Night Game (GhostWalkers 3)

"I had cancer. Not once, but several times. I can't have children, Raoul. I don't have a future with a family."

"We'll find a way."

"There is no way and you know it. And Whitney isn't going to let me have a happy ever after. He invested far too much time and money in all of the girls he brought over from the orphanages. And if you think Lily isn't involved, tell me why she hasn't figured it out yet. She's smart. She's very smart."

"Not when it comes to her emotions." He leaned forward, lowered his head. Just enough to brush his lips against hers. He didn't know if he was comforting her--or comforting him. It was just imperative to kiss her. To feel the softness of her mouth against his. To feel her response to him, as natural as breathing. He wanted to gather her into his arms, hold her against him and just shelter her there.

Flame kissed him tentatively, reaching a little to complete the contact between them. She felt the heat of his mouth spreading through her body, just that one touch, but it was enough to warm her, to push back the cold of death and grief and the fear of being a monster. Her arms slid around his neck to pull him closer to her.

Gator sank his mouth into the heat of hers. His body blanketed hers, a slow stretch over the top of her, so that he felt every soft curve of her body. Her tears were damp on her face and her mouth was fiery hot. "Stop crying. Nothing's going to happen right now."

"Maybe that's why I'm crying." She kissed him again, rested her forehead against his. "I don't want to be anything like her, have anything in common with her--or with him."

"Flame." It was a protest, swift and sharp and shocked. "You're nothing like him. Nothing like Lily. Why would you even say that?" He eased his weight off of her, settling next to her, his arms surrounding her, holding her to him when he felt she was on the verge of flight.

"Why do you think he chose us, Raoul? Even then we were different. He could see it in us."

"You had psychic gifts."

"It was more than that. I'm a freakin' genius, Raoul. There isn't a whole hell of a lot I don't understand. I have a need of knowledge, a love of it, and I'm driven to feed that need. I have to have answers. I'm smart in every area until it comes to my emotions. That's where I make all my mistakes. How did he know? How did he figure out by looking at infants he could take control of their lives and hang on to them forever?"

"He couldn't know that, Flame. And you aren't anything like him. He may have been smart, but I didn't see that much emotion in him."

"You didn't?" She shook her head. "There was such rage in him. It consumed him. He was in terrible pain and he wanted everything and everyone around him to feel the things he was feeling. He had emotions and he wasn't in the least bit of control of them. That's what he hated the most."

"I didn't think about it like that."

"Peter Whitney is my enemy. I studied him. I studied everything there was to know about him. I found every newspaper article about his grandparents, his parents, and about him. He was unwanted just the way all of us girls were unwanted. His family was all about politics and money. They had him because it was expected, not because he was wanted. Nothing he did was ever good enough for them. He was ignored and shoved aside in spite of his brilliance. And he hated that. He wanted to do something to make them stand up and take notice. Maybe he even wanted to embarrass them. Buying orphans overseas and experimenting on them would definitely do that. Especially since his parents frowned on his outrageous beliefs when it came to psychic ability. He had rage all right. And he sowed that same rage in me. In most of the girls. Probably all of them."

"How long did he have you, Flame?" He felt the breath catch in her throat. She turned away from him, settling her head on the pillow, stretching her bruised leg with care, her back to him. "You never talk about it. Why is that?"

"What's there to say? He had you, didn't he? Do you talk about what he did? What you did? The training he gave you? I probably could have escaped sooner, but there was that terrible need for more knowledge. Until I realized it was what he counted on. How much I was becoming like him. All that rage and all that pain buried so deep I couldn't find it. The focus was always on the training and the knowledge."

"How did you escape?"

Instantly, as if he'd thrown a switch, she retreated, physically drawing back, her face carefully blank, her eyes cloudy and unreadable. She let out a small, forced sigh and rubbed at her temples as if they were throbbing, averting her face. "I'm so tired, Raoul. I need to sleep."

