Mind Game (GhostWalkers, #2)(81)

“You’ll have me, Dahlia. We’ve spent days and nights together and we’ve both survived. I’m not going anywhere.” His hands gripped her upper arms. “I’ve looked for you all of my life. I never thought I’d ever have a woman of my own, but I’ve found you. You given me more than you’ll ever understand. If our visits to Lily have to be short in the beginning while we learn to handle the energy, she’ll understand. We’ll keep working until we get it right.”

She closed her eyes and buried her face against his chest. Everything he said made such sense to her. The frightening knowledge was blossoming inside of her. She was falling in love with Nicolas Trevane. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing both Nicolas and Lily. He might think they could conquer the massive amounts of energy, but he’d never seen houses on fire. “I don’t have your emotional control, and before you quote me all the Zen masters, I’ve studied their teachings. I’ve meditated in so many different positions I turned myself into a pretzel. It didn’t do me any good. My feelings are so amplified by the energy I myself produce with my emotions. I’m frightened right now, and upset. Can’t you feel the energy massing around us?”

His hands slid up her back to the nape of her neck. “Yes. Can you feel that when you’re touching me, the energy lessens in intensity? I can teach you the things my grandfathers taught me. Ways to stay above the emotion and let it dissipate naturally.”

“You do that. You’re an anchor. It isn’t your training.”

“How do you think I manage to have such low levels of energy even when I’m in a life-or-death situation? It’s training. You have the discipline, Dahlia. You’re already using it when you rotate the spheres and allow the energy to disperse through physical activity. Come on. We don’t have rooftops to leap over, or cables to run across, but we can wrestle a few alligators.”

She allowed herself a second brief spurt of amusement. “You can wrestle the alligators, Nicolas, it sounds too muddy for my liking. I really don’t like mud in my hair.”

“You’re such a girlie girl.”

Dahlia did laugh then, a genuine laugh. The sound carried out over the bayou, taking with it some of the terrible pressure in her body. “Are you trying to challenge me? Goad me into some kind of he-man competition? That is such a juvenile male thing. Women, real women do not have to prove anything to men. We already know we’re the superior gender.” She stepped away from him and moved across the roof with her easy, sure steps.

As always, Nicolas marveled at her balance. She turned her head and smiled, a particularly mischievous smile that turned his entire body rock hard and his insides to mush.

He would never get used to the effect she had on him, but it was growing on him. He could live with it. In fact, as long as he didn’t have to admit it, he liked it.

She somersaulted off the edge of the roof and landed like a cat on her feet, already running through the lush vegetation. She was small and light, barely skimming the ground as she ran, fitting onto a narrow path that would be difficult for his much larger and heavier frame.

“That’s taking unfair advantage!” he called after her, leaping from the slope of the roof to the ground.

He followed her through the swamp, pacing himself, careful not to catch up, but close enough to keep her in sight. He loved the effortless way she ran. The smooth fluid motion and the lightness of her feet. Within minutes he was watching the sway of her bottom, the way the material of her jeans stretched tight across her buttocks, cuddled and framed her flesh. He’d never forget that first glimpse of her naked butt, just the briefest sight, but it had been enough to bring on a million fantasies.

Nicolas ran behind her and thought about the curve of her hip. Her smooth, flawless skin beneath the jeans. He closed his hands into tight fists, imagining sinking his fingers into her, kneading her bottom, pulling her tightly against him. It was becoming much more difficult to run as with each step his body seemed to harden into one long ache, but his mind refused to give up the erotic images. Every fallen log he ran by he visualized draping her over and driving into her over and over again. The sunlight would gleam over her skin, and he’d watch the way they joined so perfectly together.

He groaned aloud as his erection grew heavier, pushing tightly against the material of his jeans and rubbing uncomfortably. He felt the merest brush over his skin, as if a butterfly had slipped into his jeans and landed on his penis. The wings seemed to flutter over the sensitive head, skimmed the long root, and then warm breath engulfed him, warm, moist heat and a tongue lapping.

He staggered, halting instantly, grabbing the nearest tree for support. Laughter floated back to him. Dahlia turned, standing in the sunlight, rays scattering all around her, lighting her face, her smile, her tongue, as she wet her lips and threw her head back in a sultry invitation. Her black eyes laughed at him. Challenged him.

“Come here.” He couldn’t go to her. He couldn’t walk.

“I don’t think so,” she answered and turned and ran, leaving him swearing and aching and more in need than ever.

He took a step. Her tongue dipped and stroked. He felt it. It was impossible to walk with his body nearly bursting through his jeans. The zipper hissed down and relief was instantaneous. He wrapped his fist around his painful erection and stood waiting for her next move. He felt her teeth nibbling. His body jumped under his hand. Two could play at mind games. And he was fairly certain he was an expert at fantasies.