Wicked Torture (Stark World 3)

"It's beautiful."

"Not as beautiful as you."

She laughed, then met his eyes in the reflection, hers lit with amusement. "That sounds suspiciously like a pick-up line."

"Can it be a line if it's true?"

She shrugged, her attention going back to the river as she sighed with pleasure, her hands tightening on his arms. When she spoke, her voice was soft, and she didn't meet his eyes. "I think the real question is, can it be a line if there's no reason for a pick-up?" She lifted her chin, and when their eyes met in the window this time, he saw a hint of defiance. "After all, you already have me. Don't you?"

Yes. He wanted to shout the word, but he couldn't quite force it out past the joy that swelled his chest and filled his heart. Instead, he pressed a kiss to her hair and pulled her tighter against him.

"Why didn't you surf today?"

For a moment he was confused. Surfing had been almost as much of an obsession as gaming when he was in his early twenties, but he hadn't surfed since. He shook his head, his mind oddly muddled. And for a moment--only a flash, really--he wasn't looking at the river, but instead at the Pacific, wide and blue and infinite.

He blinked, and the river returned.

"I--I wanted to spend the day with you, of course." He hoped he sounded casual. He felt confused.

"Oh?" There was a tease in her voice. "Why's that?"

He laughed as he spun her in his arms, then found her smiling at him. Her brown eyes seemed to draw him in, and he had to fight the urge to press kisses on each of the freckles that dotted her cheeks. "Happy anniversary, sweetheart. I hope you had a wonderful day."

"You know I did," she said, her eyes so full of love he wanted to drown in them.

"I love you so much." His heart ached with the words. He stroked her soft hair, then wound a teak-colored strand around his finger, relishing the connection.

She cupped his cheek. "Do you think I don't know that? I see it every time you look at me. Every time you touch me."

Small beads of sweat rose at his hairline, and he didn't understand why. But he suddenly felt nervous. Edgy. And he had to swallow to get out the words. "You shouldn't," he whispered, wishing he didn't have to say it. Not understanding why he believed it.

"Shouldn't?" Her brow creased as she shook her head in confusion. "Shouldn't love you?"

He took her hands. He had to make her understand. "All of this," he said emphatically. "None of this matters."

A laugh bubbled out of her, and he saw relief in her eyes. "Of course it doesn't, darling. The only thing that matters is us."

"No." His chest was tight with frustration. Why wasn't she listening? Why couldn't she see?

"Noah?"

"You don't understand." In one quick, horrible movement, he thrust his hands out hard against her chest. He had to do it. How else could he convince her?

Her eyes went wide as she stumbled backward. The glass shattered, and she plummeted out into the void, down and down and down.

He watched her fall, his entire body numb. "You understand now," he whispered. "In the end, I'd only hurt you, too."

His own gasp of terror woke Noah, and he sat bolt upright in bed, breathing hard, his body as cold as ice.

It was just a dream. He knew that. And he reminded himself of that simple fact again and again as he tried to get back to sleep.

He never managed. Instead, he tossed and turned from three in the morning until five forty-five when the blare of his alarm clock finally gave him permission to quit trying.

Still shaking, he untangled himself from the bed sheets and stumbled into the shower, hoping that the hot water would wash away the remnants of the dream.

It didn't.

On the contrary, the dream infected Noah's entire morning. Over and over, his mind replayed the gut-wrenching image of Kiki endlessly falling, her arms outstretched as she moved inexorably away from him and closer to her horrible, painful fate.