Right Through Me (The Obsidian Files #1) (10 page)

Maybe never in his emotionally stunted life.

She was on the run. He recognized the vibe from his childhood with his mom and dad. He’d buried all those memories very deep, with the other relics of a past he couldn’t bear to think about.

His con-artist parents had been an unbeatable team. Noah had been their assistant since he could talk, and probably before as an adorable baby, the ultimate prop. He had a natural talent, they told him. He was a good liar, pokerfaced, fast on his feet, calculating, cool-headed. Asa had been nearly as good, but Noah had the advantage of age and experience, to Asa’s eternal dismay.

After Dad was killed and Mom vanished, all his skills had been brutally put to the test. It had been on him to keep pulling rabbits out of hats while Asa zoned out, and Hannah wept. He’d held them all together. Until Asa bailed on them.

And then Midlands. The ultimate fucking forge of hell.

The door to her improvised room creaked slightly. He jerked up in his chair and fumbled with her phone, finding the album cut she’d asked for. Drums started up, in a complex, sensual rhythm. Then the door opened.

Sensations washed over him as a wood flute sighed a low, breathy melody. Sweat trickled down his temples. His fingers gripped the arms of the chair as she shimmied in sideways. The colors of her sig moving around her body were ordered and graceful. Absolutely specific to her.

His heart galloped. Her sig danced in sinuous counterpart to her body, so elegantly that he barely noticed the holes and the uneven spots here and there. Green and blue and violet fountains rayed out from her fingertips and painted the room. Her jade green eyes caught the light.

He wanted to blast his optic nerve with light to max out the AVP and see even more of her, but it was too dangerous. Conversely, he could cut the lights and sit in the dark using infrared. That would give the stress reaction a chance to subside, and bring out the more subtle energetic colors.

But who watched a dance in darkness? She’d run for it.

The lowest light setting was all he needed. Lower than firelight. An intimate oasis of privacy. His dick ached, straining in his pants.

She swayed, delineating a magic circle with the trailing hues of her sig. The shimmering discs on her belt tinkled. Her skin was brushed with velvet shadows, dusted with gold sparkles beneath the shifting colors.

So beautiful. Though too thin. The point of her jaw was sharp. Her wide green eyes fascinated him. And her full, soft mouth made sweat trickle down his spine.

He was tuning to her frequency. He could almost read her completely now. Her sig patterns seemed like a language he once knew but had forgotten. That cornflower blue fading to hot violet above her heart said something beautiful about tenderness and endurance.

A vortex like that could swallow him up. He’d dive right in. Willingly.

He no longer wondered if she were an agent of Mark Olund, despite the data running in the back of his mind. Those frayed, ragged holes in her sig were more important. More worrisome. He’d seen them in his crew in the Midland days and afterwards, when they were in hiding, struggling to find their way. Misfiring energy patterns that resulted from chronic fear, stress, PTSD. Dark, uneven patches consistent with sleep deprivation, malnutrition.

She needed more protection than she would ever admit to. Noah set the thought aside for now. She was safe here with him.

When the music died away, she was arched back on the floor, offering herself in a pool of purple veils. Pulsing petals of pink and violet opened out around her heart like a blossom of light. The music slowly faded away.

The silence extended, filling the room.

The data run finished processing automatically. He felt the slight mind bump as it stopped. The results were in. She was not Mark’s employee. She was something far more dangerous.

She was his. All his. Completely open to him. Waiting.

He leaned forward, elbows on his thighs, wondering what the hell he was going to do with this hard-on. He shifted his chair. Afraid to speak.

He’d always made decisions based on what was safest for the people in his charge. Not now. This felt like lunging for survival. He wanted to shout it.
Mine, mine, mine! It’s my goddamn turn for once, and I claim this for myself! Fuck you all!

She rose in one fluid, continuous motion, and bowed to him. The gesture was a graceful ritual, ceremoniously marking the end of one thing, the beginning of another, but he was transfixed by the jiggle of her rounded breasts. The shape of her ass as she bent over. The image filled his mind. Her, on all fours, moaning with delight. Him, naked behind. Cupping those soft tender globes while he slowly penetrated her.

