Dangerous Lover (18 page)

And she heard him mutter something that sounded like, “I must be out of my freakin' mind.”

She thought she must be out of hers, as well. Or would be, by morning, if she had to spend the entire night in this cozy place with him and not touch him. Not even kiss him. Goddess, this was clearly set up as a love nest. A romantic getaway. A place designed for intimacy, privacy and comfort.

Maybe she should just sleep in the back of Kara's station wagon and call it good.

 

At least they'd brought some sleeping bags.

Cory had tried every position in his sack on the floor, but none made sleep any easier. He wasn't uncomfortable, oddly enough. In fact, he had the feeling he'd spent a lot of nights in a lot of sleeping bags. No, it wasn't his bed on the floor keeping him awake. It was her.

He wanted her. No matter how hard he tried to sleep, all he could see when he closed his eyes was her face, the way it had looked the night before, when she'd been on top of him screwing him senseless. It had been good. More than good. It had been phenomenal. And he wanted more. It was killing him how badly he wanted her.

But he was doing the right thing. She didn't just want sex, she wanted hearts and flowers, and that just wasn't his thing. He might not have his memory back, but he knew that much. There was no doubt. It made him want to cut and run for his life when she started talking about destiny and soul mates and fate.

He'd stopped tossing and turning a while ago.

She hadn't. She wanted it, too, but for all the wrong reasons. And all her reassurances about just taking it one day at a time and seeing what developed, didn't ring true. She wanted forever.

He wanted no part of forever.

He estimated he'd been lying there, aching for her and fighting off fantasies about what would happen if he got up and went over to the bed, for about two hours, when she got up.

His heart sped up, because his first thought was that she was coming to him, instead. She was going to shimmy into this sleeping bag with him and—

But no. She wasn't coming toward him. Even in the room's pitch darkness, he could see that. She tiptoed across the room to where her backpack rested, picked it up, and then headed for the door. It took her several seconds to open it, and he knew she was trying to be quiet, trying not to wake him. She was sneaking out.

What the hell was she up to?

It crossed his mind that he didn't suspect her of being up to anything underhanded. His notion that she'd had anything to do with knifing him or with the man who had, had evaporated a while ago. But he was worried about her. He got out of his sleeping bag, pulled on his jeans, and walked quietly to the door, then peered through it. She didn't go toward the car. Instead she walked around behind their cabin. What the hell?

He opened the door, and as silently as he could, he followed her. Five steps later, he wished to God he'd thought to put on his shoes, as he stepped on one pebble after another. Walking as if over hot coals, he kept going behind the cabin. It was easier to see her outside than it had been in the cabin. The moon was lopsided, but big, and bright in a clear, starry sky. It was warm. Even the breeze, what little there was, was warm.

He crept where she led—down a small hill, over a path that wound through trees. She couldn't possibly know where she was going, could she? She hadn't told him she'd ever been here before.

No, he didn't think she did know. She stopped a couple of times, looked around, then moved on as if not finding what she was looking for. Whatever the hell that was.

Finally, the third time she stopped, she nodded, and veered off the path into a small clearing. It was only a few yards in diameter, sprouting stiff, dry grasses and weeds. But it seemed to be what she wanted. She moved into it, and he found a stump, concealed by the trees around her, and sat down to watch.

Was she meeting someone here? Her friend had never phoned. He'd half expected to find that she was sneaking into that campground to find the elusive Erica—Starshadow, he thought with a shake of his head—herself.

But no, that wasn't it. And she wasn't meeting anyone, either. He realized that as she began tugging items from her backpack. A tiny vial. A paper packet. An incense stick. Four candles. She set them in the four corners of the little clearing, lit them one by one. Then she lit the incense from one of them, let it burn for a moment, and shook it out. She closed her eyes, and leaned close to the spiral of smoke that rose from its end, sniffing it as if she loved its scent. Then she wafted the smoke over herself, using her free hand, moving it from her head to her feet and back again. She moved, then, waving the stick around, as she moved in a circle from candle to candle, spreading the smoke.

Soon, though, her movements became more than just that. They became a dance. She stepped, and spread her arms and turned slowly. She bowed and dipped and spun and whirled. She arched her back, raising her arms to the skies, then moving them snakelike, lower again. She was the most incredible thing he'd ever seen. There was music, there must be, but it was music only she could hear.

Or maybe she
was
the music.

She was something, that was for sure. Outside in her T-shirt and panties, dancing by candlelight. The way she moved, the sense of freedom in it, hell it got to him.

She set the incense down, sticking its stem into the sandy soil, and picked up a candle, dancing it around the circle. Then she replaced the candle, took the vial, and danced with that, spreading droplets of whatever was inside it in her wake. Finally, she picked up the tiny paper packet. It looked like sugar or salt from a restaurant. She tore it open, poured its contents into her palm, and danced the circle once more, scattering it all around her.

When she finished, she moved toward each of the candles, pausing a moment at each one, facing outward, skyward, opening her arms, whispering words he couldn't hear. And when that was done, she moved to the center of the spot she'd chosen, and sat down, her legs crossed, her forearms resting on her knees.

“My kingdom for a drum,” she muttered. Then she smiled as if she'd made a joke, as if there were others there to share it with her. “I know. It's just a tool. I don't need it to journey. Hell, I have the best drum anyway, right here.” Lifting one hand, she pressed her palm to her chest. “I'm just not sure how well it's working right now. Help me out, here, guys.”

