Right Through Me (The Obsidian Files #1) (19 page)

“You said last night that you weren’t going to pressure me. You promised.”

“Yeah. I remember. Now I’m breaking it,” he said.

She was outraged. “Don’t you fucking dare!”

“Watch me.”

Caro looked around wildly. For what? Something to hit him with? Her entire body vibrated with anger.

“No way am I letting you go out into the dark to face all these enemies you refuse to tell me about.” He grabbed her hand. “Come on. It’s just a ride. Safely buckled up. Going just under the speed limit. Door to door service. And in case you haven’t noticed, this is not actually a discussion.”

“Bullshit. We established the rules!” She yanked to free herself. “Let go of me!”

He changed his grip so she wouldn’t injure her wrist but he didn’t let go.

“I can’t,” he said.

It was true. Letting her just walk out the door was not an option for him. Wasn’t going to happen. They stared into each other’s eyes. She looked furious and betrayed.

He hated ending on this note, but he wasn’t backing down.

“You can’t keep me here,” she said.

“No,” he admitted. “Not indefinitely.”

“I mean right now,” she snapped back.

“What are you going to do? Call the cops?” He reached for the smartphone on the bedside table and held it out to her. “Go ahead. Be my guest. Tell them your troubles
. They’ll come and save you.”

She crossed her arms. “You son of a bitch,” she whispered.

“Right.” He set the phone down. “I didn’t think you wanted to talk to them.”

“You’re really crossing a line, Noah.”

“Just trying to take care of you.”

Caro dismissed that with a contemptuous look. “I can do that myself.”

He finally let go of her hand. “Good. My house is your house. Take a shower if you want.”

She walked away from him, twisting her hair into a knot that stayed up without pins, a feat of womanly engineering that had always been a mystery to him. “You won’t join me?”

He was startled into silence for a second. “Fuck yeah, I want to join you,” he said emphatically. “I just thought you’d prefer to be alone.”

She shook her head. “Not so much. You just stay right where I can see you.”

Caro preceded him into the big shower box, shoulders back, chin high. She chose the showerhead nearest to the sliding glass doors, forcing him to slide past her to the one near the wall.

He was erect, of course. Soaped up and standing. They both ignored it, but he couldn’t keep from watching the fluffy white foam slide down over her curves and hollows. Looking at her made him hot and stupid.

He slapped off his water and waited in the scented steam until she turned her water off, too. Her sig refracted through the glass, coloring the gray slate tiles like a dark, prismatic jewel.

He took a step toward her. “OK? Do you trust me now?”

“No.” She bent over and squeezed the water out of her hair. Her bun had fallen down and gotten soaked. A long, thick rope of wet dark curls. His erection got stiffer.

“I just want you to be safe,” he said, staring at the water dripping from her hair.

“I need a towel,” she said.

He slid past her, reached out and handed her two. “Why are you bucking me?”

“Stop.” She held up her hand. “We’re not having this conversation, and you’re not driving me home. Now get the hell out of my way.”

Chapter 14

He didn’t move. Just stood there blocking the way out. The only sound was the drip of water from the showerhead.

Noah stood there in the steam, his big penis jutting urgently toward her. Drops of water rolled over the striking bones of his face and down to the complicated landscape of muscle and bone and scar tissue. His nipples were tight, dark. Smooth chest hair was plastered to his taut skin.

Her eyes were locked with his. Held and enthralled by that unearthly brightness.

She was furious at him, but her anger was no shield against the ache and pull in her chest. His gaze went right through her, seeing the scared, diminished self she so hated being.

He saw every pitiful detail of it, and somehow still wanted her, with a ferocity that left her breathless. And determined to protect herself.

“Stop it,” she told him, adding quickly, “I’m talking about the intense look. It’s just another way of pushing me around.”

His eyes flashed. “Hey, I’m just standing here, not touching you. Wanting really badly to fuck you again. Can’t blame a guy for that.”

“Sure I can,” she told him.

“But I can’t help it,” he said. “And I can’t stop it.”

She reached out, and wrapped her hand around his thick penis. He sucked in air.