He thought of clapping, but it seemed like not enough. Reverent silence was more like it. But his face felt strange and hot. His throat tightened.

What the
fuck?
Was this what a panic attack felt like?
Jesus.
He stabbed the remote to turn the dim lights off.

She made an inquisitive sound.

“I’m sorry.” His voice felt strangled. “I just . . I can’t.”

“Are you all right?” Her triumphant glow faded and softened. She looked sweet, now. Colors could be sweet, too. Like flowers in the rain.

“Give me a second,” he forced out. “Please. Don’t say anything for a minute.”

She glowed patiently in the dark, while he silently fell to pieces.

“Can I help?” she asked finally.

He shook his head. He felt as if a mask had been ripped off him. Whatever was underneath was not human. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Her voice was as light as smoke. “It’s OK.”

He started to laugh. Big mistake. It intensified the sensation gripping him, which he had not even fully recognized until this moment. Oh God,
no.

He was fighting not to cry. Noah Gallagher, CEO and owner of Angel Enterprises, ice-cold ex-thief and con man, hyper-trained, tech and bio-enhanced commando warrior, captain of a secret army of fugitive freaks, veteran of bloody battles, on the verge of crying. About
what?

He hated not knowing. Hated losing control.

He pushed his chair back, rummaged in his desk for the envelope he’d prepared, and stood up, holding it out. “Take it. Go. It’s
not you. I have no idea what . . .” He cut himself off
and tried to swallow. “Just go.”

She just stood there in the midst of her cloud of colors. Reached out to take it. His altered vision made the white envelope seem to glow like the moon in her hand.

He realized, abruptly, that he couldn’t be with someone like her anyway. His wiring wouldn’t sustain that kind of voltage. She’d drive him over the edge.

And it wasn’t like he had that far to go.

He went to the closet. Fumbled with the panel and pulled out her coat. “I’ll be gone when you come out, so I’ll say goodbye now. Thanks for the dance.” He held out the coat. “So, ah. Whenever you’re ready.”

She wasn’t ready. She just looked down at the envelope. Puzzlement colored the space around her head. She wanted to know what the fuck his problem was.

He cleared his throat. “Please,” he muttered.

She laid the envelope back on the desk. “So, it didn’t work?”

He was confused. “What?”

“Your experiment. The good feeling you had this afternoon. You didn’t have it this time around? That’s too bad. I’m really sorry, considering what you paid.”
He almost laughed but stopped just in time. “No, actually. It worked too well.”

“Ah. Too real,” she murmured. “I know how that is.”

He doubted it, but didn’t want to discuss it. “You need to go now.”

She rose up taller, or rather, her sig rose and expanded, filling the room with its shimmering glow. “Why?” she asked. “What happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Her arms crossed over her chest. She didn’t care if he wanted to talk about it or not. Tough shit for him, her body language said. Spill it anyway.

“Look,” he said. “I promised not to touch you. I can’t keep that promise anymore.”

She drifted closer, a cloud of sunset colors. Her scent washed over his senses. His supercharged synesthesia translated her aroma into colors in his head. He wanted to strip her bare. His hands flexed with the impulse to seize her. It almost overcame him.

“Leave.” His voice was tight. “I paid you.”

“No,” she said.

“You finished your dance. You said there could be nothing more. So go.”

“Shhh.” She stretched up, touching his cheek with soft, cool fingertips. Then, to his astonishment, she pressed a hot, soft kiss to his jaw.

“This is not helping,” he growled.

She rose up on her bare feet, her mouth near his. Never quite getting there. No kiss . . . just the caressing heat of her breath. The teasing promise of . . . maybe . . . almost.

He was so close to losing control, he didn’t dare inhale.

He stepped back. Not far enough. The sweetness of her perfume taunted him.

She didn’t move. Not one inch. She was enjoying this, feeling her power. It made his teeth grind, and his dick ache.

“You’re still here,” he said.

“I’m not ready to leave.” Her voice was a drifting whisper. “I like the way this makes me feel.”

“I’m ready,” he said. “And it’s my goddamn office.”

“Yes. After hours. And we’re alone. More or less.” She closed the slight distance between them with a single step.

