Why? Why? She’d kept that secret to herself for so many years, and bam, give her some grief and desperation, and she started to over share.

He barely even knew her name.

Of course, he didn’t love her back. How could he love a stranger?

There was still ash on her skin. She scrubbed harder, needing it gone. The smoke, the flames, the memory of Vaughn’s desperate face. She just needed it—gone.