Spider Game (GhostWalkers, #12)(76)

He padded through the tunnel to the bed. She was so small there under his covers, he might have missed her but for the black silk spilling over the pillow. Once again he put his knee on the edge of the bed and leaned so he could pull her smaller body to him.


Cayenne didn’t resist. She didn’t even move her head, but her lashes fluttered as he flipped back the covers. His breath left his lungs in a rush. She had shed her clothes and was as naked as he was. Her color was better. Her body was as lush or even more so than he remembered from the night before. This time his hands were free. He couldn’t help using his finger to trace the little hourglass nestled into the tiny black curls at the junction of her legs as he took in her body. Every inch of it. Looking for injuries. Memorizing the exotic luxury that was Cayenne. That was his.


The knife had gone in low and mean. He could see the cut there, a raw wound that still seeped a little blood. He hated knives. He was adept at using them and often did when he went into an enemy camp and didn’t want his presence known, but he knew often, the wound wasn’t the problem, infection was.


His fingers probed around the cut. Not deep. In fact, fairly shallow. He didn’t see how that was possible when she’d fought off a supersoldier, one with enormous strength. He should have been able to drive the blade deep. Clearly the bite she’d given the soldier had saved her. Very gently Trap cleansed the area around the wound with antiseptic and then placed a triple antibiotic cream over it. He added a bandage. She didn’t wince. She didn’t move, just kept her eyes on his face.


He used the pads of his fingers to whisper over her skin. Soft. Totally soft. Like silk. Like the silk of her hair. The silk of the webs surrounding their beds. Her lashes fluttered and then covered her eyes.


“Baby, is your skin made up of silk as well?” He couldn’t imagine how that would occur in her body, but he knew how strong woven spiderwebs could be – they could stop a bullet better than Kevlar – and he didn’t have any other explanation.


I’m so tired, Trap. Really, really tired. Can we talk later? Please?


He wasn’t certain she’d get the chance to say much of anything later. He didn’t intend to talk with his voice. Still, she’d killed a couple of men. She needed to retreat, to let herself grieve in her own way. Whatever she had to do to process that two human beings had lost their lives.


“You know you had no choice, Cayenne,” he offered softly, as he positioned her in the middle of the bed and slid in next to her.


She was on her side, facing away from him, one hand tucked beneath her cheek. Her body was cold. When he turned on his side and curled his body protectively around hers, she made no protest. He tucked her closer, his arm sliding around her waist, dragging her body almost beneath his. Close. So close the silk of her skin melted into the heat of his. He slid one knee in between her legs, and buried his face in her hair.


She felt… like heaven. In his wildest imagination – and granted he didn’t have much of one, he was all about science – he never once thought a woman could feel like her. He inhaled and took the scent of her into his lungs. Deep. Loving the way her fragrance was exotic, something wild. He knew she had wild in her. Her wild called to him, to the dominant in him.


He knew he wasn’t a prize, not unless money, fame or prestige mattered. If she was all about him, she would have to put up with his public image. She had already indicated she detested the way he was.


Trap. Why are you upset?


He should have known she was as tuned to him as he was to her. He sighed into the hourglass of red nestled in the middle of her thick black hair. “I can’t change, baby, not even for you. I had to train myself to be a cold and unfeeling bastard, which, quite frankly, wasn’t all that difficult. I never had many social skills. I never wanted anything or anyone to matter, to make me vulnerable. Out there, outside the walls of my home or my teammates’ homes, I have to be that person in order to survive.”


He waited a heartbeat. Two. She didn’t say anything, but she pressed closer to him, the smooth rounded buttocks sliding against his heavy erection. She didn’t seem to mind that he was as hard as a rock. He knew that later, much later, when she was used to his ways, he would have her take care of that before they went to sleep together. He resisted the urge to slide his hand between her legs to see if she was wet for him. He hoped that just their closeness would do that to her in the way it did for him. He craved her taste. It was there on his tongue. His cock jerked at the memory of the feast he’d had, devouring her sweetness. All that exotic honey his.


I didn’t ask you to change.


He forced himself to continue his explanation. He needed her to understand, even though he didn’t hold out much hope that she would. “But you didn’t like who I was when we went to town, and that’s part of who I am. My icy demeanor isn’t a fa?ade. My friends say I have ice water in my veins, and maybe I do. I disconnect. I learned not to feel anything when I’m in public. When I’m talking with reporters or making an appearance I don’t want to make but is necessary.”


Why do reporters want to talk to you?


He hesitated. This was a tough subject. He knew her now. She wanted to stay in the shadows. Once her face was in a photograph, no shadow would hide her for long. It would be a media frenzy trying to get more.