So she was seducing him. He got the message—but he still didn’t dare breathe.

Then she took his hand, and pressed it against her bare belly.

They both inhaled sharply. She was flower-petal smooth against the hard, callused skin of his palm. A flash of hot lust pumped through him.

A swift, shocked ripple went through her, as if she’d had a small orgasm, and then her hand fastened over his, holding it firmly in place. As if she welcomed the touch but didn’t dare allow his hand to wander elsewhere.

“Take the envelope,” he said. “Put it in your bag, and we’re square.”

Her fingers tightened on his hand.

“I asked for a service, you provided it, I paid you,” he said stubbornly. All business. Meeting over. Too bad his dick didn’t get the memo. He was about to explode.

Without saying a word, she turned and headed to the bathroom, purple veils fluttering behind her.

He didn’t have to wait for her to return. But he knew that he would.

She was back minutes later, wearing jeans and a baggy black T-shirt. His exotic dancing maiden was gone but she was as beautiful as ever. Her real hair was a thick, curly dark cloud, caught up in back in a tousled knot of twisted ringlets. Some of them dangled around her face.

“Sorry,” he said stiffly. “That got out of hand.”

“It’s OK. Not your fault.” She looked down at herself. “I thought it was better to have this conversation in street clothes,” she said. “To see if the fantasy melted away for you without the props. Better for both of us to know right now.”

He looked her up and down. Blood roared in his ears. “That’s not happening.”

Her sig pulsed, excited pinks and reds. “So?”

“I promised not to touch you, and I broke that promise. With your help.”

She nodded reluctantly.

“If you stay here, I’ll break it again. Let me put that right out in the open.”

Her eyes were pools of shadow, but with his infrared he saw the pain and longing in them. “I . . . I can’t do this,” she murmured.

“Why? Are you married? Involved with someone?”

“No.” Her answer came without hesitation.

“Then what’s the problem?”

She shook her head, after a long pause. “That’s nobody’s business.”

“True,” he said. “And yet you’re still here.”

Her chin went up. “Your sister mentioned that you were celebrating your engagement. Was the woman who sat next to you today your fiancée?”

“Not an issue,” he said.

“It is for me.” Her voice had an edge.

“OK. We can call it even.” He took Simone’s ring out of his desk and displayed it. “I was engaged. Now I’m not. I wouldn’t have requested a private dance otherwise.”

She looked shocked. “Wait. Did you break it off because of my—because we—”

“No. Not at all.” He tossed the ring back into the drawer. “I wasn’t all that engaged to begin with. I know that now, thanks to you.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes. I’m a free man. Have dinner with me,” he found himself saying. “Anywhere. Any kind of food you feel like. Or we can just have a drink. Anything is fine. Your call.”

“I can’t do that.” She sounded miserable.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Then you’re just jerking me around,” he said. “Make up your mind. Have dinner with me or walk out the door.”

“Well, aren’t you the gentleman. Go fuck yourself.” Her voice was cool.

“Is that a no?” He didn’t miss the brilliant flash of annoyance in her green eyes.
Yes, dancing girl. I can read you. And this is a test of whether you can read me.

He couldn’t tell if she got it. There was a tense pause. He waited her out.

“I have a different suggestion,” she said.

“Let’s hear it.”

Her words came out in a nervous rush. “I don’t do bars or restaurants and I don’t want to go to any public spaces.”

“OK.”

“But if you want, I’ll go back to your place and, ah, spend the night with you. On the following condition.”

He braced himself for who the fuck knew what. “Yeah? Let’s have it.”

“No questions,” she said.

He was taken aback. “Not one?
Not even your name?”

“Especially not that. And when I leave, do not try to contact me again.”

“Ah. A one-nighter.”

“Yes,” she said. “I’m sorry, but that’s how it has to be.”

“No questions at all?” he asked. “Favorite color? Favorite app? Favorite yoga pants?”

“Don’t push me,” she said. “That’s the only way this could work for me.”

Amazing. The ultimate horndog fantasy. No-strings sex. No consequences. And he actually felt ambivalent about it. “So what will we talk about?”

“Anything you want,” she said. “Except for me.”

He gave her an assessing look. “Could I persuade you to change your mind?”