Right Through Me (The Obsidian Files #1)(35)

“You already are,” he said bluntly. “It’d be worse if I were stark naked. You’re just going to have to trust me.”

Yes. There it was, that hot glow of hopeful pink and violet, blooming outward from her. Trailing off in transparent wisps.

She wanted to trust him. Wanted it desperately.

“You wouldn’t be here with me if doing this didn’t turn you on.”

“This? Could you be more specific?”

He leaned forward, pinning her with his gaze. “Yes. Strip off your clothes. Or else keep them on and think about how it felt when I made you lose it. Move the way you did, but without me touching you. Touch yourself. I want to watch, and imagine how it’ll feel when you come for me.”

Another pink glow over her chest, this one with the sexy orange sunburst pulsing out of it. Responding to heat with heat.

“Why are you looking at me like that? It feels like you’re reading my mind.”

She’d changed the subject on him. So suddenly. He hadn’t seen that coming.

I am reading your mind. He stopped the words, just in time, startled at the overwhelming impulse to tell her the truth about himself. Just blurt out all of it.

Her sig was doing it to him. She wanted him to read her mind. She wanted to be seen, heard, known. She ached for it.

“I’m figuring you out,” he told her. “I can’t help it. It’s just who I am. I observe, gather data, analyze it. I’m designed for that. With no off switch.”

“How can you analyze data if I don’t give you any?”

“But you do,” he said. “It doesn’t matter if you talk about yourself or not. You tell me about yourself with every word, every move, every blink.”

All at once, she flared so bright, he almost winced. Yes. This was the vein of gold he had to follow.

She couldn’t resist her own curiosity. “Like what? What am I telling you now?”

“You sure you want to play this game?” he asked. “It might take you someplace you aren’t comfortable with.”

“I’m never comfortable,” she said. “Besides, you’re just bluffing.”

OK, bombs away. He took a deep breath. Ramped up his AVP to the max, something he almost never did on purpose, but he was already so turned inside out by his reaction to Caro, it hardly mattered. Fuck it.

“You grew up near Boston,” he said. “I hear the accent, but I don’t hear it very often. You’re pretty good at faking Seattle-speak, though. You’ve made an effort.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “OK. I see where this is going now, and I’m done,” she said. “That’s enough.”

She wasn’t done, though. Not by a long shot. Her colors were going crazy.

He pushed on. “You didn’t grow up rich. Lower middle class, at best.” The look on her face made him quickly add, “Just being objective. I grew up dirt poor myself.”

She looked around his bedroom, dubious. “You? Really?”

“Yes,” he said. “But we’re not talking about me.”

“I don’t want to talk about—”

“You’re alone in the world. No one to turn to.” He hesitated, and added, “Until now.”

She took a slow step back. “Lucky me.”

“You’ve been running for a while,” he went on. “I see it in your eyes. I know that vibe. Constantly on your guard. It wears you down.”

“Oh, please,” she scoffed.

“Want me to stop?”

“Yes. No.”

He went with the last word. “You got involved in something dirty by accident. Someone used you.”

She stiffened with shock.

“Tell me his name, Caro,” he said softly. “I’ll kill him for you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “In your dreams.”

He ignored that. “What do you do when you’re not dancing?” He could guess, and he’d be right. But he was pushing too hard. He needed to back off.

“Noah.” There was a quiver of panic in her voice. “Stop it.”

He just sat there, concentrating with all his strength. Taking her in. Trying to feel his way to the next step without losing her. “You’re scared of me,” he said.

“No, I’m not. Not at all.” For the second time in minutes, he was unable to read her. He had to figure out how the f*ck she did that. No one ever had.

“OK then,” he said. “Take off your clothes.”





Chapter 11


This was harder than it should be, for a woman who’d been dancing professionally in scanty clothing to survive. But she had no costume to hide behind here. She was dressed to disappear, not titillate.

And undressing in front of this incredibly charismatic guy would be intimidating even if she’d been wearing silk and lace.

Caro crouched to untie the graying laces of her kicks, wincing as she peeled off socks that had multiple holes in them. Yikes.

She was so excited couldn’t breathe. Her heart thudded against her ribs. She longed for filmy layers, something soft or stretchy to peel off and let whisper to the ground. All she had was the black long-sleeved jersey pulled over various other T-shirts, layered for warmth, bulk and blurring.