Immortal Flame (15 page)

What a fool I am.

He tightened his grip to just short of pain. “No.”

“It's okay. Let go of me. I'll leave you alone.” Damn it, if she didn't blink back pricks of tears. She would
not
cry in front of him.

“I don't want you to leave me alone.” His voice had turned to gravel, raw suffering infused into each word.

“I don't under—”

His grip on her wrist, like an iron manacle, stretched her arm up and out. “I want you. That's the damn problem.”

“So you do want me?”

“Hell, yeah. But I'm no good for you.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Did you ask what I want?”

His jaw dropped.

“Ask me.”

Sandpaper wasn't as rough as his growl. “What. Do. You. Want?”

“I want … ” With her free hand, she reached under his shirt and trailed her fingernails over his corded abdomen.

His muscles jumped in response, and she liked it. He held her outstretched arm like a lifeline.

When she touched him, the mental connection clicked into place more comfortably this time, augmenting their physical contact. That mental wind continued to swirl, but now it felt like the texture of his mind. She controlled the depth of the visions more easily and struggled less to maintain a barrier against the mental roar. When she sensed him in her mind, the primary emotion was raw, ravenous hunger. For her.

“Damn, Allie. I'll hurt you. I can't control myself around you.”

Tugging at her manacled wrist until he let go, she stood on tiptoes and locked her hands onto his face. “I don't want your control. I want
you
.”

“You have no idea what you're asking. If I lose control, I can't hold back my mind. I can't hold back anything.” His Adam's apple bobbed with the convulsive swallow. Sweat beaded his forehead. He was as tense as a coiled spring, standing stiff as a statue.

“So don't hold back.”

“No. You don't get it. I could destroy you, in here.” He pointed to his head. The misery in his hoarse voice cut straight into her soul.

Heart pounding, Allison kissed his lower lip, then guided his hand to her breast. “I trust you.”

Something broke behind those black, lost eyes, and he crushed her lips in a bruising kiss. When she pushed his shirt up, he ripped it off. As she traced kisses down his heated chest with her lips, he growled and spun them around, switching positions and pressing her hard into the wall. She sensed the moment when he relaxed his superhuman strength, although his tight embrace still supported her. Could he maintain control of his power without hurting her?

With his muscled thigh pinning her hips in place and his hands fisted in her hair, she was trapped in the most delicious of prisons while he devoured her mouth with kisses. When he opened her mouth wider to explore with his tongue, she gripped the flexed cords on his shoulders. Her head swam as his strong mouth slanted over hers, consuming her body and mind.

Peter stepped back long enough to shove her flannel pajamas down over her hips and away. He leaned into her, keeping her shoulders pressed to the wall while he snaked an arm around the small of her back. Arching her toward him, he ground his hard groin into her hips, the denim jeans abrading her sensitive flesh, sending a bolt of desire right into her gut.

When he pulled his hands out of her hair, she moaned in disappointment, until he trailed a hand down her belly and lower to her soft curls. He stroked lower until she writhed in anticipation. With his knee, he nudged her legs apart and slid his hand lower into her folds. At his first stroke, her legs went weak, and she clutched at his shoulders for support.

His voice slid over her. “I need you.”

Allison felt his growing desire beneath the jeans pressed into her abdomen and shivered. “You have me.”

As he dove back into her mouth for another soul-shattering kiss, she stroked him through the denim. She unbuckled his jeans and eased them downward; her hands glided over his buttocks and muscled legs. She encountered a knife in a holster strapped to his lower leg, and she stopped, surprised as the knife emitted a faint green glow.

He grabbed her hand, pulling her away. “Hell. Never touch that.” Leaning down, he kicked his jeans off, but left the sheathed weapon attached to his leg.

“Why?”

“Just don't. You should never touch the knife.”

Her next question was smothered beneath his warm lips. He literally took her breath away.

When she pressed into his hard erection, he groaned. Yanking her hands up and onto his shoulders, he reached under her hips and lifted her, scraping her back against the wall. Allison wrapped her legs around his waist and held on behind his neck, kissing him over and over.