She stroked his hot shaft, petting the velvety skin. “It’s so strange, being pissed off and turned on at once. It could make me behave . . . badly.”

“Really? Awesome. I’m in.” He put his hand between her leg, sliding his fingers between the folds, pleased to find her hot and wet and slick.

He withdrew his fingers and hungrily sucked on them. “Caro. Let me.” He started to sink to his knees before her.

She stumbled back, panicked. “No, no, no,” she said wildly. “No, not that. Not when I’m on edge like this. I just can’t.”

He rose back up to his feet, his gaze intent. Waiting for a signal.

The bastard. So confident. Making her feel like she’d never forgive herself if she didn’t get one last taste of him.

And what felt worse: knowing that he was on to her. H
e had all the time in the world to wait. He
would
just stand there until she broke down and begged for it.

“I’m prepared.” He smiled.

She didn’t. “You would be.”

“Black cabinet, top shelf, left side.”

She shoved past him into the bathroom, and found what she was looking for.

Back into the shower, to sheath his thick shaft. She savored his reaction.

He clasped her waist and she let him lift her and press her back against the cool wet slate tiles, wantonly spreading her legs. He grabbed her thighs, encouraging her to wrap her legs around him, which she immediately did.

He leaned forward, kissed her throat, murmuring in her ear. “Put me inside you.”

Caro seized that thick club bobbing at her thigh, and nudged it to where she wanted it. She was drenched and ready. Under his spell. Craving every inch of him.

They gasped together as he drove deep inside her. His thrusts were slow and slick and heavy, each stroke of his big cock the ultimate answer to her body’s silent pleas for more, more, more.

She dug her nails into his back, moaning. He was so deep inside. Body, mind, soul. All of her. Her body melted for him, molded around him. A slick rocking give and take of pure erotic bliss. She knew he could hold her effortlessly, pleasuring her with masterful skill for as long as she wanted him to.

Her heart was swelling bigger, too. Hotter, like the sun was inside her chest. Filling her with light. Coming closer, brighter, sharper . . .

Oh. Yes.
Sweet oblivion pulsed and throbbed through her.

The wrenching bursts of pleasure eventually eased, leaving her limp in his arms. Just Caro again. Her face was wet. Stupid tears.

Noah’s face was pressed against her shoulder. She clutched his hot, slick body, trying to fix this moment and all the others in her memory. His blazing vital energy, the magic space he’d created where she felt safe, desired, beautiful. After months of lonely desperation, this sudden intimacy with him had jolted something dead back to life.

They clung to each other for a long, silent time.

Noah slid out of her, and set her on her feet. He turned the shower on, angling it away until the water was warm, and aimed the stream over her torso and then down between her legs, caressing as he rinsed. There was bold assurance to his touch, as if he had every right to handle her so intimately.

He shut off the water and reached for a fresh towel.

She almost smiled. Couldn’t quite manage it.
“I can dry myself,” she told him.

“Give me that much,” he muttered.

So she did. Just stood there unresisting, letting herself be caressed by the long strokes of the towel over her body. Willing herself not to cry again as he slowly and meticulously toweled her hair, with leisurely thoroughness.

He tossed the sodden towel aside. “Stay here with me,” he said fiercely.

She felt her body go tense. “Noah. Don’t start.”

“I never stopped,” he said. “I don’t know how. The coffee should be ready by now. Come get some when you’re dressed. I’ll make you breakfast.”

“No breakfast, thanks. I’m not hungry.” She stared, hypnotized, as he toweled off his own chiseled physique. “Your coffee maker sure is timed to start early.”

“I’m not much of a sleeper.” He strode out, taking the air and energy with him.

Solitude thudded down. And she’d thought she was depressed before.

How strange it felt to pull on her wrinkled clothes. They smelled unfamiliar somehow, as if they belonged in someone else’s
life.
But this was the only life she had. She was stuck with it.

It hardly mattered if he learned her address. She was leaving Seattle as soon as she made contact with Bea. After that, time to pack and run. Ponytail was probably still looking for her, but she had to risk going home. If she didn’t get her stuff, she’d have to buy it all again. Nothing like stark poverty to make a person loathe waste.

