Mind Game (GhostWalkers, #2)(77)

“That’s good, because you always manage to say something outrageous. Are my jeans dry?”

He went into the bathroom where they had hung all their newly washed clothes to dry. “Your jeans are still wet, Dahlia, all the clothes are. I don’t have anything small enough for you. I thinking we’re going to have to do a little clothes shopping.”

“I’ll wear them wet. Better to have clothes than not with your friends waiting outside.” She tried desperately to push down the apprehension flooding her. It was natural, but for her dangerous. She should have been embarrassed about making love to Nicolas separated only by a wall from a roomful of other people, but she wished she could stay lost in the heat and safety of their union.

She sighed. She really was becoming one of those women who wanted to cling all the time. As long as Nicolas had his arms around her, she felt very protected. Now, having to dress and face a roomful of strangers, she felt more vulnerable than she’d ever felt. Dahlia tried to analyze why. She had long ago trained herself to care nothing for others’ opinions of her. The hurtful remarks had taken their toll, and her temper had spiraled out into a wave of retaliation each time. It was dangerous to care what others said or thought about her. And it was horribly humiliating to have anyone witness her breakdown of control.

Dahlia took the shirt Nicolas handed to her. “How’s your shoulder feeling this morning?”

“It’s fine. A scratch. The bullet just kissed me thanks to you. Your fireworks distracted him long enough to save my life. He should have just shot me instead of talking about it.”

She leaned over to brush a light kiss over his shoulder. “Well, I’m very glad he didn’t. Give me a few minutes to pull myself together and I’ll be right out.”

“Don’t disappear into the bathroom and leave me without my jeans.”

She looked him up and down, a slow smile curving her mouth. “I don’t know, I rather like you like that.”

“That’s because I’m astonishing.”

“Oh, is that the reason?” How had she become comfortable with him? How come every time she looked at him she wanted to trace the weathered lines in his bronzed face and smooth back the tumble of dark hair? What made her melt inside when nothing and no one had ever done so? The intensity of her emotions shook her, frightened her. Just as before when she’d awakened with her heart pounding in the middle of the night, her pulse went wild and tiny flames licked at the windowsill.

Nicolas glanced at the dancing flames and back at her. A slow smile softened the hard angles and planes of his face. “You just can’t get enough of me, can you? I see your call sign, wanting me to come back to bed.”

She flung the pillow at him, laughing because she couldn’t help herself. “A sane man would run from a room where a woman sets the windowsills on fire.” The tiny flames were already dying down into embers. “He wouldn’t come running.”

“But the wise man knows the real fire is in the woman in the bed, and he rushes to her side to put it out.” He spoke in his best “wise man” voice.

She flung the second pillow at him. “How much damage did I do to your poor friend’s house?”

Nicolas looked at the scorch marks around the window. Most were from the night before. “It adds charm to the place. The resale value is bound to skyrocket.”

Dahlia shook her head at his outrageous comment and reluctantly abandoned the relative safety of the bed. “I’ll come out in a few minutes, just give me a little time to prepare myself.”

“If you aren’t out in a few minutes,” he warned, “I’m coming in to haul you out.”

She rolled her eyes, not impressed with his threat. She could see how Nicolas could be intimidating to most people, but she knew him fairly well now. He would never do anything on purpose to hurt her. “I said a few minutes.”

She took her time over her hair. She had no makeup and rarely wore more than mascara and lipstick, but still, it would have made her feel less vulnerable had she had makeup. Her jeans were uncomfortable and a little wetter than she would have liked, but the shirt was a deep blue and hid the fact that she hadn’t bothered with her wet underwear. Her skin was getting chafed from constantly wearing soaked clothing.

Dahlia took a deep breath and pushed open the door. She knew they were all GhostWalkers with heightened awareness, and she knew they would know the moment she walked into the room, but she still wasn’t prepared for the sudden silence or the way all eyes turned on her. She felt as if she were caught in the glare of a bright spotlight. Her hand slipped into her pocket to caress the amethyst spheres that always seemed to impart comfort to her. She expected waves of energy to hit her, but the impact was minimal. Nicolas and at least one other in the room helped to ease the bombardment from natural thoughts and emotions.

“Dahlia.” Nicolas crossed the room to slip his arm around her, knowing the contact would help provide a further barrier. “Come in and meet everyone.” At the sight of her looking small and fragile and apprehensive, every protective instinct he had welled up. “I know it’s a bit overwhelming to meet us all en mass, but at least you’ll get it over with quickly.”

“Kaden Bishop, ma’am.” A tall man with intense eyes and a hard edge to his mouth greeted her first. Dahlia knew immediately he was an anchor. He had the same calming effect on her that Jesse Calhoun and Nicolas had.