Mind Game

Page 14

“I’m giving it some thought,” he replied mildly.
She shook her head in exasperation at his steady, unshaken manner and turned her attention to guiding them, at top speed, through the bayou.
Nicolas looked at her. She was very small-boned, but perfectly proportioned. The more he was around her, the more of a woman she seemed to him instead of the child he first thought her. And that was becoming a problem. He wanted his mind fully on keeping them alive, not on the fascinating fact that the shirt she was wearing was soaked and nearly transparent. Although small, she had beautiful br**sts, and he couldn’t keep himself from looking at them. He could see the darker outline of her ni**les through the wet material. She had knotted the shirttails around the waistband of her jeans, and it called his attention to the curve of her hip and the memory of the brief, enticing glimpse of her bare butt as she slid down the roof. He had to admit, the glimpse had distracted him and he’d thought far too much about that particular part of her anatomy, not the smartest thing when on the run.
Nicolas couldn’t stop looking at her with her head thrown back, her thick, black hair streaming in the wind, her body perfectly balanced as she guided the boat. With her head back, he could see her neck and the outline of her body beneath the shirt, almost as if she wore nothing at all. His body stirred, hardened. Nicolas didn’t bother to fight the reaction. Whatever was between them, the chemistry was apparent and it wasn’t going to go away. He could sit in the boat and admire the flawless perfection of her skin. Imagine the way it would feel beneath his fingertips, his palm.
Dahlia’s head suddenly turned and her eyes were on him. Hot. Wild. Wary. “Stop touching my br**sts.” She lifted her chin, faint color stealing under her skin.
He held up his hands in surrender. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” Dahlia’s br**sts ached, felt swollen and hot, and deep inside her, a ravenous appetite began to stir. Nicolas was sitting across from her, looking the epitome of the perfect male statue, his features expressionless and his eyes cool, but she felt his hands on her body. Long caresses, his palms cupping her br**sts, thumbs stroking her ni**les until she shivered in awareness and hunger.
“Oh, that.”
“Yes, that.” She couldn’t help seeing the rigid length bulging beneath his jeans, and he made no effort to hide it. His unashamed display sent her body into overtime reaction so that she felt a curious throbbing where no throbbing needed to be. She grit her teeth together. “I can still feel you touching me.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “I consider myself an innocent victim in this situation,” Nicolas said. “I’ve always had control, in fact I pride myself on self-discipline. You seem to have destroyed it. Permanently.” He wasn’t exactly lying to her. He couldn’t take his eyes or his mind from her body. It was an unexpected pleasure, a gift.
He was devouring her with his eyes. With his mind. A part of her, the truly insane part—and Dahlia was beginning to believe there really was one—loved the way he was looking at her. She’d never experienced a man’s complete attention centered on her in a sexual way before. And he wasn’t just any man. He was . . . extraordinary.
“Well, stop all the same,” she said, caught between embarrassment and pleasure.
“I don’t see why my having a few fantasies should bother you.”
“I’m feeling your fantasies. I think you’re projecting just a little too strongly.”
His eyebrows shot up. “You mean you can actually feel what I’m thinking? My hands on your body? I thought you were reading my mind.”
“I told you I could feel you touching me.”
“That’s amazing. Has that ever happened before?”
“No, and it better not happen again. Good grief, we’re strangers.”
“You slept with me last night,” he pointed out. “Do you sleep with many strangers?” He was teasing her, but the question sent a dark shadow skittering through him. Something dark and dangerous stirred deep inside of him.
Her eyes jumped to his face. “What is it? What’s wrong?” She looked around quickly. “Should I cut the engine?”
Nicolas sat up a little straighter. She was so tuned to him, even that smoldering jolt of jealousy was noticed. “We’re fine.” But he was uncertain if it was the truth. He was beginning to be alarmed at how they seemed so aware of one another. Nicolas didn’t experience emotions such as anger and jealousy. He had fine-tuned his mind to filter out such things, yet Dahlia was shattering an entire lifetime of conditioning.
“Tell me what’s wrong. I know I’m not the average person, but I’m an adult, and despite having lived in a sanitarium and having a nurse raise me, I’m not completely insane. I don’t want you treating me as less than an equal.”
Nicolas studied her expression. Her dark eyes were spitting fire at him. Maybe that was the problem. She was melting the ice everyone said flowed in his veins. “When I figure it out, you’ll be the first to know. I don’t believe I’ve treated you as a child or as if you were insane, nor less than an equal. And it wouldn’t matter what you thought, if you care to know the truth. I do what I think is right, and I’m not going to worry about what you’re thinking.” His words surprised him more than they did her. Was he stating a hard fact or striking out at her? Nicolas rubbed his jaw with the heel of his hand. Facing death was easier than talking to women any day of the week.
“Well that’s good, because I’m exactly the same way. I guess we understand each other.” She turned her head away from him, nose in the air, looking a bit like a drowned princess.
The sun was climbing into the sky and definitely providing a backlight. His gaze once again dropped to her br**sts thrust against the thin material of his pale blue shirt. The shirt had become an instant favorite. He ran his tongue over his teeth, wishing he could do the same to her nipple.
