Fatal Strike (McClouds & Friends #10)(51)

She took a deep breath. “Do you have any interest in doing that?”

When she finally dared to look up, there was a red stain across his cheekbones. “I’d be embarrassed,” he said, huskily. “I thought I was alone, in the privacy of my own head. Who the f*ck knew.”

Relief flooded through her. So she wasn’t alone in this aspect of the weirdness. “So it wasn’t just me. When we . . . you know.”

He shook his head slowly. “Nope.”

She could finally breathe again. “Okay. So. If a tree falls in your head, and someone is there to hear it, does it make a sound?”

His brows drew together. “Don’t get mysterious on me, Lara.”

“I’m not,” she said. “Just answer the question. Was it real?”

He pondered that for a moment. “Yes. It was pretty damn real for me.”

“Okay. Good. Me, too.” She was so relieved, she teetered on the edge of tears again. “Hold me, then.”

Suddenly he was there, steadying her. “Lie down,” he scolded. “Calm down, for God’s sake.” He nudged her until she lay on the bed, shoving the comforter down.

“Would you lie down with me?” She couldn’t believe this was her. Begging. Shameless.

He froze in place, and swallowed several times. “My pants are filthy. I’d mess up the sheets.”

“So take them off,” she said, rashly.

The flush burned into his cheeks deepened. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I think it’s a great idea,” she said. “And so did you, all those nights, when I came to you. You didn’t seem to mind.”

His face tightened. “Not fair. I didn’t know it wasn’t a dream.”

“I wasn’t complaining,” she whispered. “Not in the least.”

His breath was coming harder, rasping in his chest. His erection was quite notably back. She noticed it. He noticed her noticing it.

He gestured at his crotch. “Yeah. This is exactly why it’s not such a good idea. I don’t trust my self-control right now, for a whole bunch of complicated reasons that don’t have anything to do with you, so don’t take it personally—”

“If you don’t want me, just say so,” she said. “Don’t come up with a bunch of lame excuses.”

“That’s not it!” he said, savagely. “My dick’s been hard since the moment I saw you. I’ve been rock-hard for you ever since you sneaked into my head. Don’t manipulate me. You’re gorgeous, and you know it.”

It was sweet of him to say so, considering her bedraggled state, but she let it pass. “And? This is a problem exactly why?”

“I just pulled you out of a dungeon! You’re bruised, hungry, exhausted. You don’t need me on top of you, hammering away at you with my combat hard-on! No matter what crazy erotic scenarios we dreamed up together. I will not do that to you. It’s not right!”

The thought of wrapping herself around that gorgeous creature and his combat hard-on made her body hum. “Let me decide what I can handle,” she said. “I’m not as fragile as I look.”

“You’re in no condition to decide. It would be taking advantage of you, and I won’t . . . oh, sweet holy Jesus, Lara. Not f*cking fair.”

She yanked the shirt off over her head, and tossed it to the floor. She shook her damp, cool mane of hair back over her shoulders. “I don’t know what’s fair,” she said. “I don’t care. I just want what I want.”

His eyes were hot as he stared at her naked body, but still he stubbornly shook his head. “I might hurt you,” he said, hoarsely. “You’ve been hurt enough.”

“You never hurt me in our dreams.”

“That’s because they were just dreams,” he said, with unexpected savagery. “Don’t expect reality to be like your dreams. You’ll be in for a real let-down!”

“I don’t think so.” Her gaze slid slowly down over his body. She grabbed his hand, tugged it until he stumbled closer to the bed, and then laid her hand gently on the bulge of his crotch. “Is this for me?”

He flinched away, but she held him fast. “Huh?”

“This.” She squeezed him, making him gasp. “Is it for me? Or is it just a non-specific hormonal glitch? Just a random mistake of nature?”

He pulled in a rasping breath. “For you,” he said. “Just you.”

She’d always had an uncanny ear for lies, even before she’d been flooded with a psi-enhancing drug. He was utterly sincere. Thank God.

“If it’s mine, give it to me,” she said. “I’ve been close to dead for months. Buried in the dark. Please, Miles. Make me feel alive again.”





13


Miles hissed an obscenity between his teeth. He must look like an eggplant, his face was so hot. Squeezed between her emotionally manipulative come-on and his own dick-throbbing lust.

The part of him that knew right from wrong, and actually gave a shit about right and wrong, was getting ever smaller and farther away. Weee, it was action figure-sized now, with a whining little mosquito voice that had no authority, nattering preachy self-important shit about timing, responsibility. And essential, basic practical stuff. Like latex.