Born to Darkness (33 page)

“That wasn’t small talk,” he countered. “That was—and is—me, genuinely interested in finding out where you come from.”

And Mac knew that. She could feel it, along with his equally sincere desire that she’d no doubt re-sparked when she’d suggested she go up to his room with him.

That
had been stupid of her. Her effect on him was never going to wear off if she kept using it to try to manipulate him. Of course, maybe that was what her deviously selfish subconscious wanted.

“Juvie,” she told him flatly. “I was in solitary detention, for fighting, and one day the door finally opened, I was taken down the hall to one of the counseling rooms, and Dr. Bach was standing there.”

It had been just like that hokey old saying—the first day of the rest of her life. But no way was she telling Shane that, not when there were still days she couldn’t quite believe it herself.

“I was fifteen,” Mac continued. “And I was in for manslaughter. I figure those are the questions you’re going to ask next. His name was Tyler Cooper. The dead kid. He and one of his dick-head friends—Tim, who also happened to be my own loving stepbrother—roofied me. My metabolism has always been fast, and the drug went through my system more quickly than they expected. I woke up to find myself naked, with the pair of them fighting over who was gonna go first—with the gangbang—which wasn’t okay with me. In that moment of disoriented panic, I discovered my previously undocumented telekinesis. The dickheads went flying and Ty, unfortunately, landed wrong and snapped his neck. His parents were rich, their lawyer was stellar, and I make a lousy victim, even dressed in a skirt and button-down white cardigan. There was no trace of the drug in my system, and I apparently hadn’t been raped yet. Not that night, anyway. That plus Tim testified against me with some pretty damning video evidence that somehow managed to prove I was a slut, so … I was found guilty and got locked up.”

Shane was silent.

Good. She was trying to shut him up.

But then he said, “You should let me drive. Before we pull into the hospital parking lot. In case there are cameras—and there will be. There are cameras everywhere these days. Why don’t you stop up here at the Pharma-City. I’ll drive, and you can … Do whatever you did to look like a kid, so that’s not caught on video, either.”

It was a good idea, but Mac didn’t say a word. She just signaled to turn right, and went into the drugstore parking lot, pulling into a slot away from the doors.

It wasn’t until they were both getting out to switch seats, that
she asked over the top of the car, “You
do
have a valid driver’s license?”

He laughed a little. “Yeah, they don’t take that away when you’re blacklisted, although they probably wish they could, right?”

They both went around the front of the little car, with Shane still smiling at her, which was almost as disconcerting as him not questioning her further about Ty and Tim and the horribleness of her home life that had resulted in her becoming a ward of Dr. Joseph Bach.

It was unbelievably refreshing that he hadn’t pressed. He hadn’t recoiled in horror, either, or even offered words of sympathy—or worse, pity.

And it wasn’t until they got back in, seatbelts fastened, that he spoke. “I’m not afraid of you,” he said matter-of-factly, as he adjusted the rearview window. “I know you think that you’re some kind of … What’s the word you used? Badass. And me, I’m a Boy Scout. You’ve made that pretty damn clear. But—aside from always being prepared—I don’t scare easily.” He met her gaze steadily. “And I’m actually kind of insulted that you think you could tell me what you just told me, and then believe I’d judge
you
harshly.”

“Most people do.”

“I’m not most people,” he told her quietly. “It sucks that it happened to you. And I suspect there’s more to it—that it was way worse than what you told me. I couldn’t help but notice how you intentionally didn’t mention your parents—”

“My father and his wife believed Tim’s story. That I seduced him and Ty.”

“And your mother?” Shane asked.

“Dead,” Mac told him. “Just drive,” she added, and turned herself into a thirteen-year-old, even as she looked back at him.