Dahlia’s breath hissed out of her throat. Slowing the boat, she swung back toward him, glaring. “What is so damned fascinating about br**sts? If I show them to you will you stop?” Her hands went to the buttons of the shirt as if she might really rip the material open. There was color in her face and her breath came too fast. “I once heard that men thought about sex every three minutes but you must be setting some sort of record.”
“It isn’t just any br**sts, Dahlia.” He reached for the canteen of water. His hand was shaking. Actually shaking. Just the thought of her opening her shirt sent his body into a painful, hard, unrelenting ache.
“Well I have them, okay? Just like any other woman. They’re there. I can’t do much about it.”
Nicolas took a long pull of water and nearly choked as she angrily unbuttoned the shirt and allowed the edges to gape open all the way to her waist. Her br**sts were fuller than he’d first thought, jutting forward to tempt him more.
She was beautiful. Her skin was amazing. He swallowed hard. “I don’t think that was a good idea.”
Dahlia realized instantly she’d made a terrible mistake. His black eyes went from ice cold to a raging fever. His hand gripped the canteen until small dents appeared. Energy leapt between them, fierce and passionate, feeding on him, feeding on her, threatening to consume them both. At once she was hot, her clothes too heavy, too cumbersome, her skin too sensitive. She wanted to rip the shirt away, feel his hands, his mouth, sliding over her skin. She wanted things she’d never dreamed or thought of. Had no idea she even knew of.
The distance between them melted away. His body touched hers, his bare chest rubbing against the tips of her br**sts. His hands tunneled in the wealth of her silken hair, fisted, holding her still while he bent down, his gaze as fierce and intent as the energy surrounding them, holding them captive in its burning center. He dragged her head toward his. His mouth fastened on hers, took possession. Fire leapt from her to him, raged between them. The kiss went on and on. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.
His tongue slid into her mouth, danced a long, sensual tango. His mouth moved over hers, demanding. Urgent and wild. The back of her head fit nicely in his palm and he held her to him, kissing her soft mouth, her chin, her throat and back to her mouth again. The roaring in his head grew. His body hardened and grew until he thought his clothes might split. He had to have her. Had to make her his.
Her skin drew him. Soft, softer than anything he’d ever touched. It was impossible to think or reason with her tongue teasing his, her teeth biting at his lips and his chin, her breath moving in his lungs. He tasted her neck again. Nibbled his way to her throat. Felt the gasp as he lapped at her nipple. Heard her breath explode from her lungs as he fastened his mouth on her breast. She made a single sound, inarticulate, but her hands came up to cradle his head.
He feasted, devoured her. Something in his gut clawed for more. Heat rose until he thought he might catch fire. He did catch fire, somewhere in his belly—it roared, a conflagration out of control. He yanked at the knot on the shirt, desperate to get to her, desperate to have all of her.
Dahlia felt his mouth slip off of her breast, felt his tongue lap at her skin, teasing her every nerve ending. Both of his hands went to the knot at her waist. Her head was spinning, dizzy with need, with hunger. There was so much heat and pressure, she could barely stand with wanting him. Dahlia drew in a deep breath of air, closed her eyes, and shoved him away from her—hard. She turned and dove into the water, away from the boat. It was the only way she could save them both. He had no idea what was consuming him, but she knew. She’d dealt with it all of her life.
She went deep, letting the water cool her heated skin. It hadn’t occurred to her that such a thing could happen. She’d never been physically attracted before. Jesse certainly wasn’t attracted to her, nor had she been attracted to him. She hadn’t been prepared at all for the explosive chemistry between Nicolas and her and she handled it all wrong. She’d actually kissed him back. Not just kissed him, she’d practically eaten him for dinner. The thought of facing him was more than she could bear.
Dahlia surfaced a distance from the boat, treading water while she fumbled for the buttons on her shirt. She was still so sensitive even brushing against her skin sent shock waves through her body. She didn’t want to think how he’d be feeling. The boat was headed her way, and he didn’t look very happy. She waved him off. “Go. Get away from here, Nicolas. Take the boat and go.” She was trying hard to save him, but she could see from the harshness on his face that he didn’t want to be saved.
Nicolas stopped the boat beside her. There was no ice at all in his eyes, rather a raging fury. “Get in the boat,” he said, his voice grim.
“Get away from me. Do you think it’s going to stop?” Angry, she hit the water, sending a plume splashing over him. He didn’t even wince as the droplets settled over his head and chest and ran down to the waistband of his jeans.
She ducked her head beneath the water on the pretense of slicking back her hair. Dahlia used the brief moment to force her mind away from where those drops were heading. What the droplets would touch as they raced down his belly to his groin. She broke the surface, her heart pounding. “I know the bayou. I’ll be fine. Take the boat and get out of here.”
“Damn it, Dahlia, I’m not asking you again. Get in the damned boat. I’m not a filthy ra**st. You were right there along with me, feeling the same thing.”
She saw it then, his shame at his lack of control. His fear that he’d frightened her. His sexual frustration that must be every bit as bad or worse than her own. She reached for the rim of the boat and held herself there, tightening her fingers until her knuckles turned white. “Nicolas, it wasn’t you or me. Not like you’re thinking. I’m all about energy. Even sexual energy. You were throwing it out there. I was too. We were both feeding it, and it swallowed us. We can’t be together. We just can’t take the chance.”