Gator wanted to protest, but he could see it wouldn't do him any good. She had shut down completely. He kissed the nape of her neck and lay listening to the steady rhythm of the rain. Eventually her body relaxed and he heard her soft breathing indicating she really had fallen asleep. She didn't want to answer him. She was exhausted, that was true, but she had cut off communication immediately when he'd asked the question. He'd felt her instant withdrawal. He was coming to know her, the slightest nuances, and Flame hadn't been about to tell him how she'd escaped.

Outside the cabin, frogs set up a chorus and once an alligator bellowed. Inside, he lay awake, wondering how he was going to keep the woman in his arms, the only one he'd ever wanted, for his own.

CHAPTER 11

"Essayez-vous de vous echapper de moi, ma petite flamme?"

Flame paused in the act of shifting carefully off the bed. She should have known she would disturb him. "I'm not escaping. I'm not your little flame either. I've got business this morning."

Gator groaned and sank his head back onto the pillow, fingers curled around her wrist, anchoring her to him. "Is it morning? It's still dark."

"You have your eyes closed. You're not a morning person, are you?"

"I could be if you snuggled with me," he said hopefully.

"I don't snuggle. I don't even know how." She leaned over and pressed a kiss against his forehead. "Thanks for last night. I'm not usually so--pitiful."

"You were grieving for Burrell. That's human, Flame. You are human, aren't you?" His eyes were open now. One kiss, a featherlight brush over his skin at that, and he was wide awake.

She frowned. "How would I know? For all I know I have the DNA of a tiger. Let go. I've got work to do and I don't have much time. It occurred to me that whoever sent those men is going to be wondering what happened to them. The police know all about Burrell and the houseboat, but they have no idea all four men were killed too. So someone will be looking for them. And they'll be hunting for evidence before too many people start stirring."

"It's too damned early in the morning to be killing anyone. And you certainly aren't going off alone."

"I can handle it." She twisted her wrist to remind him to loosen his grip. "It's just recon. I want the person behind this, whether it's Whitney or someone else. I'll just follow them and see where they go."

"We'll follow them," he corrected, reluctantly letting go of her. He watched her scoot off the bed, fish around for her jeans, and drag them on. He caught a brief glimpse of soft curves and his body reacted with a rush of need.

"You could have looked away."

"Yeah. I could have." He'd be damned if he was repentant. He'd been a saint all night, lying awake in too tight clothes, with her bare skin and silky hair and soft breathing. He'd been as hot and as aching as a man could be without shattering. And then she cried in her sleep. It was enough to make a tough man turn into Jell-O. "But the view was too nice. You have beautiful skin." Although her leg was worrisome. It was very bruised and for some reason, that raised a red flag in his mind. He wanted to bring her to his grandmother immediately.

"Thanks. Good genes, you know." Sarcasm dripped.

Gator groaned again and buried his face in the pillow. "I need coffee."

She gave a small sniff of disdain. "I'm leaving. Right now. If you're coming, get a move on." She caught up the duffel bag. "Afterward, I've got to go shopping for some clothes."

"Afterward, I'm taking you to my grandmother so she can have her friend treat your leg," he called f

rom the bathroom. He glanced at her through the open door. She was strapping knives on. The sight of her working so efficiently, so casually, to arm herself, sent another rush of heat through him. She was someone to contend with, a woman to stand with him in the midst of a crisis. He was grateful he'd thought to provide her with her favorite weapons after she'd sacrificed her own.

"You could close the door."

"I could, but then you wouldn't get a good look, would you, cher?"

"Don't flatter yourself. And you'd better not be slowing me down because I'm not waiting for you."

She flounced out of the cabin and slammed the door. It was a nice exit, but the duffel bag got caught between the door and jamb. Gator followed her out. "I'm drivin'."

She glared at him over her shoulder. "You're not touching my airboat. You already destroyed my motorcycle."

"Woman, forget about the motorcycle. I'll get you another one."

