Black Aura (9 page)

He cupped those glorious breasts and realized she overflowed his hands. He took a deep breath.

“Uhhh…”

“That long, huh?”

“Umm. No. Several months, but not…”

He slipped his fingers just beneath the edges of lace and traced back and forth across the globes of breasts he couldn’t wait to see.

“So you think I’ll be great in bed.” He licked the rim of her ear and she shuddered.

“God, I hope so.”

Her mouth found his, her fingers lost in his hair as she deepened the kiss.

“Personally,” he whispered between kisses and nibbles, “I’m pretty damned sure we’re going to kill each other once we get to that point.”

She shifted so that she fit more snugly against him and, God, if he couldn’t feel the heat of her through his jeans. He wanted her now.

“At least we’ll die happy.” She rocked against him and he growled as he kissed her deeper, his hands pushing her bra up so that he could feel…

“I want to see you,” he said, shoving her sweater up.

She leaned back, letting him push the hem up. Just as he glimpsed the undersides of her glorious breasts someone knocked on the door.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

She jerked her sweater down.

He growled. “Tell whoever the hell it is to go away.”

She raised a brow and wiggled again, rubbing against the biggest hard-on he could remember having in a long damn time.

“Should I?”

Thump. Thump. Thump. “Lake?”

Alyssa. Shit.

Lake scrambled off his lap and he realized he’d better just stay sitting down. Taking a deep breath, he smiled as she yelled, “Just a sec!” She pulled her bra back into place and gave him a lopsided grin. “Someone said something about suspense, right?”

“Suspense?” He stared at her. “Maybe I’m reevaluating that.”

She laughed and walked to the door.

“We’re good, right?” he asked her.

She grinned at him over her shoulder and all he wanted to do was kiss the woman senseless again.

What the hell was his daughter doing here?

Sighing, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back, listening as Alyssa’s voice drifted through the room.

“Sorry, I had to see you to ask a question about—” She dropped off. Her boot heels clicked across the wooden floor. “Dad’s here. And umm… Damn. Sorry. I’ll just come back later and—”

“Nonsense.” Lake’s voice sounded amused. “Come on in. We were just trying to decide what we wanted for dinner. Any suggestions?”

“Nah. I’m not hungry and—”

“Rule number one is to stay healthy. If you’re healthy, you can control your gift better and if you’re not, it’s more liable to control you. So you’re eating with us. End of discussion. And since I can’t cook, I’m wondering where we should go to eat.”

He could fix dinner.

“Italian. Something Italian sounds really, really good,” Alyssa walked into the living room and said, “Sorry, Dad.”

“For what?” He patted the sofa beside him. Alyssa’s face was red, something he rarely saw. He’d embarrassed his daughter? Life was good.

“Oh, nothing. So you’re paying, right?”

“No,” Lake said from behind her, “I am.”

“No,” Max said, standing up. “I am.”

“And the fun begins,” Alyssa muttered.

Fun.

“Oh!” Lake said, poking Alyssa in the shoulder. “This is going to be a blast. You know what? We can practice.”

Alyssa’s brow rose, complete with an eyebrow stud that twinkled blue in the lights. “Practice?”

Lake’s laughter floated through the air and caressed him like it shouldn’t since his daughter was in the room, but damned if he wasn’t turned on anyway. “Practice what exactly?”

Then Alyssa laughed. “You know, you’re right. I’ve never had anyone I could share this all with. I can. We can.”

“We can see which auras are brighter.”

He shook his head, already worrying about dinner ahead. “Exactly what are you two talking about?”

They looked at each other and grinned. “Nothing.” They both answered him in all-too-cheery voices.

“Uh-huh.” He stood up, found his coat and pulled it on as Lake shrugged into her dark coat as well. “You two play nice.”

“Nice is boring, Dad.”

His eyes met Lake’s and he had the same thought, then shook it off as he realized who said it.

“Nice is nice, thank you very much. And since you’re my daughter, nice you will remain.”

She only snorted and then said to Lake, “He’s hopeless isn’t he?”

“Pretty much, but I still have hope for him.”

Chapter Nine

He leaned in closer to her, sniffing the light scent of her skin. Candy and coffee. Teenage girls always smelled the same to him, no matter what perfume they wore or shampoo they used, or what they decided to eat or drink. Innocence. It was the scent of innocence and he reveled in it, sweet as candy and just as alluring. Desire thrummed through him, hot and thick, but damned if he could do anything about it.