“Don’t like to talk about her, huh? Fair enough,” Shane said. “But damn, that
is
freaky.” He finally looked away from her to put the car into gear and back out of the parking spot. “And stop it. I felt you ramp up the sex appeal voodoo, or whatever it is, just to
prove … Well, I don’t know what you want to prove, because I know that you’ve been at OI for twelve years, which makes you … twenty-seven, which is well above the age of consent, regardless of what you look like. Besides, it’s still you in there that I’m attracted to. It’s your brain, your mind. Your heart and soul.”

“So what are you saying?” Mac mocked him, as they pulled back out onto the street. “That after one night of good sex, you actually think you
love
me?”

As soon as the word left her lips, she knew it was a mistake to use it. But as soon as she did, she knew why.

She wanted to remind herself that despite the sensitivity Shane had shown in talking about her fucked-up childhood, that as nice and as smart and as funny as he was, his intense attraction to her wasn’t all that different from Ty’s and from Tim’s. Or from her own freaking father’s.

But Shane didn’t take her bait and profess his undying love. Instead, he glanced at her again. “
Great
sex, not merely good.”

“
That’s
what you quibble about?” she asked, as he signaled to go right, following the faded blue H-for-hospital sign. “Out of everything I just said …?”

“It
was
great,” he insisted. “And love? Well, it’s hard to define, isn’t it? And it’s certainly subjective, so … I
can
tell you this: I was engaged once, and that wasn’t a relationship I entered into casually. But I never wanted Ashley even remotely close to the way I want you. And I’m not just talking about sex. I want to get inside your head, too.”

Close enough for jazz. “Hello,” Mac said. “Crazy-talk alert. Are you listening to yourself? Can you hear what you’re saying?”

“Yeah,” he countered, “but I’m not sure
you
can. What’s the harm in seeing where this thing goes, in taking the time to explore—”

“The
harm
,” she shot back, “is that it’s
not real
. Everything you’re feeling—you only
think
you’re feeling it. Laughlin. Seriously. Engage your big brain here. People don’t fall in love with a stranger they pick up in a bar, after a single night of hot sex. And
when they hear the words
found guilty of manslaughter
, they back away. They don’t talk about
exploring—
”

“
Hot
, I’ll agree with.”

“My point,” Mac stressed, “is that anything that you think you feel about my
brain, my mind, my heart and my soul
”—she threw his own words back at him—“is purely a result of my
voodoo
. Exactly like that chubby I just gave you.”

Shane smiled at that, even as he kept his eyes carefully on the road, following the signs to the emergency room. “Wood,” he said. “I prefer the euphemism
wood
. And it
is
interesting how quickly you can make that happen. Is it everyone in the room who’s affected—is it a proximity thing?” He pointed out the windshield toward an old man on the sidewalk. “Is he experiencing a sudden physiological reaction—which could be disappointing if he’s been suffering from erectile dysfunction. He’s probably calling his wife right now.
Mildred, quick, put on that negligee, I’m on my way home! I’ve finally gotten it up!
But then whoops, we’re out of range, and he’s like,
Oh. Damn. Never mind
.”

Mac laughed despite herself as Shane turned up the driveway, and into a circular drop-off in front of the clearly marked ER doors. But this was good. Maybe the scientific details would make him understand.

“It depends on how sensitive he is. It’s aimed, when I actively do it,” she admitted as he braked to a stop. “But there’s definitely overflow. And some people are more susceptible than others. I mean, when I walked into that bar, I must’ve had it turned on, at least a little bit, even though I didn’t really know it. But you picked up on it. There’re definitely degrees. I can ramp it way up, or dial it down. I can shut it off, entirely. Like right now. It’s off.”

“And yet its aftereffect lingers on,” he murmured.

“But that’s okay, because you’re all about
exploring
where this
thing
is going to go,” she mocked him again. It was that or start crying. She unlocked the car door. “I’m going in while you park. The story is I was climbing a tree in the backyard and I fell. I hit the back of my head and knocked myself out—very briefly. I say
I’m fine, but you’re freaked. My mother’s at work, you insisted on bringing me here for a med scan, so I’m pissed at you.” She got out. “The car’s equipped with theft-proof tracking devices, by the way.”

