Ghostwalker 06 - Predatory Game

wrong, Saber. I would never let anything happen to you.”
    Her heart slammed hard against his chest, her pulse racing so frantically, Jess tightened his hold.
    “It wasn’t a dream. I know I heard a noise, I know I did.” One hand curled into a fist, beating a tattoo against his shoulder. The other stroked the bulging line of his biceps in agitation.
    There was something intensely intimate about the feel of her fingers tracing his muscles, despite the circumstances.His body stirred in response, painfully tight, urgently demanding. He ignored it, imposing the strict discipline that had kept him alive for years. He simply held her, rocking her gently, stroking her hair soothingly, not answering her wild imaginings.
    It was some time before her body ceased trembling and she lay quietly in his arms.

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    Jess brushed a feather light kiss over her silky curls. “Feeling better?”
    “I think I’m making a fool of myself,” she replied in a small voice.
    “Never that, honey,” he murmured with gentle amusement. “You had a bad dream. Probably that rotten music you listen to.”
    She nuzzled his chest, liking the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. “Country music is good music.”
    “After the other night I decided I could get to like it. What in the world were you playing, anyway?”
    “You don’t like rap?” Her laughter was muffled. “How did I know you wouldn’t like that particular group?”
    He tugged a curl a little bit too hard in punishment, then rubbed the spot soothingly when she squealed.
    “Because I write number one hits all the time and not one of them has ever been rap.”
    “Egotistical maniac,” she accused. “Not everyone has to listen to your music.”
    “That’s true, baby, I don’t care if the entire world stops listening.” His lips brushed her hair again.
    “Except for you. Not only are you required to listen, but you’re required to like it.” He gave the order gruffly.
    She laughed softly, relaxing against him. “So sing to me.”
    There was a long silence. Jess cleared his throat. “Say, what?”
    “Sing. You know. Ooh baby, baby, dum de dum. Sing.”
    “I don’t sing, I write. Music and lyrics. Write, Saber. And I sell them to other artists. I work for the navy. I don’t have a band.”
    “Why is that, Jess? You’re obviously independently wealthy, you have a reputation as a songwriter, yet you’re still in the military.You’re in a wheelchair.”
    “I hadn’t noticed.”
    “You know what I mean. Why are you still in?”
    “Who said I was?”
    “I’ve lived here ten months. I know you’re doing some kind of job for them. Or am I not supposed to know?”
    “You’re not supposed to know.”
    She settled deeper into his chest, looking up at him with humor in her eyes.“Fine then. I’ll be ignorant.
    Sing to me, Jesse. If I can’t have the light on, and we can’t discuss how utterly stupid it is for you to stay in the military, then you can at least sing.”

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    “Is this what I have to look forward to the rest of my life?” he asked, bunching her hair in his hands.
    “A fate worse than death,” Saber agreed drowsily.
    At least she hadn’t demanded to know what he meant. Jess mentally shook his head. He couldn’t afford any more mistakes like that. Saber didn’t stay in one place very long and lately she had become restless, looking over her shoulder. Was she getting ready to leave? She had said she wasn’t running anymore.He couldn’t take the chance of making her more nervous, because he damned well wasn’t going to let her go, and he was finding out every single one of her secrets whether she liked it or not.
    “Jesse.” Saber sounded petulant.
    He eased back against the pillows, Saber’s head on his chest. “A song, huh?” Jess sighed heavily.
    “You’re so high maintenance.”
    “Quit stalling,” she murmured.
    Jess closed his eyes and allowed the feel of her satin skin, the clean feminine scent of her to seep into him. He swallowed the lump in his throat and sang Saber her song. The one he wrote for her, the one that beat in his heart, his head, every time he looked at her or thought of her.A slow, dreamy ballad.
    She moves like an artist, graceful and free
    Like the paint on a canvas that flows easily
    Oh, but those haunting eyes
    They make me realize
    The depths of