She whimpered behind the gag he’d been forced to use on her. A cute little scarf she’d had on, in a rainbow of colors. Now the rainbow bit into the sides of her face, her cheeks, her pale hair.

The late evening light didn’t reach far here, deep in the canyon. He wasn’t far from the resort, but this time of year, people came and went so often, no one paid attention.

Did he care if they found her?

Her eyes, wide and terrified, locked on him, like an oil painting that had hung in his childhood home. He hated eyes that followed, eyes that stared.

The bright blue eyes, which had laughed and questioned earlier, were no longer laughing. Eyes told stories. In hers, he wanted to smile at the fear, at the knowledge he could see in the depths. Questions. Knowledge. Fear. Pleading. So many emotions, and all he could read in her eyes.

“Shhh…” He lightly licked the edge of her jaw. “You’re a special, special girl. Did you know that?”

Her eyes squeezed shut. He ran his hand over her chest, now bare of the sweater she’d been wearing earlier. He’d cut the blue garment off as soon as he’d gotten her in the back of the minivan. And it had been so easy. He
loved
spring break, hell any holiday weekend. There were so many to choose from at those times. The hunting was so
easy.
This girl had been here for a last ski vacation. Just a quick trip into town, taking the day off from skiing with her friends. Out all alone. Stupid, stupid.

“You should have stayed with your friends. Didn’t anyone ever tell you there’s safety in numbers?” He guessed not. “But then, you were sent to me,” he whispered.

He’d known the moment he saw her. Her aura, bright and yellow, had shimmered, reminding him of summer, of things to come, of hope. Her laughter had danced in the air and he knew. Just knew.

The need in him arose until he’d had to listen, to appease. To gain more energy. This one he’d had to have now. Had to take now.

Her feet were bound, as were her hands. He’d laid the seats flat earlier in the day, and wasn’t it handy that he had? A sign. A part of him had known, had known what was to come. His powers were coming back after all. He smiled at the thought and wished they would come back even quicker. He ran his hand over her trembling bicep. He loved his presents bound. There was just something…arousing and besides it was so much easier this way, he’d learned. So much easier to do with them as he would. Pose them so he could see.

But he was losing the light.

Pain sliced through his skull, hot as a searing knife. He bit down and took a deep breath.

She moaned again behind her gag and he again leaned down over her. “You’re so pretty. I knew the moment I saw you, special one, that you were for me.” He kissed her soft pale brow, felt her shudder. “You are special. Think of that. And know that what you have, I will always, always cherish.”

He sat up, pulled her up into a half-sitting position, but still straddled her legs. It would hardly do for her to get some traction, would it? Not that it mattered, they were lying on plastic. Not that he planned to shed her blood, he wasn’t a violent person after all. But still, he didn’t want any messes.

He cupped her face, tilted it one way, then the other. “So pretty.”

He jerked the gag down and kissed her, kissed her hard, as he gripped her neck and squeezed. Squeezed through the gasp that sucked air from his own lungs.

He loved this part. This
rush
.

The transfer…

She thrashed her head, but he was expecting that and kept his mouth tight over hers. Her body bucked and twisted. But half reclining, she was neither sitting up enough to fight him nor lying down enough to twist away.

Twist and fight she did. Her arms trembled. Her legs kicked, or would have if he hadn’t been sitting on them. He tightened his hold on her, squeezed even harder, the soft muscles of her neck, the tendons, giving beneath his hands. Then her larynx snapped beneath the pressure.

She was a fighter.

Blood rushed through his veins, hot and fast, faster and faster, pounding against the inside of his skull. Or maybe it was her blood, her life force fighting, beating, screaming to be heard.

The power exploded in him. Her body surrendered a final jerk and tremble. He breathed deep, carefully relaxing his hold on her.

Her eyes stared up at the ceiling, the whites tinged pink, from lack of oxygen.

He sat back, sighing. “So pretty,” he said yet again, caressing her face, her torso. Her pink polka-dotted bra cupped her young breasts. Too bad he couldn’t get it up anymore. He would have loved to fuck her. Fuck her just as she took that last breath, as she gave up her essence. There was absolutely nothing, nothing in the world to match that moment of being buried deep inside a young woman just as she died and gave him her essence.