Huh? Guys? What guys? He looked around the clearing, but no one came out of the trees. No one showed up.

She took a few deep breaths. Really deep, and after each one she paused a moment, then exhaled fully and kind of loudly. And then she lay back, right there on the ground, and she crossed her arms so both palms were resting on her chest, over her heart. She closed her eyes.

And that was it. She didn't move. She just lay there. And he was damned if he knew what to do. He thought maybe she'd fallen asleep after awhile, and considered going over there and waking her. But he decided not to interrupt, because it wasn't as though it had been accidental. Maybe she just couldn't sleep in the room. Maybe she made a habit of walking out into the middle of nowhere in her underwear and sleeping on the ground without a blanket. She was nutty enough that he could buy that theory.

But hell, it wasn't too wise a move, not while they were targeted by killers. In the end he decided to wait it out a while, see what happened. It wasn't an unpleasant excursion, after all. He hadn't been sleeping anyway. And it was a nice night, and hell, looking at her lying there with her legs exposed clear to her hips wasn't exactly a chore. She had great legs. Short, sexy legs.

Hmm. And no bra under that T-shirt, either. Nice.

He shifted his position, and told himself to stop wanting her so much.

It didn't work. He wanted her anyway.

A half hour passed, more or less. He wasn't sure, because he wasn't wearing a watch. But finally, she opened her eyes and lay there a minute, staring up at the sky. She frowned, took another deep breath, and sat up. She took her time, as if she had to get her bearings before getting to her feet, and then she swirled around the circle again, waving her arms and whispering words and snuffing her candles, all but one. She left the incense burning—it was nearly gone anyway. She dug a notebook from her backpack. It had a pen in a pocket inside the cover, and she took it out, sat down by the remaining candle, leaned over it and began writing.

He managed to let her go on for another ten minutes, before he finally decided to let her know he was there. But before he could get to his feet, she lifted her head, looked in his general direction and said, “You can come over now, if you want to.”

He lowered his head, closed his eyes. He should have known, he thought. “How did you know I was here?”

“Just did. And that's odd, isn't it? I mean, isn't that just totally out of whack?”

Getting up, he moved to where she sat on the ground and sank down beside her. “Why is it out of whack? You've been telling me all along that you're a Witch.”

“Because my skills have totally deserted me. At least, that's what I've been feeling since…well, since we found out about…Kelly.”

“Is that why you're out here? Trying to…I don't know, get your powers back.”

“I was journeying.”

“Uh, beg to differ, babe, but you were just lying there.”

She glanced at him and smiled at his lame attempt at humor. “A shamanic journey. It's not a physical one.”

“I see.”

“I doubt it.”

He shrugged. “So where did you go on this journey?”

“Into the Upperworld. Talked to my guide. Took a look around.”

“And what did you find out?”

“I had arrows in a quiver. As I walked the tips cut through the sides of the case that held them, and poked me in the back. It hurt.”

He thought, and not for the first time, that maybe Selene Brand was a little bit nuts. “Does that…mean something?”

“I think it means my skills, my weapons are just as sharp as ever. But maybe I don't like what they're trying to tell me. Or maybe I'm not listening because the truth hurts.”

Or maybe, he thought, she was dead on target all along and he was letting her believe something he had no reason to think might be true for his own purposes. Hell, she'd been right about everything else. What if she was right about the two of them?

No, no way. He was not going to spend the rest of his life with this adorable little fruitcake just because she thought it was fated.

“So what were you writing?”

She glanced down at the notebook. “Just jotting down everything I saw and what I think it meant. You tend to forget if you don't get it down when it's fresh in your mind.”

He glanced at the notebook. It was thick, and open to a spot well past the middle. “That whole thing is full of…journeys?”

“Yep. It's my Journey Journal.” She giggled a little. It was good to hear, good to see a grin on her face again. She'd been so troubled and preoccupied today, not only with worry for her friends and the situation, but because she'd thought her so-called powers had failed her. He'd done that to her. And damn, he regretted it. He wanted to keep her mood upbeat, or as upbeat as possible, given the circumstances.

“Listen, you know, maybe this Kelly thing isn't what we're thinking it is, after all.” He could have kicked himself for blurting it. Why the hell was he messing with her like this, giving her hope when there wasn't any?

Too late, though. There it was right in her eyes. Hope and surprise and a dozen other things. “I figured you'd remembered her by now.”

“I didn't say I had remembered her, did I?”

“Well, no, but I assumed you were just trying to…you know, spare my feelings.”

He closed his eyes. “Why do women always assume they know what men are thinking? So what else have you assumed, Selene?”

She shrugged. “That you remembered her, were missing her, feeling guilt-ridden for having cheated on the woman you love, couldn't wait to get back to her—”

“I haven't remembered anything about any wife.”

She tipped her head to one side. “But you said you had a feeling it was true.”

“I lied.”

“You lied?” She blinked, lowered her head, then raised it again and glared at him in disbelief. “You
lied?
”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“How does lying about something like that ever seem like a good idea?”

“Look, you kept going on about us being meant for each other, and I'm just not interested in anything like that. Not now. Maybe not ever, okay? I just thought it might…slow you down.”

“Well, it did.”

He felt like a jerk. “The truth is, I don't know, Selene. I don't know what the notation meant. I swear that's the truth. I don't know that I don't have a wife, but I don't feel that I do.”

“Hell.”