Mind Game (GhostWalkers #2)(58)
Author: Christine Feehan

“Don’t you dare pet it, Dahlia,” Nicolas warned, his heart in his throat. He wouldn’t put it past her. “You give me gray hair with the way you seem to have no fear.” He pushed a hand through his hair in agitation. “I think I’ve been more afraid since I’ve been around you than at any other time in my life. And it’s damned uncomfortable.”

She watched him shrug into his pack. “I’ve been taking care of myself for a very long time, Nicolas.”

He didn’t answer but went past her to the cabin. A member of Gator’s family checked on it weekly, keeping the bayou creatures from invading, so the cabin was neat and tidy and the propane gas tank was full, allowing them to have hot water. Nicolas lit a few of the gas lamps rather than working on the generator. They were both tired and needed a hot shower and sleep.

In spite of the slight wound to Nicolas’s shoulder, he insisted Dahlia take the first shower. She was grateful for the warmth of the water as it washed the mud and grime from her body. There were gobs of mud in her hair, something she hated, and she shampooed it several times to make certain it was clean. Her arms ached when she lifted them to rinse the heavy mass of hair, she was that tired, and yet with the water pouring over her sensitive skin, she could imagine Nicolas’s hands and mouth following the trail of the small droplets. She closed her eyes and turned her face up to the spray, hoping to wash the thought of Nicolas away. Needing to wash him away.

The door opened and she whirled around. The curtain was steamy but still transparent. Nicolas grinned at her, holding his hands up, a clean shirt in his fist. The smile faded from his face as he stood there looking at her. He cleared his throat. “I’m just getting the dirty clothes. I thought I’d wash everything and hang it up to dry. At least you’d have clean clothes. I brought you another shirt.” The entire time his hot gaze burned over her body, touched her in places so deep she thought she might melt.

“Go away, Nicolas. Right now.” She didn’t try to hide from his gaze. She didn’t want to. She wanted him looking at her, devouring her with his eyes. She was in dangerous territory, they both were, but when he looked at her like that, she couldn’t help but want him. Her voice was nearly an invitation.

“I’m going, Dahlia, but only because you’re so tired I can feel it. I’ll wash the clothes tonight. You crawl into bed, but leave room for me.” He didn’t want to turn away from her. It was hell having the ability to feel her emotions, to read how tired she was and how much her body needed to sleep.

“Do you think sharing a bed is a good idea?”

“It’s the only idea. If I can’t at least lie down beside you, I’m going to go out of my mind.”

“Have you considered that if we really made love, Nicolas, we could set the bed on fire?” Her fingers slipped over her br**sts with the bar of soap. The water cascaded down to rinse the bubbles away.

Nicolas sucked in his breath. “You’re deliberately torturing me.”

“Probably,” she agreed.

He stood for a moment in silence, looking at her with far too much hunger, then he abruptly gathered up her soaked clothing and went out.

Dahlia slumped against the shower stall wall, staring after him, her body overheated and throbbing. She had no willpower when it came to Nicolas Trevane. She shouldn’t sleep in the same bed with him, dressed only in his thin shirt and nothing else, but she knew she would.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Dahlia woke to heat. To fire consuming her. The light fabric of her shirt almost hurt her ultrasensitive skin. Hands stroked her thighs, soft hair brushed along her skin. She felt the lick of heat as a tongue slid up her leg. If she were dreaming, her body thought it was real and was responding with a buildup of pressure she couldn’t begin to ignore. She turned her head and met Nicolas’s dark stare. Her heart jumped at the concentrated hunger in the depths of his gaze.

“How long have you been awake?” Her mouth had gone dry and her pulse was racing. He was turned on his side, propped up on one elbow, watching her intently.

“Hours. I don’t know.” He reached out and touched her lower lip with the pad of his finger. “I dreamt of you taking a shower with me. And then I dreamt of you swimming na**d with me. And then I dreamt of waking up and finding you next to me just like this.”

She couldn’t stop the slow smile. “You were dreaming very specific details, because I felt you touching me.”

“Where was I touching you?” There was a raw ache in his voice.

“I felt your hand on my thigh.”

He shifted position, a small movement, but it brought him close to her. His head dipped lower toward her stomach as his hand slid slowly up her thigh as if savoring every moment. “Like this?” His voice was a sinful temptation, nothing less.

She closed her eyes briefly and shifted her legs until his heavy erection was pressed against her skin. Until she could feel the drop of moisture bearing witness to his urgent need. “More. It was more, and your hair brushed over my skin and felt erotic.” She touched his hair. He wore it long, and it was falling free around his face. He was a beautiful man with a darkly sensual body made to bring women long nights of passion. Her fingers slid over his face, the angles and planes, memorizing his handsome features.

His hands pushed her thighs apart, moved up to find the buttons of her shirt, slowly slipping each button free. “Do we need this?”

“We might. We might need a bucket or two of water, Nicolas.” Her breath caught in her throat when his knuckles brushed her br**sts. “This is so dangerous. Are you sure you want to take the chance? We have no idea what could happen.”

“Aren’t we scientists?” He pushed aside the edges of her shirt and bent his head to press a kiss on her tantalizing midriff. “I thought we were scientists. Experiments are our life’s blood.” His silken hair caressed her skin, sent shock waves rippling through her body. His lips traveled lower, found her belly button so his tongue could take a leisurely dip.

Every cell in her body came alive, sang, burned. The air crackled around them. Dahlia stiffened and pushed at his head. “Did you hear that?” She turned her head to look around them. The heat enveloping them was fierce, the sexual energy rising to engulf them. Tiny sparks glittered in the air like sparklers.

He kissed her stomach, blazed a trail of dancing flames from her belly button to the triangle of inviting curls at the junction of her legs. “Fireworks. Naturally there will be fireworks. Stay with me, Dahlia, don’t think of anything beyond me.”