He shuddered at the thought.

Instead, he leaned over and kissed her one last time. “Thank you, special one.”

Then, riding on the euphoria, he worked quickly, wrapping her in the plastic that lined the back of the van. Satisfied, he opened the side door. He had to stop what he was doing twice as cars, driving too fast on the road already slick with ice, curved into view. The tall, thick trees at least shadowed him partially. When it was clear, he tossed her shell away into the frozen ravine below. Between tonight’s snowfall, the deep drifts already below, and the temps, she might never be found.

Elation zinged through him as he drove back down the mountain. The end was coming. He knew it. This one already left him feeling so, so strong.

Soon, he’d have the prize and then perhaps he could stop.

No, you won’t
.

At least he could stop for a while.

He smiled, the kiss, the kill, her essence fresh on his mind.

Chapter Ten

“Don’t move,” Max said yet again.

Lake sighed. “You know, this modeling gig was supposed to be fun.” She stared up at the
latilla
ceiling like he wanted her to as the cool air whispered over her bare breasts. The antique fainting couch thing—probably had a very proper name, but damned if she knew it—was lumpy and uncomfortable as hell. A spring must be broken or something, she could swear it was poking her in the ass.

Max of course said nothing. She thought again of yesterday and how close they’d come to actually coming together, but hadn’t. Which was probably a good thing, actually. Yes, it was, she knew it was, and yet…

And yet…

After that kiss, she wondered why the hell she had honest to God thought it would be better to wait, at least with Max. Well, she knew why, but it hardly mattered now, did it?

Anticipation and all that?

She almost rolled her eyes.

God the man was built. She knew what he tasted like, how he smelled just there where his neck met the rest of him. She’d followed that line with her tongue.

“Quit looking at me like that.” He narrowed his eyes.

“Like what?” She grinned and batted her eyes at him.

“You’re ruining my work.”

“Can I see it?”

“No,” he snapped and jabbed his brush into another glob of paint before slashing this way and that across the canvas.

What was he making a portrait of? Her? Her breasts? She was completely nude. The only time she’d ever been completely nude with a man, they had been doing something that wasn’t art. Then again, she thought with a smile, maybe it had been. Though she wasn’t completely bare. But gold gossamer strategically wrapped across the fronts of her breasts and down over her waist hardly counted as clothing in her opinion. Not when you could see through it. Transparent was the key word. Gossamer didn’t keep out the cold or the wind.

An intent frown creased his brow as he narrowed his eyes even more, his jaw jutting out.

“You’re sexy,” she murmured.

“Dammit.” His gray eyes flashed at her. “You know, I don’t have a hell of a lot of time to paint, so when I do, I want to get done what I need to. My one day off and…”

She tried not to grin at the pissy artist emerging. “The muse and all that. Okay, I promise to try and be good.”

He snorted, dipped his brush and started again. She refrained from asking how much longer, but honestly it was hard. She thought this would be fun, sexy, flirty. Here she was sexy and he was pissed she wouldn’t be still so he could paint her. There was a boost to the ego. Not going there.

“Artists are strange sorts,” she said.

He ignored her.

She sighed and tried to think of mundane things, but that just made her bored. Giving up, she focused on him and how intent he was, how focused on whatever it was he was painting.

His set, shadowed jaw flexed as though he was frustrated. Normally neat hair was slightly disarrayed from him running his fingers through it. The sleeveless denim shirt he wore was paint-splattered and obviously used for this very reason. Another side to him, how he worked, created.

She wanted him.

Mundane thoughts. Think of taxes. Inventory at the store.

Needing a distraction, she asked, “What is this called?”

“What?” he snapped.

“This couch thing, what is it called? Is it a fainting couch or—”

“Chaise.” He cursed and she decided to be quiet. He was damned cute when he was aggravated.

Music softly played on the stereo. Something she’d never heard before but it was soothing, yet not. Low strummed guitars with a slight salsa flavor. Sexy music. There was no way she could look at him and not think what he didn’t want her thinking. He was a great kisser…

Shaking her head, she closed her eyes and relaxed, breathed deep the scent of pine that always clung to Taos and now mixed with the stringent smell of turpentine and oil paints.