She ducked her head, the mass of shiny hair covering her expression. "I hid things in the bike. Stupid little things. I guess they really aren't all that important. My getaway money was in it too, but I've got more." She held up the duffel bag she'd stuffed with money.

He followed her to the airboat, took the duffel bag from her and tossed it aboard while she untied the rope. The "stupid little things" weren't really stupid at all--they were important to her. It meant going out to the swamp and retrieving the bike any way he looked at it, because she was getting her things back. He caught the rope she threw and held out his hand to help her aboard.

She hesitated before taking his hand. A slow grin came over his face and crept into his eyes. "You like me." He pulled her up against him until her soft breasts were crushed tight against his chest. "You don' want to admit it, cher, but you like me. You think I'm charmin'. And handsome. And sexy." He drawled the words in her ear, his breath warm and his lips soft against the little shell of a lobe.

She sucked her breath in and her breasts shifted, rubbed right through the thin barrier of their clothing until his jeans were suddenly uncomfortably tight and he wanted to groan with need. He wanted her with every fiber of his being. His arms slid around her, aligning their bodies more closely, so she could feel the painful hard-on stretching the front of his jeans. His mouth found her neck, her throat, his lips trailing kisses, his teeth taking tiny nips.

"I could devour you."

"Well don't." Her voice wasn't as controlled as she would have liked it to be. "Show some restraint."

"Someday, I swear to you, Flame, you'll be begging me not to show restraint."

"Well it isn't this morning."

"If I can't have coffee, maybe sex would do the trick." She hadn't pulled away from him. In fact, her body moved restlessly against his. He bent forward just a bit, enough to use his weight to bend her body backward away from his. His fingers slipped beneath the material of the old plaid shirt, settling on her narrow rib cage. Her skin was definitely as soft as it looked.

"I'm sure we have plenty of time. Don't you think we have time?" He meant to tease her, swore to himself it started out that way, but Dieu, he wanted her. Maybe he even needed her. His body was so damned hard he was afraid of taking a step, afraid of moving. He couldn't ever remember having such a raging hard-on or such a painful need to relieve it.

The sun was coming up, spilling light through the cypress trees and over the water's surface. Her face was bathed in the early-morning light as it scattered through the trees, highlighting the confusion in her eyes. She still hadn't pulled away from him and he allowed his knuckles to brush the underside of her breasts. "You're so beautiful, Flame."

His hands cupped the soft weight of her breasts, thumbs sliding over her taut nipples. A small sound escaped her throat and he felt the sound vibrate through him. He bent his head very slowly to the sheer temptation of her body, giving her time to protest. He felt her first reaction, stiffening, her hands pushing at his shoulders as if she might thrust him away, but the lower half of her body moved against him, rubbing subtly, sending small electrical charges flashing through him. His jeans were already stretched to the maximum without bursting, but impossibly he felt his body tighten more, harden more.

Her breath escaped in a little rush as his lips touched her bare throat, moved lower to nuzzle along the swell of her breasts where the button was open. His hands held her possessively as his mouth found her right through the material of her shirt, teeth scraping gently, sending sensations shooting through her bloodstream. Her womb clenched and welcoming liquid heat rushed to bathe her entrance. His mouth settled over her breast, suckling strongly, his hands sliding down her bare skin, tracing her waist to her hips until he found the curve of her bottom. Without stopping his assault on her breast, he lifted her so that the throbbing heat of her mound met the thick bulge at his groin.

"Raoul." His name came out somewhere between a plea and an invitation. Her arms went around his neck to cradle his head. "I thought you weren't going to seduce me." She arched her back to thrust her breast deeper into his mouth.

"Unbutton your shirt." He murmured the command around her breast, the material of her shirt wet from his ministrations, her nipple aching and tight from the combined sensations of his mouth and the rough material.

Her hands slid the button loose, then a second one before bunching in his hair. His hair was silky soft, as black as night and curled around her fingers as if holding to her as tightly as she was holding to him. She closed her eyes as his warm breath teased her bare skin. When his mouth closed around her breast she cried out, pulling him closer, her fist bunched in his hair. Her knees went weak and heat rushed through her body like a fireball, pooling low and wicked so that she sought relief by rubbing harder against him.

