Wicked Torture (Stark World 3)

Just a dream. Yes. Right.

But knowing didn't make it any less disturbing, especially since he was both intelligent enough and self-aware enough to understand the origin of the dream. He'd seen Kiki. He'd held her. Touched her.

Most of all, he'd wanted her--with want being one of the century's most significant understatements--and his subconscious was very firmly reminding him that any path that led to Kiki was a path he had no business following.

But oh, how he wanted to.

Even now as he tried and failed to shave without nicking himself, all he could think of was the way she'd felt in his arms. The firmness of her slim body juxtaposed against the softness of her breasts as he held her close, both of them fearing they'd be discovered.

He recalled the scent of rosemary in her hair and the taste of vanilla on her lips. The way his pulse had tripped nervously when he'd closed his mouth over hers, and then the way relief had flooded through him when she responded with equal ardor. At least before the chill that had settled over them both when she'd realized what they were doing.

Hell, even the sting of her hand against his cheek when he'd first encountered her in the alley was a touch to be savored.

She'd always had a quick temper. But like an alchemist's scale, it had been balanced by deep emotion and strong passion. Kiki was a woman who poured her heart into everything, and he knew damn well how much he'd hurt her.

He wanted to make it up to her--but at the same time, he knew that he needed to stay away. He wanted her--dear God, he wanted her--but she had a new life now. One he wasn't part of.

The thought shouldn't bother him, but he couldn't deny that it did.

He'd tasted the past last night--and it had made him crave a future.

But there was just no way.

Oh, sure, he could find her easily enough. Tyree must have her contact information. Or Cam. And even if they wouldn't tell him, Noah wasn't without resources. For years, he'd run tech for a highly effective, covert security operation--which was polite code for vigilante organization--and he still had connections and favors to call in.

If he wanted, he could have her address, phone, driving record, and current credit score by the time he walked into his office. And part of him did want. Hell, he wanted so badly it was like a physical ache.

But he couldn't do it.

Couldn't track her down. Couldn't go to her. Couldn't try to start over.

He wasn't the man she used to know. The Noah she'd fallen in love with had lived in a world of video games and fantasy. A world where he trusted his intellect and creativity to fashion a happy ending both in the games he designed and the life he lived. Kiki had seen only the very beginning of his bitter realization that the world didn't work that way. The world didn't care if you were smart or noble or heroic. The world took what it wanted, and left you to claw your way back from the pain.

The Noah she'd loved had been an optimist.

But the man she'd met last night in an alley had clearer vision. He saw that old Noah for the fool he'd been.

Hell, she didn't even know that Darla and his little girl were dead. That he was alone, and had been for years.

For that matter, he wasn't sure Kiki even knew that he'd had a daughter, only that Darla had been pregnant. Kiki had left Los Angeles before the wedding, and as far as Noah knew, she'd never looked back. She had a new life now, and he wasn't part of it.

He pictured that band leader--Ares?--and wondered if she was seeing him. Were they dating? Married? Did they spend hours bent over the piano, roughing out a song and laughing about ridiculous rhymes?

The thought tasted bitter, and the image of her laughing like that with someone else hurt him more than it should after all these years.

Damn him.

He was being an ass. Much better to let the past stay in the past. To simply hold on tight to his memories. Their time in Los Angeles. Those few stolen moments of bliss last night . . .

It wasn't enough--it wasn't nearly enough--but he owed her more than the pain of disrupting her life. And God knew, he was damaged goods. In the end, he'd just end up hurting her. Again.

Hadn't his subconscious told him as much in the dream?

As for bumping into her around town . . .

Well, Austin was a big place, so the odds were slim. And from now on, he'd pay attention to what live music acts were happening at his favorite venues. Not so that he'd know where to go, but so that he'd know where to avoid.

As he finished dressing, he forced himself to think of the day ahead. And by the time he'd walked the four blocks to his office, he'd mostly succeeded in shaking off the dream and the lingering thoughts of Kiki. Today's schedule was too jam-packed--and too important--to let in anything not related to work, and by the time he reached his office and handed his assistant the latte he'd bought for her, his mind was fully on the morning's agenda.