Slowly, she started to relax her muscles. She’d been tenser than she’d realized. Can’t imagine why. Might have something to do with stress. Or unrelieved stress. Gee, could it be?

No, think nice thoughts. Easy thoughts. This room, the soft play of light across her body, the cool breeze that swished the silk hangings behind her.

Still he muttered, not loud enough that she could hear the words, but enough to know he was muttering. She wondered if he was as frustrated as she was.

Probably.

“You’re doing it again,” he whispered, his voice low and caressing.

“Doing what?” she asked, not opening her eyes.

“You know.”

“Nope. No idea. Haven’t a clue what the hell you’re talking about.”

Again he muttered, but she let herself relax and draw on that inner strength she’d questioned for so long, but knew in some part of her that she’d need soon. She’d need more than she’d ever needed anything before.

She’d been powerful once. Power could never be truly lost.

But she’d let someone strip her of that power.

She’d all but handed it over. Granted, she’d had years of self-doubt from her past to help it along, but she knew as well as anyone that only she could hand over her power. And she had.

She wanted it back, back like she used to have it, flowing through her.

Back so that she could look at someone and read them if she wanted to. Know if they were good or bad. If they were damaged or needed help. If they were healers or searching for healing themselves.

That
she wanted back.

She imagined that power buried deep within her. Deep within her soul, locked away and protected. Maybe she hadn’t exactly handed it over, but put it away. Something inside her clicked. Not given away, just
hidden
. Hiding from the bad people who could be out there. Who might be out there. She didn’t want that. Didn’t want them.

She wanted herself.

She found her.

A low lavender flame, edged in orange. That was
hers
. That was who she was. Focusing, she reached in and cupped the flame, imagined herself holding that precious gift, and blew slightly on it. As she nursed it, the flame grew, and grew, bursting out sparks so that she could see them fluming up to burst outwards, filling every corner of her soul, every fiber of her being.

The warmth flowed as her energy tingled through her system, renewing her, rejuvenating her sense of confidence. Her sense of self. Her sense of
power
.

Herself.

Lake gasped and opened her eyes.

“What the hell just happened?” Max asked, standing away from his easel, with a confused look on his face.

She blinked. “Umm…I don’t know. Did I say something?”

His eyebrows rose. “No. No you didn’t say anything, you almost looked like you weren’t even breathing, then you sort of flushed and gasped.” He ran his tongue around his teeth. “Fantasizing about me?”

She only grinned and shook her head.

“No?” He tapped his brush against the side of his thigh. “Really?”

A chuckle worked its way out. “Really. I promise.”

She let it go at that as he went back to work on his painting.

But his aura…

God, before she thought she could feel it, but now?

Chills danced over her skin, flushed away by heat.

Where were her shields? Had she lost them?

Fear edged its way in, but she shoved it aside. This was different. She’d focus and she was focused on him. No wonder he was so clear. He was so clear she could see every color that shimmered and bled together. She could all but feel the waves of passion that swirled through the air only to be tempered with the cooler colors of logic, of reason. So analytical.

He glanced up and met her stare.

In his eyes was no malice. No evil. No anything but heat, passion, promise.

She licked her lips.

“You’re doing that on purpose. Dammit.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him, intent on telling him she wasn’t doing anything other than reading his aura, but what came out was, “I’m scared.”

He frowned. “What? Why? Of what?”

Lake sighed. How to explain this to him? “Never mind. I was just finding my inner strength. Sorry if that screwed your muse.”

He studied her for a long moment, not moving, hardly even breathing. But his aura pulsed and tempted hers, reaching deep inside her to tickle within her belly. She shivered. Finally, one corner of his mouth edged up.

“Fine.” With that, he picked up something that reminded her of paint sets.

Uh-oh.

“Uh…what are you…”

His eyes locked on her, moments ticking by, tension tightening her muscles. What was he thinking?

“You know me. There’s nothing to be scared of.” He still hadn’t moved.

Maybe. Then again, maybe not.

Passion and desire thrummed off him in red and orange waves, purple swirling through them.

“You lost your chance in all this. All you had to do was be good and be still.” He turned and sure enough it was a finger paint set. Finger paint? Next, he slowly poured a goblet of water.

She nibbled her lips, as something heated in her belly and it had nothing to do with her power.

He set the paints and the goblet of water beside her. His eyes narrowed as he unbuttoned the paint-splattered shirt.

