Right Through Me (The Obsidian Files #1) (17 page)

“Really little. Who wouldn’t trust a nice young couple with a cute kid? Little budding confidence man, that was me.
They were training me up to be just like them.
Lucky me.”

“Oh,” she whispered. “I, ah, don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything. I’m not proud of it. It’s just the way it was for me.”

Caro nodded mutely.

“So this went on for years. They had my brother and little sister. Sometimes we made money, but we still had to get out of town fast. I pretty much grew up on the road. We stayed in one dive motel after another. Cigarette burns on the sheets. Dirty bathrooms. Broken locks.”

There was faint bitterness in his voice. He stopped talking and just looked at her.

She didn’t reply. He could have been describing the life she’d been living for the last several months.

“Sorry,” he said. “You asked.”

“I wish I hadn’t,” she murmured.

“Oh well. You got the short version. No happy ending, though. One day, a guy my dad had swindled caught up with him. Clubbed him practically to death in a supermarket parking lot.”

She flinched. “
You saw it?”

“Yes,” he said. “We had goods that fell off some truck. You do a return for cash—go in just before the place closes, say you lost the receipt. They pay up to get rid of you. Liquor store, here we come. Only we never got there. The guy must have been following us. He waited for us to come out, and jumped my dad with a baseball bat.”

She hated to ask, but she had to know. “Did he hurt you?”

Noah’s hand drifted up to a patch of thickened scar tissue that showed in the vee of his T-shirt. “He shattered my collarbone when I tried to stop him.”

“Oh, Noah.” She gripped his arm. His muscles were tightly contracted.

“It took my dad almost a week to die,” he said. “He had skull fractures, major brain damage, internal injuries. He never woke up.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head. “He was a hard-drinking liar, thief and cheat. No great loss.”

“Still. It had to hurt.”

“At the time, not that much. Not at all now.”

“What about your mom?”

He shrugged. “She took off a few months after that. Just couldn’t deal. We woke up one morning, found her gone. I was seventeen. The others were younger.”

Caro was silent for a while. It was a lot to take in. “So what happened to you guys after that?”

“We ran wild. Too bad there’s no such things as do-overs. I think about what I did back then sometimes. Can’t make amends for any of it.”

She nodded. Asking anything more seemed wrong.

His gaze met hers. There was a dark fire in the amber depths of his eyes that made her uneasy. “I’m done talking now.”

So that was that. “OK. I suppose you have your reasons.”

“I do. And you don’t get to ask what they are.”

She was taken aback. “What’s that supposed to mean?

“I spilled my guts,” he said. “I just told you some of my deepest, darkest secrets. That’s never happened with any woman I’ve ever been with.” His hand went up to the twisted scar, rubbing it as if it ached. “But did I rack up any points with you? Nope.”

“I’m not sure what you mean by points,” she said warily. “I appreciate your honesty. And your trust.”

“Maybe,” he said. “But you won’t return it.”

Caro stared down at her plate. “You really don’t want to know my secrets.”

He reached across the table and lifted her chin so that she had to look at him. “Actually, I do.”

“Noah, please, don’t start in on me again.”

“Don’t tell me no. You’re in danger. I see it on your face. Beautiful as you are, you have the look.”

“What look?” she demanded, shaken.

“It’s hard to describe,” he said. “Like a photographer messed with the contrast. It’s mostly in the eyes. It sharpens some things up, washes other things out. It happens to people when they’re under constant threat of violence. I’m familiar with it.”

“How?” Her voice sounded shrill
, inside her own head
. “Familiar how?”

He shrugged. “I’ve seen it in the mirror. I’ve lived on the run. My guess is that you’ve been doing it for a while now. But I get the feeling you’re running for your life, and not just from the law. From something or someone really evil.”

She lifted her head defiantly. “Sounds like it’s happened to you.”

He hesitated for a long moment. “Yeah. It has.”

That wasn’t possible. He hadn’t said those words. Unless she’d hit the jackpot on a bizarro dating website.
Enjoy long walks on the beach?
Check.
Love big dogs and little kittens?
Check.
Shady past? Hidden trauma?
Check. Check.

She wanted to scoff, but a flash of insight told her that he was revealing a painful truth. There were those scars. He’d explained one, but he had hundreds more. Each inflicted by . . . what had he just said? Something or someone really evil.