Shane leaned over to look at her through the open door. “I’m not going to steal your car.”

“Yeah,” she said, “because it’s got theft-proof—”

“That’s not why,” he said. “I’ll be right behind you.”

“Whatever,” Mac said as she slammed the door with the proper amount of thirteen-year-old disdain to make the security guard glance over at her and then dismiss her immediately.

She turned away from the car and tromped toward the hospital, aware that Shane was watching her—she could feel his eyes on her back, along with his concern and his fucking un-real affection.

It was nearly as palpable a sensation as his still-lingering desire.

It was hard—now that the passion was spent, now Elliot was lying there in this bed that he’d been in so many times in his literally wildest dreams—to keep his mind from racing.

Specifically, it was hard not to think about his ex-husband Mark.

He’d cheated on Elliot—Mark had. More than once.

How often? Elliot didn’t know, didn’t want to know. It hurt him to know, even all these years later.

“I didn’t realize that,” Stephen murmured, there beside him in that big bed.

And Elliot knew—because they were still touching, still connected, with his back spooned against Stephen’s broad chest, Stephen’s enormous arms around him, his presence heavy and so beautifully warm in Elliot’s mind—that the Greater-Than hadn’t heard any of the details of the divorce when it had happened.

At the time, Elliot had hidden behind wiping his glasses as he’d muttered something about Mark finding another job down in Atlanta, and Stephen hadn’t pressed. He
had
, however, been simultaneously
dismayed and elated at the fact that Elliot was coming to live, full-time, at OI. Two doors down from him in the barracks, on the very same floor …

How many times in the past three years had Stephen walked past Elliot’s door and been tempted to stop, to knock …?

For a struggling celibate, a happily married man had been the perfect love interest. Stephen had worshipped Elliot from afar, knowing that his own strict code of honor would never allow either of them to get any closer, but then—

“Worshipped?” Elliot said, shifting onto his back, turning to face Stephen.

Stephen smiled back at him, his green eyes lit with amusement.
It’s kind of crazy, isn’t it? I start out following your thoughts, and suddenly we’re inside of
my
head. But, man, he hurt you badly, didn’t he?
He leaned forward and kissed Elliot.
I would never hurt you like that
.

Elliot closed his eyes, losing himself in the softness of this incredible man’s mouth, except, shit, that was exactly what Mark had promised, too and—

I AM NOT MARK
.

Holy crap. Elliot pulled back, far enough away from Stephen to break their connection. “
That
was adamant.”

Stephen looked as surprised as Elliot felt as he, too, sat up. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m just … I’m
not
Mark. I won’t lie to you.”

“You kind of can’t,” Elliot pointed out. Every time they touched … So much for keeping secrets.

Stephen’s eyes were now somber in his almost too-handsome face. He ran a hand through his dark hair. “It makes it twice as frustrating that you don’t believe me.”

“People change over time,” Elliot tried to explain. “Or, you know, maybe they
think
they know you, and … It’s only later that they find out they’re in love with some fantasy version of you that you can’t possibly live up to.”

Stephen smiled at that. “I know you think I don’t, but I
do
know you,” he said.

“Oh, yeah? Quick, what’s my favorite color?”

“Blue.”

“Okay,” Elliot said, “so maybe you read my mind while we were, you know …”

“Making love?” Stephen finished for him. He laughed. “First time in fifteen years and I figure,
yeah, I’m just not that into this. Maybe I’ll surf around Elliot’s head and find something more entertaining to distract me. I know, let’s find out his favorite color. Oh look, it’s blue
.”

Elliot had to laugh, too—it was hard not to. Stephen’s amusement was just so contagious. “Okay, you win that argument, but … I don’t know yours. Your favorite color. I don’t know—”