She knew he was built because she’d watched him for months, felt his muscles as they’d rippled beneath her fingers last night.

But this?

Her breath caught.

Max might have a few gray hairs, but his body was one any woman between the ages of twelve and eighty-two would want.

He wasn’t a bodybuilder by any means. No. The fact he kept in shape through various sports was clear in his muscular arms, the long torso with a well defined six pack. Trimmed, toned and so damn sexy her mouth watered just looking at him.

The man shouldn’t be in better shape than she was.

Dark hair veed across his chest to trail down to the waist of his paint-speckled, ratty old jeans. She wanted to unbutton that fly and…

“Nuh-uh. Eyes on me,” he said, his voice rough.

“Oh, they are.” She licked her lips. “Believe me.” She raised her gaze to his.

He gently cupped the side of her face in his hand. “No fear.”

She sighed. “Fear is always waiting.”

“No fear here, not between us.” His thumb brushed back and forth between her chin and ear. “You want this.”

How did he do that? “You can read me way too easily.”

She ran her hand over his chest, watching the way her light-skinned hand contrasted against his tanned muscles.

His dark chuckle caressed her. “I take it you like?”

She shifted and tucked her legs up under her, wrapping the useless gold gossamer around her. Might as well have been mosquito net. “How come you get to stay dressed and I don’t?”

“It’s better this way.” His wicked grin tugged at her insides.

“Uh-huh.”

Max sat beside her and dipped a finger in the goblet of water. She watched him. She couldn’t
not
watch him.

That one-sided smile pulled at her gut. He glanced down and twirled the wet digit in dark purple paint.

Purple?

She leaned back as he moved towards her. “What are you doing?” She hadn’t meant to whisper, but she did.

“Painting,” he whispered back, coming even closer to kiss the tip of her nose. “Now close your eyes.”

Instead she cocked an eyebrow at him.

“I’ve lots of scarves if you don’t close them,” he whispered, kissing her softly, then more insistently.

He moved to her neck.

“Scarves?” she asked.

“Blindfolds.”

“I don’t like—”

“Trust me,” he whispered against her skin.

She opened her eyes and cupped his face in her hands. His stormy gray eyes held her stare. “I don’t even know how to trust myself,” she confessed.

The cool feel of his finger grazed up her arm. “Yes you do. You just need reminding. Now close your eyes.”

For another minute, she looked into his eyes, searching, wondering and finally, conceding. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes.

“Now relax.” His breath warmed the skin against the side of her neck before the heat of his mouth seared her. “And keep those gorgeous green eyes closed or I’ll have to find my scarves.” He licked her lips. “I think I have a purple one around here somewhere.” He nipped her lips and she met his kiss. “No green. You need a green blindfold. It’ll go great with your coloring.”

He was talking about colors?

Strong fingers on her shoulders gently pushed her until she leaned against the back of the weird lounge-couch—chaise. He said it was a chaise.

Colors and furniture and—Oh God.

Cool wetness trailed from her shoulder, down over her chest to swirl around her breasts.

“What—” she started.

“Shhh.” His mouth slanted insistently over hers, nibbling and nipping until she gave in.

She felt his smile against her mouth as he deepened the kiss. He tasted of coffee and cinnamon. The thick scent of oil paint and turpentine mixed with the spicy flavor that was all Max.

His fingers kept teasing, kept trailing cool wet paint over her skin. When he finally grazed across one nipple, she arched up and wrapped her arm around his neck. She bit his lip, sucking it deep then releasing it as he moved away.

One thigh moved between hers and again he patterned paint across her chest and stomach.

Without thinking, she opened her eyes and met his gray stare. His smile, slightly amused, reminded her of a tiger that just realized his prey had fallen right into his lap.

Reaching behind her, he pulled out a long green strip of silk. He kept his gaze on hers as he leaned close again and pulled out another silk piece, this one purple. “You choose.”

Her stomach flopped. “Oh, no. I promise I’ll keep them…”’

“Nope. You had your chance. No peeking. Keep them closed, I warned. You didn’t listen, my Viking, now you have to pay the price.” His deep voice rubbed across her nerves, teasing.

She blinked and, in that instant, she saw her own flame of power grow, felt the heat of it within her chest.

He breathed deep.

Reaching up, she grabbed the green. “This one.”