But whether or not he was comparing his life to hers, she hated being forced to think about what she was up against. It made her angry . . . at the moment, at him.

“Well, you’re wrong,” she said. “You’re wrong about all of it.”

“OK,” he said gently. “If I am, then you can relax. Your secrets are secure.”

“Somehow I doubt it,” she snapped.

“OK if I change the subject?
”
He didn’t wait for her to say yes, just pushed up the sleeve of the oversized robe. “You didn’t do this to yourself. And before you get mad, that was a statement, not a question.” He ran his finger over the jagged scar that extended from her lower arm down to the palm of her hand.

She tried to pull away, without succeeding.

“This is healed, but not old, like my scars,” he murmured. “Too pink. Someone cut you recently. Last year sometime. You didn’t get stitches, but this cut could’ve used some.”

“Stop it, Noah.”

But he couldn’t help himself. It was his nature. Under any other circumstances, the focused quality of his attention would be a delicious ego-stroking thrill. As it was, it was killing her.

If he looked too hard, he’d see what she saw whenever she closed her eyes.

Slippery hot blood everywhere, the pressure of the box cutter against muscle and tendon, locked into her memory forever. Gouts of blood, spurting. The sight of Dex in Mark Olund’s grip, his eyes wide and horrified as Mark pressed his mouth to his head. Beginning to feed . . .

And Tim, who had made the mistake of trying to help her.

She got up. “You won’t stop pressuring me. I’m sick of begging you to. Call a car, or else I will.”

“No.” He tugged her wrist, pulling her right off her feet and onto his lap. “I’ll shut the fuck up. I promise. You can’t leave. It’s the middle of the night.”

His arms were so strong. He smelled so good. He’d made her so hungry for him. Damn the guy. Not fair.

He sensed her weakening, and rose up, lifting her easily into his arms.

She struggled, almost panicked. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Being
masterful.
You said you go for that.”

“Put me down this second, goddamnit!”

He went still, then gently set her on her feet and stepped back. “Sorry,” he said carefully. “I thought it would turn you on.”

She straightened her robe. Tossed her hair back, straightened her shoulders.

She looked him in the eye. His cautious expression made her relent. A little.

“Stay out of my head,” she told him. “It was just too much. And I don’t like being pushed around.”

“It won’t happen again.” He paused. “So. Still want to take a bath with me?”

She ran her eyes over his tall, ripped, oh-so-fine body. That hot amber flash in his eyes. Those sensual lips. “Oh yeah,” she said, unsteadily.

His grin hung on a little longer than usual this time. “Good. Follow me.”

Chapter 13

Noah nudged the bathroom door open with his foot, and went in first. The dim room was humid, and perfumed with lavender bath salts. Wisps of steam rose from a deep tub in the middle of a large, slate-tiled room.

There was a glass shower for two in the corner. Double showerheads, a double marble sink. A tower of fluffy silver gray towels sat on a stand, along with a tray with soaps, shampoos, lotions. Lots of fancy bath stuff for a single guy, she couldn’t help but notice. But his love life was none of her business. She only got one stolen night.

“Like everything,” she said. “Completely over the top. Awesome bathroom.”

“Yes.”

Their eyes met. Her head lifted, and her spine straightened with that mysterious rush that only he could give. That smolder in his eyes just did it to her. Magic.

She let the robe open, and then slip off her shoulders. She shook back her hair and stood there proudly. Enjoying the caressing weight of his gaze on her.

The effect upon his body was obvious, and immediate.

Scented steam drifted. The froth of bubbles had cleared. The huge tub awaited.

Noah peeled off his shirt and sweatpants. His naked body was so powerful and sexual, his heavy phallus jutting high, flushed and ready.

Oh, boy. Play it cool. She twisted her hair up into a loose, tousled knot, and Noah took her hand to help her into the high-walled tub.

Her descent into the steaming water felt like a cleansing ceremony. She sank down with a sigh of bliss. Hot baths were another thing she missed.

He followed her in, bringing the water level higher. Her eyes flicked to the old injury on his collarbone, the only scar visible above the water. It hurt her heart, to think of him alone and terrified as he watched his father being murdered.

