Murder Game (GhostWalkers, #7)(45)

“The same man carved the stallion and the frog pieces. I think he carved all of them. I can’t be certain, but I’ll know once I handle the other pieces. If he did, and he’s not one of the players, we’ll know he’s running the game. I get an undercurrent—”

His hand fisted in her hair, dragging her to him, his mouth taking hers hard. He swallowed her words and her breath, fighting for her, wanting—needing—her wholly with him. They couldn’t have her. Not the killers. Not the victims. Not Whitney. Not her bastard parents, who were connected to Whitney. None of them. She was his, and he would protect her with everything he was, every last bit of training he had, every warrior’s instinct, and with an ice-cold resolve that would carry him through fire, through blood and death for her.

Tansy let him have her mouth, not struggling against either his enormous physical or mental strength. He didn’t realize the grip he had on her mind or her body, or the savage possession of his mouth. Even the fist in her hair twisted the strands until there was a burning sting. The combination of pain and pleasure slammed the door hard on the voices, leaving only Kadan in her mind. Kadan with his sensual, demanding mouth and his will of iron.

He kissed her until her complete submission, her absolute surrender, registered. His mouth gentled, became tender, until his kisses were slow and easy, until his breath was hers and her body molded to his. His hands slid beneath the thin material of her shirt, sliding down her back, down the tucked in waist and flair of her hips to curve over her buttocks.

“I’m so afraid I’m going to fall in love with you,” she whispered when he lifted his head.

He kissed both eyelids, trailed more kisses down her face to the corner of her mouth. “Would it be so bad, loving me?”

Had there been a catch in his voice? It occurred to her that he had no family. He’d held himself apart from everyone. She smiled at him, a slow, dreamy smile that spoke volumes. She couldn’t say the words aloud, but they were in her mind. Teasing him. Caressing him. You have a tendency to be a tyrant. Can you imagine if you knew I loved you like crazy?

She couldn’t voice the words, because she was well on her way to feeling that way about him. In measurement of time, she barely knew him, but with their minds slipping in and out of each other, it was difficult to resist him. To resist his compelling need and his magnetic personality. Sometimes, like now, she felt mesmerized, hypnotized by him, just by the way he looked at her. Or maybe it was as simple as she was no longer alone and never would feel alone with him close to her.

“I prefer that you fall crazy in love with me,” he said candidly.

Tansy burst out laughing.





CHAPTER 8


Tansy managed a small catnap and woke up with Kadan lying beside her, one arm slung around her waist. She turned her head to find him wide awake, staring at her face. She blinked and smiled up at him. “What are you doing?”

“Watching you breathe.”

Her smile widened. His hand was beneath the shirt, fingers splayed wide, rubbing small caresses over the smooth skin of her belly. She wasn’t certain he was even aware he did so. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“I can’t make love to you again; we’re going to have company soon. So, no. This is just perfect doing this.”

“Watching me breathe?” He was robbing her of her breath, just the way he was looking at her with those eyes and that intensity. She was drowning.

He leaned forward and kissed the tip of her nose. “That’s it. Just watching you breathe. It’s a great pastime.”

“I would imagine it to be very boring.”

He shook his head solemnly. “No. I like guarding you. When you start to have nightmares, you frown and I kiss you and you go all peaceful for me. Your breasts rise and fall, and if I put my hand right here,” he flexed his fingers on her stomach, “I can feel your muscles bunching every time I stroke your skin. You’re so damned soft.”

She rolled over to look up at him. “You’re so different when you’re like this. Which is the real you?”

He framed her face with both hands and kissed her tenderly, so gentle he stole her heart. “I don’t know, Tansy. Both. Neither. You’ve shaken me, shaken everything I knew about myself. I’m not a gentle man. I don’t know how to talk to women. I don’t even know what I’m doing right now, but I don’t want to stop.” The admission was given in a low voice, torn from him against his will.

Her heart clenched. She didn’t read minds—that wasn’t her gift, or curse. She read objects, and that was different. She could stop the input by wearing gloves and distancing herself. What was Kadan’s life like? He saw blood and death. He killed. He fought alongside other men who killed or died. And he knew their thoughts. Their hopes and dreams. Their dirty secrets. His mind had to find a way to protect him. The coldness that he believed made him a killing machine was his mind’s way of protecting him, a shield so the man didn’t have to feel too much, although she was fairly certain he wasn’t aware of it. There was no other choice or he would have been right alongside her in that mental hospital.

“Why did you choose the military? Why did you choose law enforcement? It must be hell, Kadan, all those killers and victims, all those battles you have to fight.”

“What else for someone like me? Killing is what I do best. I’ve always known that.”