He lowered her, their sweat-slicked skin connecting them, chest to chest. When she felt his wet tip at her entrance, she whimpered. An electricity of a different kind thrummed through her body. He guided her hips into position and pushed her down onto him, driving in deeply.

She gasped, suddenly stretching to accept him. His heat warmed her to the core.

He pumped into her slowly at first then faster, pinning her between the hard, cold wall and the unyielding furnace of his body. His strong hands guided her hips with the mounting rhythm. The windstorm of their connected minds and how easily he supported her body weight despite his thrusts sparked pleasure deep inside her—this had to be like flying.

As she crested, he leaned against her, kissing her hard, his tongue filling her mouth, each thrust of his hips more forceful than the last. She cried out, clawing at his neck in ecstasy, and he followed moments later.

Arms weak, she shuddered with aftershocks as he shifted. His leonine smile turned her heart over, and something poignant and sharp caught when she took a deep breath.

She shivered when he trailed a hand down her side and under her bottom and thigh.

A tiny sigh escaped her lips as he eased her hips away, lowering her feet to the floor but keeping her flush to his hard, hot body. The air was cool on her damp back when Peter scooped her up and deposited her in bed, crawling in after her.

Tucking in against her backside, he pulled her deep into his embrace and wrapped corded arms around her.

She'd never felt so safe, so cherished, and so complete. Over her shoulder, she kissed him deeply. For a split second, she caught a glimpse of a normal, passionate relationship.

Only nothing about this situation was normal—not her freakish powers, not the superhumanly strong killer laying next to her in the bed. With a yawn, she drifted off into a dreamless, exhausted, but uneasy sleep.

Peter drifted, semi-awake, aware of the amazing woman in his arms. He didn't move for fear of disturbing her and simply watched her sleep. He wanted to breathe in her sweetness like this for as long as possible. Was this how Barnaby had felt about his wife, that he would do anything for her? Like … break the contract?

Damn it, he wasn't going to entertain that kind of magical thinking. He preferred to think about how perfectly Allie fit him.

Even now, with her sound asleep, he sensed the low-level electricity of their mental connection, though it didn't overwhelm either of them anymore. Now it felt familiar, like wearing a favorite piece of clothing or having a friend nearby.

Yet there was also the reality of Allie doubled over on the concrete, her face tear-streaked, earlier today. What kind of future did she have with him? His presence put her at risk from Jerahmeel or his associates. Beyond the amazing sex, Peter had nothing else to offer, other than unending suffering. How could he lead her on, when he had no realistic hope of a long-term relationship?

Hell.

When he tightened his grip, she murmured in her sleep and stirred.

The only light came from the living room, and her face was cast in shadow when she rolled back and touched his stubbled face with one finger. A bolt of desire shot into his groin. Reveling in the sensation of her smooth body next to his, he leaned on one arm and kept his other arm around her small frame.

“Peter, I … ”

“Shh.” He brushed her swollen lips with his thumb and then dropped a light kiss onto them.

“I feel … ” Allie's grumbling stomach interrupted her.

He laughed. “Hungry?”

When she leaned over and turned on the bedside lamp, he froze. On her back were abrasions where her soft skin had torn. At his expletive, she turned around, perplexed.

“Hell.” He gently pressed her onto her stomach and examined her back. Red scratches bloomed against her fair skin. He ran a finger over one and she flinched. “Allie, your back. I had no idea.”

She peered up at him over her shoulder. “It's okay.”

“No, it's not. I told you I couldn't control … ”

She rolled back toward him, her breasts pressed enticingly together. He dragged his gaze to her face, expecting to see accusation there. If he couldn't keep from hurting this woman, then he deserved the blame.

Instead, she smiled. “If you want to blame someone, I'll give you the name of the general contractor who built this house.”

“What?”

“Knockdown wall treatment. Much rougher on skin than regular flat walls. Who would've thought?”

She maintained a deadpan expression until she broke into peals of laughter. Peter shocked himself by suddenly laughing as well, a sound foreign to him.

“Let me grab a quick shower, and then maybe we can have some pizza.”

