Right Through Me (The Obsidian Files #1)(43)

“I spilled my guts,” he said. “I just told you some of my deepest, darkest secrets. That’s never happened with any woman I’ve ever been with.” His hand went up to the twisted scar, rubbing it as if it ached. “But did I rack up any points with you? Nope.”

“I’m not sure what you mean by points,” she said warily. “I appreciate your honesty. And your trust.”

“Maybe,” he said. “But you won’t return it.”

Caro stared down at her plate. “You really don’t want to know my secrets.”

He reached across the table and lifted her chin so that she had to look at him. “Actually, I do.”

“Noah, please, don’t start in on me again.”

“Don’t tell me no. You’re in danger. I see it on your face. Beautiful as you are, you have the look.”

“What look?” she demanded, shaken.

“It’s hard to describe,” he said. “Like a photographer messed with the contrast. It’s mostly in the eyes. It sharpens some things up, washes other things out. It happens to people when they’re under constant threat of violence. I’m familiar with it.”

“How?” Her voice sounded shrill, inside her own head. “Familiar how?”

He shrugged. “I’ve seen it in the mirror. I’ve lived on the run. My guess is that you’ve been doing it for a while now. But I get the feeling you’re running for your life, and not just from the law. From something or someone really evil.”

She lifted her head defiantly. “Sounds like it’s happened to you.”

He hesitated for a long moment. “Yeah. It has.”

That wasn’t possible. He hadn’t said those words. Unless she’d hit the jackpot on a bizarro dating website. Enjoy long walks on the beach? Check. Love big dogs and little kittens? Check. Shady past? Hidden trauma? Check. Check.

She wanted to scoff, but a flash of insight told her that he was revealing a painful truth. There were those scars. He’d explained one, but he had hundreds more. Each inflicted by . . . what had he just said? Something or someone really evil.

But whether or not he was comparing his life to hers, she hated being forced to think about what she was up against. It made her angry . . . at the moment, at him.

“Well, you’re wrong,” she said. “You’re wrong about all of it.”

“OK,” he said gently. “If I am, then you can relax. Your secrets are secure.”

“Somehow I doubt it,” she snapped.

“OK if I change the subject?” He didn’t wait for her to say yes, just pushed up the sleeve of the oversized robe. “You didn’t do this to yourself. And before you get mad, that was a statement, not a question.” He ran his finger over the jagged scar that extended from her lower arm down to the palm of her hand.

She tried to pull away, without succeeding.

“This is healed, but not old, like my scars,” he murmured. “Too pink. Someone cut you recently. Last year sometime. You didn’t get stitches, but this cut could’ve used some.”

“Stop it, Noah.”

But he couldn’t help himself. It was his nature. Under any other circumstances, the focused quality of his attention would be a delicious ego-stroking thrill. As it was, it was killing her.

If he looked too hard, he’d see what she saw whenever she closed her eyes.

Slippery hot blood everywhere, the pressure of the box cutter against muscle and tendon, locked into her memory forever. Gouts of blood, spurting. The sight of Dex in Mark Olund’s grip, his eyes wide and horrified as Mark pressed his mouth to his head. Beginning to feed . . .

And Tim, who had made the mistake of trying to help her.

She got up. “You won’t stop pressuring me. I’m sick of begging you to. Call a car, or else I will.”

“No.” He tugged her wrist, pulling her right off her feet and onto his lap. “I’ll shut the f*ck up. I promise. You can’t leave. It’s the middle of the night.”

His arms were so strong. He smelled so good. He’d made her so hungry for him. Damn the guy. Not fair.

He sensed her weakening, and rose up, lifting her easily into his arms.

She struggled, almost panicked. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Being masterful. You said you go for that.”

“Put me down this second, goddamnit!”

He went still, then gently set her on her feet and stepped back. “Sorry,” he said carefully. “I thought it would turn you on.”

She straightened her robe. Tossed her hair back, straightened her shoulders.

She looked him in the eye. His cautious expression made her relent. A little.

“Stay out of my head,” she told him. “It was just too much. And I don’t like being pushed around.”

“It won’t happen again.” He paused. “So. Still want to take a bath with me?”

She ran her eyes over his tall, ripped, oh-so-fine body. That hot amber flash in his eyes. Those sensual lips. “Oh yeah,” she said, unsteadily.

His grin hung on a little longer than usual this time. “Good. Follow me.”





Chapter 13


Noah nudged the bathroom door open with his foot, and went in first. The dim room was humid, and perfumed with lavender bath salts. Wisps of steam rose from a deep tub in the middle of a large, slate-tiled room.