Dressed, with her damp hair braided back, she walked through his house, admiring the lofty vaulted spaces and huge windows. The lake glowed, a dissolving mist wafting over the water. There were no lights in the kitchen except for a subtle line of illumination under the edge of a counter.

Noah took a mug from the cupboard. “How do you take your coffee?”

“With cream if you have it.”

“I do.” Moments later, she was sipping an aromatic French roast lightened with a generous slosh of cream.

“You should eat something,” he said, his voice disapproving. “You burned a lot of energy last night. Let me make you some eggs and toast.”

Caro set down her unfinished coffee. “No. But thank you. I really do have to go.”

He turned his back, as if he didn’t trust himself to speak.

She pulled her coat out of the closet in the foyer, and dug into the duffel for the bag with her disguise. Noah saw her.

“Shit,” he said, dismayed. “Don’t put that stuff on your face. Please.”

“I have to,” she told him.

“It’s not even dawn yet. And it’s like spray-painting graffiti on Botticelli’s Venus.”

She couldn’t help smiling. “That’s sweet, Noah, but—”

“No one will see you. You’ll be wearing a hat. In a car with tinted windows.” He waited, and prompted, “Please, Caro. Just say yes.”

“I’ve been doing that since I met you,” she said. “It has to stop.”

“You mean I have to stop. I will. When your door clicks shut, I really will.”

She set the duffel on the table, and packed the street disguise pieces carefully back into it. “Let’s hope so,” she murmured.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. Wait. Before you go, there’s something I want to show you. Come into the dining room.”

She set down her coffee and did as he asked. Moments later, he came in holding what looked like a large painting, swathed in fabric.

He unwrapped it carefully, and placed it upright on the sideboard, angling a gooseneck lamp to illuminate it. “This is the real Delaunay.”

Caro moved closer, startled and moved. The spare lines of the portrait and the depths of the layers of color that permeated them opened her inner eye. The unusual painting became a threshold, a connection across time and space that she could actually feel, like a buzzing hum inside her head.

That hum had been lacking when she saw the reproduction, though all of the techniques used to create the painting had been carefully reproduced. The real magic happened on a subconscious level. An original was like a portal into another time and place, another person’s vision.

Or, in the case of a fake, it wasn’t. A fake just sat there. Competently done, but inert.

“Beautiful,” she said.

“I thought you’d like it,” he said.

She moved toward it. “May I?”

“Of course,” he said.

She picked it up, letting the images resonate inside her. The colors glowed jewel bright even in the darkened room.

Something on the edge of the frame fell into her hand. A locator tag of some sort. Small but definitely high tech. Undoubtedly hidden there to track the Delauney if it got stolen.

She set the painting down, and held the tiny device out. “Your tile came loose.”

He pocketed it with a nod of thanks, then walked over to the side of the living room where his art was displayed and stood for a moment looking at the shelf of his
carvings. He returned to her with
an object in his hand. “This is for you.”

She took it, gazing down at a small carving of a wolf. The animal looked watchful and wary, but the carving captured its toughness and wiry resilience. And its inherent nobility.

“I figured you’d prefer something small,” he said. “If you need to travel.”

She almost refused it. Then she looked up, and something in his eyes made the words stop in her throat.

“Thank you,” she said, after a moment. “It’s beautiful.”

Noah didn’t reply.

She put the wolf carving in her pocket, and forced herself to step away from him. “I should go now, Noah.”

Noah rewrapped the painting, and carried it away without speaking
.

Once out the door, he grabbed her hand for the walk to his car. Her hand was happy to be held. His grip was warm and strong, imbued with all the power of his personality. No clamminess, no clutching, no ick factor. Just tingling closeness.

And a sharp longing for what might have been. If her life had been her own.

Their only communication on the drive were the directions she gave him. She sensed his disapproval as they passed the strip clubs, boarded-up houses. She didn’t have many options in terms of housing. She was limited to landlords who didn’t ask about employment history or credit rating. Or require believable ID.