Still dissatisfied that he had put a mark on her, he agreed. “I'll heat it up.”

He couldn't take his eyes off her lithe frame as she rolled out of bed and, naked, flitted to the bathroom, flipped on the light, and closed the door. The shower started.

Jealous of the water sluicing over her body, he hardened. With a groan, he rolled out of bed and pulled on his clothes, using brute willpower not to join her in the shower.

Fifteen minutes later, the microwave beeped as she entered the kitchen, her hair towel-dried and tendrils curling. He inhaled the scent of flowers from her shampoo.

“Smells great.” She pushed up her sweatshirt sleeves; she was endearing in wool socks and sweatpants.

“I agree.” He picked up a damp strand of her hair and put it to his nose. Her pinkening cheeks were a treat.

After they enjoyed the reheated pizza, she sat back, satisfied, and rubbed her flat belly. “Perfect dinner.”

“This is the best I've felt in as long as I can remember.” It was certainly the most human he'd felt in forever.

She was silent for a moment. “So what
are
you?” Nodding toward the bedroom, she added, “The images I see of you? The knife? I'm justified in asking.” She glanced at his leg.

He dragged his hands over his face. Where to start?

“So the short answer is I made a very bad deal many years ago and am still paying for that decision today. I was born in 1915 near Columbus, Ohio.” Now he had her attention. He cringed at her speculative raised eyebrow. “Yes, that means I'm very old.”

Pushing the chair back, he rested a hand on his crossed leg. “So I was a teenager during the Great Depression, but my parents always wanted me to go to college. I attended Ohio State and got an ROTC scholarship in the 1930s. Right when I was accepted into the master's program in history in 1941, Japan bombed Pearl Harbor.”

Allie leaned an elbow on the table and propped her chin on her fist.

Peter let himself relax a small amount. At least she wasn't running for the door. Yet.

“The army let me finish my degree in May of 1943. I walked across the stage, received my diploma, and headed off to Fort Bragg the same day.”

“Wow, that's quick.”

“Many men had similar experiences. After infantry officer training, I shipped out to France a year later, served behind the lines for a few months, then got sent to the front for the Battle of the Bulge.”

Her green eyes widened. “Either you're completely delusional or this is one disturbing story.”

“I wish I were delusional.”

And he hadn't even tackled the part he dreaded. But she needed to know.

“So I was commanding a platoon in the Ardennes, December 1944, in miserable conditions. We got dumped right in the thick of the fighting. The death tolls were horrendous, on both sides. In one attack, we managed to ambush a German platoon and kill most of them in hand-to-hand combat.”

He rubbed absently at his right arm. “As I searched for survivors, a German officer shot me in the arm, so I killed him.” He indicated his watch with the worn leather band and scratched face. “I kept this as a souvenir although I never expected to have the watch for quite this long. They transferred me to Ravenel Field Hospital in France when infection set in. Thankfully, penicillin had come into use during the war or I might've lost my arm. I ended up having surgery a few days later to get rid of dead tissue and was discharged due to nerve damage in my arm.”

She pressed her lips together. “Your arm seems to work well now.”

“I'm getting to that part. So what I haven't mentioned yet is the woman I left behind in Ohio. Claire.”

“Is that the woman in my visions?”

He nodded, his memories bittersweet. “Sweet girl—we dated in college, and she waited for me until I returned from France. After I was discharged from the army, we got married, in the summer of 1945. We were eager to start a family, but right after the wedding, she contracted polio while visiting relatives in Illinois.”

Tapping her chin, Allie said, “Adult-onset polio was supposed to be much worse.”

Yes, it was. He could still hear the drone of the iron lung bellows compressing air in and out to aid Claire's pitiful, exhausted efforts to breathe. The only part of her visible, her sweat-covered head, was bound at the neck by rubber gaskets.

Lying flat on her back, trapped in the depths of the machine, she could only communicate in broken sentences timed with the rhythm of the bellows, and even that became too difficult. Her world boiled down to a sterile hospital room and a mirror angled over her head to see the visitors and attendants when they spoke with her. That iron lung sealed her in as surely as a metal coffin.