"You have too many clothes on," he whispered. "We both do."

"Kiss me again." She needed his kiss, craved it with the same terrible ferocity as his touch. She wrenched at his hair in an effort to pull his head up, in an effort to retain reality. Teeth tugged her nipple, his tongue laved, easing the sharp bite of pain that only seemed to add to the fire building in her.

"I want your clothes off." His teeth nibbled and scraped around the mound of her breast, underneath, tormenting her until she was desperate for him, her leg wrapping around his waist in an effort to ride him.

The things he could do to her body with his mouth and his hands were incredible, unbelievable things she had never experienced or thought would heighten her pleasure. He was by turns rough and then tender, his hands hard then soothing, his mouth biting, then hot silk. She would lose herself in him, lose her sanity, need him. She would need him. Flame stiffened, jerked back, stumbling, nearly falling off the airboat.

"What am I doing?"

There was terror on her face. In her eyes. Gator drew in a ragged breath and attempted to force his body under control. She was trembling, shaking her head, looking at him as if he had suddenly become her enemy. Her hair was disheveled, spilling in wild abandonment around her face, her lips were swollen from his kisses, and her breasts gleamed at him from her gaping shirt, faint red marks of his possession on them. It was impossible to control his body when everything in him urged him to take her right there in the bottom of the boat.

"Nothing happened, cher," he assured, keeping his voice low.

"What do you mean nothing happened? Something happened here and we can't take it back." Her voice shook.

She was right. He knew she was. He would never, ever, as long as he lived, stop craving the feel and taste of her. He wouldn't walk away satisfied from another woman. He wanted Flame. Only Flame. All of Flame. Her heart, her body, maybe even her soul, whatever he could take for himself and hold on to. The same knowledge was in her eyes and she looked so scared he couldn't stop the step toward her.

"It's addiction. Obsession. Everything but what it should be." She couldn't back away from him but she shrank against the seat.

His fingertips deliberately caressed her breasts. "What should it be if not this?"

"Simple physical attraction. Normal physical attraction."

"I'd rather have this. I'd rather have you." His hands cupped her breasts possessively, his thumbs stimulating her nipples. "Normal is never going to be enough for you, Flame, any more than it will be for me." He leaned in to her to claim her mouth.

The moment his lips feathered over hers, his tongue teased the seam of her mouth, she felt an electrical charge running from her mouth to her breasts and to her groin. His fist was suddenly in her hair, holding her in place as his teeth tugged at her lower lip, demanding entrance. Her brain went into meltdown as she allowed his tongue to sweep inside her mouth, to tangle with hers. They seemed fused together, so hot and so addicting she couldn't stop kissing him. Her bare breasts mashed into his chest and she could hear their combined heartbeats, smell the musky scent of their combined need.

His mouth became rougher, more demanding, his hand tightening in her hair, but it only added to the intensity of her desire for him. Fire raced up her belly to her breasts, spread through her body until she wanted to cry with need. He tasted hot and wild and it was almost more than she could bear. To want him. To be made to want him. It should be her choice. Hers.

Flame pushed at his shoulders until he allowed her to escape. Dragging the edges of her shirt together she wiped at her mouth. It didn't help. She could still taste him there. Her body felt swollen and achy and unfulfilled.

"Why?" Gator could barely breathe. Barely think. It took every ounce of willpower, of discipline and control to keep from taking what she wouldn't give him. He knew she wouldn't be able to resist him if he persisted.

"Whitney." She whispered the name.

She may as well have shouted it. Dead or alive, the man haunted them. Gator fought to drag air into his lungs as he stared at her, fighting back the need to just overrule her decision. Her shirt was pulled together over her breasts, but had slipped off her shoulders. He could see a hint of darker smudges marring her skin. He stepped closer to her, a small frown on his face. "Flame?"