Shadows of Darkness (17 page)

Yes. You want me.

A deep, darkly seductive male voice rolled through her mind, making her belly clench with desire. Had he just spoken in her
mind
? The voice was sensual, rough, erotic, with a hint of accented culture that made her think of black tie dinners and foreign royalty instead of the dangerous predator sitting so still on his perch.

Don't hold back.
His voice slid through her mind again, a sensual caress that made her belly tighten with desire.
Think about kissing me. Think about my hands sliding over your naked skin—

"Stop it." She glared fiercely at him. The satisfied gleam in his eyes told her that it
was
him in her head. "I didn't invite you in there. Get out."

He didn't smile, and he didn't back off.
What's your darkest fantasy? Handcuffs? A threesome? A little pain...
As he spoke, images of each scenario flashed through her mind. Her naked, silken ties around her wrists—

"No." She jerked her gaze away from him, breaking the connection. She fisted her hands, quickly weaving safeguards in her mind, invisible walls that encased every last thought, every feeling, every bit of herself that wasn't physical. Within a millisecond, he was out of her mind. Her lungs expanded in a sudden relief as the sensual sensation of being caressed along her spine vanished. Had it been
his
touch she'd been feeling on her back? Some metaphysical extension of his mind that felt like a real caress and seduction? What kind of power did he carry? And why was he directing it at her?

His expression didn't change, but he seemed to become even more still.

She met his gaze, daring him to try again.

He did.

She felt him testing her protections, feeling his way through her mind, searching for the one gap she'd missed. Anya smiled, allowing the same satisfied gleam into her eyes that he'd had in his. "I'm good," she said. "Don't bother."

He didn't answer, his gaze flicking behind her.

She sensed the approach at the same moment, and she sat up more erectly in sudden anticipation, sensing that the person approaching her from behind was the one she'd come to meet. Her instructions had been not to turn around, and not to look, or the deal would be off. Someone leaned up against her seat, and a warm breath brushed over her neck.

Anya's heart began to pound. This was it. Her chance. "Is Julia still alive?" she asked, her breath frozen in her chest as she waited for news of her best friend, her only friend, the only person still alive who mattered to her.

Fingers drifted through her hair, and lips brushed over the back of her neck. A seduction, for anyone in the bar who was bothering to watch. A charade to protect them both. "For now." It was a woman's voice, breathy and sensual.

Tears of relief burned in Anya's eyes. Alive. Her best friend was
alive
. "How do I find her?" She slid her gaze toward the mirror behind the bar, taking a forbidden look at the woman she'd spent the last three weeks hunting down. Raven black, ultra-straight hair reached just past her shoulders, and her eyes were hidden behind dark glasses. Her lips were pale, her skin the color of a latte, and her simple outfit of a tight black tank top and fitted jeans made her look sexy, but unmemorable. Who was she? How did she know what had happened to Julia? How was she involved? She'd found the woman's email address in Julia's belongings, the only clue she had as to what had happened to her friend. It had taken weeks to track this woman down, and longer to convince her to meet…assuming the woman standing behind her was the same person who had answered her emails.

The man at the bar leaned forward, drawing Anya's attention off the mirror and back to him. He was staring at her even more intensely, his gaze boring into hers as if it were a dagger that could cut out her heart. She could feel him testing her psychic defenses, trying to get back in her mind.

She jerked her gaze off him, refusing to let him distract her. She closed her eyes to cut him off, so she could focus on the woman behind her. She couldn't afford to miss a word. "Where is Julia?"

The woman's breath tickled her neck. "You must go to the warehouse on the corner of Hartford and—"

Fingers closed around her wrist. Anya's eyes snapped open as she was jerked off her feet and across the floor. She slammed into the hard body of the man at the bar, and his arms locked around her. He stared down into her eyes. No longer were his eyes blue. They had shifted into dark, bottomless pits of death…and something else. Something more dangerous. Something more personal.

"I love you," he said, his whisper rolling through her, making sudden tears fill her eyes as longing swept over her. To be loved, to be held like she mattered, to be—

He kissed her.

Not just a kiss.

A kiss so tender, so beautiful, so seductive that it made her heart cry for more. Never had she been kissed like that.
Ever.
His lips were decadently soft, his tongue a sensual dance of promise and tenderness, his hands on her hips like he was her shield against the world. He was pure male, offering himself to her as her protector, her lover, the man who would never let her be alone again.

Her soul cried out for his kiss and his declarations with an intensity so strong that it made her heart ache with longing. The pain jerked her back into her own mind just enough for her to realize that something was wrong, terribly wrong. He was in her mind again, reeling her in, offering her the words and emotions that she burned for, as if he knew exactly what triggers would ensnare her. He was manipulating her, drawing her into his kiss…with a sinking heart, she realized suddenly that his kiss was his weapon, wielded with the skillful, ruthless finesse of a well-practiced assassin Why had he come for her? Sudden fear pulsed through her, and she knew it had to be because of Julia. Was he trying to keep her from talking to the woman? Or was he there to kill her?

She was in danger. Sudden, dire danger from him. She had to break his hold on her. She had to talk to the woman. She had to find Julia. She shoved at his chest, trying to raise her mental shields and boot him out of her mind—

He deepened the kiss, a searing hot kiss that seemed to ignite her very soul. His lips were hot and sensual, his kiss deep and intoxicating, sending desire sparking through every part of her body. Yearning filled her, a desperate need for him, for his kiss, for his touch, for everything he could offer her.