She had to look away for a second. Close her eyes.

“Don’t dwell on it,” he said quietly. “It was a long time ago.”

God, how did he
do
that? She’d looked at his scar for only a split second.

“Stop reading my mind,” she said sharply. “It’s rude. I’ll feel sad for the boy that you were if I damn well feel like it. Do not tell me what to think or feel.”

“I’ll try distraction, then.”

He surged forward across the tub and seized her.

* * *

They floated and spun, weightless in the water, as Noah plundered her sweet, willing mouth. He slid his hand down to stroke her juicy pussy, coaxing her legs apart. She murmured against his mouth, opening up to let his finger slide in and writhed sensuously around his exploring hand, squeezing it between her thighs. There was too much water between him and that sweet thing. He wanted to taste her again.

He lifted her up out of the water, which rushed and trickled down over her graceful curves and hollows. “Your turn,” he said. “Sit on the top step. I can’t wait for another taste of you.”

“Ah . . . that’s the thing,” she said hesitantly. “It felt wonderful the last time, but it was hard enough for me to relax when it was dark. In a tub, with the lights on. I’d freeze up.”

He stroked her upper arms. “So I’ll stop, if it doesn’t work for you. Just try it,” he coaxed. “Please. You’re a goddess like this. All rosy and wet.”

She still hesitated. He waited patiently, sliding his hands down the deep curve of her waist, then downward to grip the luscious swell of her ass. “Strange, that you’re self-conscious,” he commented. “You’re not at all when you dance.”

“Performing’s different,” she said.

“Hmm. But you do it for a living.”

“Because I’m broke,” she said. “Besides, when I dance, I’m Shamira. All spangles and veils, doing the shimmy-shimmy-shake. When I’m with you, I’m just me.”

“Cool,” he said. “That’s exactly who I want.”

“The answer’s still no.”

He leaned down to press a hot kiss on her shoulder and then the curve of her neck. “Sit down on that step,” he coaxed. “Let me worship you with my tongue.”

“You slick bastard.” She was trying not to smile.

“I can’t help it.
Everything about you is interesting to me. It’s torture that you won’t give me more info.”

She rolled her eyes. “Suffer.”

“I am, I am.” He cupped her breasts, tracing faint, stimulating circles with his thumbs. “I’m wondering what kind of artist you are. Not a painter. Maybe a sculptor?” He ran his hand appreciatively over her curves. “At least a sculptor’s model.”

“Wrong,” she said. “I’m not an artist. Or a sculptor. Or a real dancer. I told you.”

“I get it. Being a fugitive is a full time job.”

She glared at him. “Don’t push me.”

“So shut me up,” he replied. “Keep my mouth too busy to get into trouble.”

She pushed off, floating a little farther from him. Too far. “Do you always get what you want?” she asked.

He thought about it. “No. But that was only because I didn’t know what I wanted. Now I know, and I’m going after it.” He reached out, dragged her back toward him and cupped her ass. Feeling up those beautiful round ass cheeks kept his hands away from her succulent pussy. For the moment at least.

“You’re so confident,” she commented.

“And you’re stalling,” he replied. “Give it up to me, or I’ll do the X-ray eyes thing. I’ll tell you your social security number and your mother’s maiden name.”

She smiled, but let herself be tugged toward him. He seated her on the top step that led into the tub and knelt before her clamped thighs, trailing his fingertips over her breasts. Her skin was flushed and rosy from the heat. He loved to see her face hot pink instead of pale. Her beautiful soft tits, gleaming and wet. Tight puckered nipples. The fire inside him crackled and surged. Hotter. Fiercer.

He surged forward, kissing her belly as he gently coaxed her legs apart.

It was hard for her to let go. He had to be so careful. Patient and persistent.

She finally opened to him, but he couldn’t say she’d surrendered. He still felt her wariness as he kissed slowly up the inside of her thigh and the tender hollow at her groin. Caro vibrated, gasping, and slid her fingers through his hair, but it was too short for her to grab onto. Maybe he should grow the hair an inch or so longer. Just for this.

Concentrate.
He scattered a few more kisses to distract her. It was good to have more light, to see a fuller range of those rosy pink shades of her slit. He spread her folds out wide, and let the taut little bud of her clit pop out.