Strong Enough (Tall, Dark, and Dangerous #1)(46)

“So you love it here.”

“As much as I love any place, I suppose.” The memories are good ones, but they only remind me of all the bad ones, too.

When Muse stops, facing me, she levels a look in my direction. It’s inscrutable, which is unusual for her. “So this is a special place for you.”

“I guess.”

She purses her lips. “Do you, um, bring many people here?”

“No.”

“Hmmm,” she mumbles noncommittally, casting her eyes down as she digs at the ground with the toe of her shoe. “Have you ever brought a woman here before?”

I need no other information than what she’s giving me to know that she’s feeling a little insecure, possessive. Maybe a touch jealous. I find the sentiment both odd and strangely flattering. I’ve never given a woman enough of my time, enough of myself for her to become jealous. Or if one ever has, I’ve never noticed. That might well be the case. For some reason, I notice all sorts of things about Muse that I normally pay little attention to.

I wait until she picks up her dazzling green eyes before I answer. “No. Never.”

She simply nods. Says nothing. But her expression, as always, is a different story. It shows pleasure and relief, which in turn pleases me.

I’m not sure why, but seeing her react gives me a charge that nothing else—not even the adrenaline-filled tasks often associated with my job—ever has. There’s a sense of power in being the person who brings an end to a life, but I’ve never fallen victim to it. I’ve always felt that I was just doing my job, not playing God or anything of the sort. But this . . . being with Muse, seeing her react to me the way she does, feeling her react to me . . . it’s very seductive. To know that with the simplest of words or actions I can bring her such pleasure—or such pain—is intoxicating. Addictive.

I duly note the warning alarm that’s going off inside my head when I acknowledge that I much prefer bringing her pleasure than the idea of bringing her pain. Even the anger that I let her see, even the rough, thoughtless ways I’ve treated her body have not been cruel or abusive. She has derived great pleasure from it all and has made no secret of that fact. Even that makes my cock hard with a rush of exhilaration.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks when we are back on the move, weaving our way through trees along the thin trail.

“Power,” I tell her bluntly.

“Power,” she repeats, shaking her head. “I imagine you’re a man used to power.”

I can’t argue that. “I’m powerful by virtue of physical strength, mental acuity, by the mere reality of my occupation—finding people who hide, taking care of problems that others can’t deal with—but there are other kinds of power, too.”

“Is that what you’re thinking of, then? Some other kind of power?”

“Yes.”

“And what is this other kind you speak of?”

There’s a twinkle to her eyes—the light of mischief. She’s teasing. She thinks I’m teasing.

“The power of giving pleasure. And pain. The power of having such a profound effect on another person.”

I know by the way she glances down again that she knows what I’m referring to.

“I’d say taking someone’s life is pretty much the ultimate profound effect.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

“I know,” she concedes.

“I know that I’m powerful. I know what I do is definite, irreversible. I know the difference between being powerful and feeling powerful. In my line of work, being powerful is necessary. Like a job requirement. Feeling powerful is a hazard. If I began to think about it as having the power to take a life, or to dispense death, that would make me a psychopath, don’t you think?”

She shrugs. “I guess. I didn’t really think of it that way. But obviously you’ve thought about it quite a bit.”

I lift my shoulder this time. “I have to think of it that way. It keeps it all in perspective. To some degree anyway.”

“Well, at least you found a kind of power that you can enjoy,” she offers with a titillating peek of her tongue at the corner of her mouth.

“Oh, I like that kind of power very much. I’m so tempted to abuse it that I’ll have to watch that it doesn’t go to my head. Become a problem for me.”

“And how could that become a problem for you?”

“I’m not sure the power could, but I think there’s another component that could be quite problematic.”

She raises one smoothly arched brow, one of the sexiest things I’ve seen her do. Or maybe it’s just that everything she does is starting to seem sexy now. “Are you saying that I have some power, too?”

Her smile is bright and pleased. No doubt she likes knowing that she holds some sway over me as well. “I’m just saying that a woman like you could make a man start thinking that things could be different, that life could be different. He could find himself in trouble if he’s not careful.”

“And are you always careful?”

I pause. “Always.”

Not the answer she wanted, but it’s the truth nonetheless. I’ll give her as much of the truth as I can.

“What makes you think things couldn’t be different, Jasper?”