In the deep recesses of her mind, she knew it was wrong. She knew what she felt was unnatural, but the realization was faint, fading, too weak for her to grasp. He tunneled his hands through her hair, angling her head as he deepened the kiss, drawing her away from her mission and into his spell.

She couldn't stop herself from responding to his seduction. Her soul was crying out for him. She could sense the danger he presented. She could feel the emptiness of his soul. She knew that his whispers of love were lies he didn't mean. But it didn't matter. Something about him called to her, something far deeper than the seduction he was weaving in her mind.

She needed to stab him.

She needed to run.

But she couldn't.

She simply wanted
him.

He was tired.

He was cranky.

He was wet.

Zane Stockton idled his motorcycle outside his brother's ranch house, narrowing his eyes at the darkened windows. Gone was the time when he'd let himself in and crash. There was a woman in there now, and that changed all the rules, especially when it was two in the morning.

He probably shouldn't have come tonight, but he was here, and he was done being on the road for now. Rain had been thundering down on him for hours, and he was drenched all the way to his bones. He just wanted to sleep and forget about all the crap that had gone down today.

Trying not to rev the engine too much, he eased his bike down the driveway past the barn and turned right into the lean-to beside the bunkhouse. He settled his bike and whipped out a couple towels to clean it off, making sure it was mud-free before calling it a night.

He grabbed his bag from the back of the bike, scowling when he realized it had gotten wet, then sloshed across the puddles toward the front door of the bunkhouse. He retrieved the key from the doorframe, and pried the thing open.

It was pitch dark inside, but he knew his way around and didn't bother with a light. He dropped the bag, kicked off his boots and his drenched clothes, then headed for the only bed that was still set up in the place, ever since Steen and Erin had rearranged it for their own use during their temporary stay there. At least they'd upgraded their lodging so the bunkhouse was now available again for use by the family vagrant.

Zane jerked back the covers and collapsed onto the bed. The minute he landed, he felt the soft, very real feel of a body beneath him, including the swell of a woman's breast beneath his forearm. Shit! "What the hell?" He leapt to his feet just as a woman shrieked and slammed a pillow into the side of his head.

"Hey, I'm not going to hurt you! I'm Chase's brother!" He grabbed the pillow as it clocked him in the side of the head again. "Stop!"

There was a moment of silence, and all he could hear was heavy breathing. Then she spoke. "You're Chase's brother?" Her voice was breathless, and throaty, as if he'd awakened her out of a deep sleep, which he probably had. It sounded sexy as hell, and he was shocked to feel a rush of desire catapult through him.

Shit. He hadn't responded physically to a woman in a long time, and now he'd run into a woman who could turn him on simply by
speaking
to him? Who the hell was she? "Yeah," he said, sounding crankier than he intended. "Who are you?"

"You're Steen?" He heard her fumbling for something, and he wondered if she was searching for a baseball bat, pepper spray, or something that indicated she hadn't been nearly as turned on by his voice as he'd been by hers.

"No, a different brother," he replied, his head spinning as he tried to figure what was going on, and why he was reacting to her so intensely. "I'm Zane. Harmless. Good guy. No need to decapitate me."

There was a pause in her movements. "I wasn't going to decapitate you. I was looking for my shirt."

"Your shirt?" he echoed blankly. "You're not wearing a shirt?" He hadn't noticed much bare skin for that brief moment he'd been on top of her. How had he missed it?

"I'm wearing a camisole, but it's not exactly decent. Give me a sec." A small laugh drifted through the darkness. "You're such a guy. Of course you'd fixate on the possibility of me being naked. Do all men think only of sex?"

He grinned, relaxing. He'd startled her, but she'd regrouped quickly, and he liked that. She wasn't a wimp who was running to the door screaming. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Taylor Shaw. I'm Mira's best friend from home. I surprised her for a visit, but it turns out, there's no space in the house."

"Nope. Not anymore. I'm displaced too." He suddenly wanted to see her. "You decent yet?"

"Yes, but barely—"

He reached over and flicked on the small light by the bed. The soft yellow glow was less harsh than the overhead light, but it still took his eyes a moment to adjust to the brightness. When they did, he saw Taylor sitting on the bed, curly blond hair tumbling around her shoulders in a disheveled mess that made her look completely adorable. Her eyes were green, fixed on him as she squinted against the sudden light. He could see the curve of her shoulders beneath the light pink, long-sleeved shirt she was wearing. The faint outline of a white camisole was evident beneath her shirt, not quite obscuring the fact that she wasn't wearing a bra. Her gray yoga pants were frayed at the knee and cuff, but they fit her hips with perfection. She looked like she'd just tumbled right out of a bed, and she was sexy as hell.

But it was her face that caught his attention. Her gaze was wary, but there was a vulnerability in it that made him want to protect her. He had zero protective instincts when it came to women…until now, until he'd met this woman who'd tried to defend herself with a pillow.

Then her gaze slid down his body, and his entire body went into heated overdrive. It wasn't until her eyes widened in horror when her gaze was at hip level that he remembered something very important.

He was naked.