Ghostwalker 02 - Mind Game

reaction.

    Nicolas stroked a finger down her cheek. She was so fragile and vulnerable lying beside him, yet he knew there was tremendous power in her small form. “Do you know how different my life is, how much you’ve changed everything in just a few short days? I never dreamt I’d be lying beside a woman and know that’s where I was supposed to be.”

    Her fingers tangled with his. “It’s because I’m so restful.”

    The faint twinge of humor in her voice was every bit as potent as her sultry tone. “I’m sure that’s it,” he agreed. “Go to sleep, Dahlia. I doubt if I’ll be able to wait very much longer to have you again.”

    “Well restrain yourself. I’m very tired. Too tired to find my own space.” She yawned and burrowed closer to his body. “I never thought I could ever sleep like this, with someone wrapped around me. I read about it in books, and now I know why they do it.
    They’re so worn out they can’t move. It isn’t an option.”

    Dahlia drifted to sleep with his soft laughter in her ear. She dreamed of him. Dreamed of a life with him. The sound of children laughing mingled with his laughter. She felt his arms around her, the warmth of his body close to hers, and she knew she loved him. That she would always love him. That without him, she would never feel alive again. Dahlia woke choking, her heart pounding, a cry torn from her throat.

    Nicolas flung himself over her, his gun tracking around the room. “What is it, Dahlia?”
    He could feel her heart, wild and frenzied. His hand found hers and he pulled it to his own heart in a vain attempt to calm her. “There’s nothing here. We’re safe.”

    She tried to withdraw, to tug away her hand, to roll into a ball out from under him.
    Nicolas was too heavy and there was too much of him. He seemed to surround her, his arms and legs everywhere.

    The gun slid back beneath the pillow and he shifted to blanket her body, his hands stroking silken strands of midnight black hair from her face. “It was a bad dream, Dahlia, nothing more. We’re perfectly safe here.” Her eyes were wide with terror and he glimpsed the wounds there, raw, never healed, the wounds of a child without love or family. One that had suffered far too much. Lights flickered and shadows moved. He glanced toward the source, a window a few feet from the bed. Tiny flames danced around the wood.

    He framed her face with his hands. “Calm down. Look at me, Dahlia. Tell me what’s wrong or I can’t help.”

    “You! Us! What was I thinking? Let me up. I have to get up.” She pushed at his chest frantically, but without any real strength. It was more of a gesture of despair.

    “Dahlia.” He said her name sharply, waited until she focused on him. “You have to tell me what’s wrong.” He bent his head to brash kisses across her eyelids, the tip of her nose.
    To feather coaxing little kisses along the corners of her mouth and chin. All the while he ignored the crackling of the flames along the windowsill. Dahlia had to calm her mind or the fire would spread.

    “Don’t do that. Don’t make me care about you.” She pushed at him with frantic hands, her dark eyes very black and liquid with sorrow. “I can’t care about you and survive.”

    “Breathe with me. Calm down so we can just sort this out together.” He kept a tight rein on his emotions, the burst of fear that he might lose her. Dahlia. Slipping through his fingers like water once again.

    She calmed beneath his touch and the soothing tone, lying there looking up at him with utter terror on her face. “I can’t need anyone, Nicolas.”

    “Of course not,” he replied. “We’re the same. We don’t need anyone. We’re choosing to share our time together. There’s a difference.”

    Dahlia dragged air into her lungs, heard the crackle of flames and swore softly. “I have to put that out. I’m going to end up burning this cabin down yet.”

    “Let it go. It will go out if you stay calm. You had a bad dream, that’s all.”

    She shook her head. “I had a good dream. It scared me more than all the bad dreams in the world ever could.”

    He brushed back her hair, his fingers lingering against her skin. “Do you think this is usual for me? I’ve never spent the entire night in a woman’s bed. I never wanted to. I didn’t like sharing my space with anyone until I met you. I’m not using you, Dahlia. I’m not going to say I don’t love your body, because I do. I could spend a