Nicolas sat very still just watching her. What he wanted to do was yank her back into the boat and weld their mouths together. Their bodies. He craved her like he would a drug. He made himself breathe. In and out. He could read the desperation in her eyes, the fear. Not of him, but for him. The tight coil in his belly began to relax. Not giving her time to argue or think, he simply caught her small wrists and lifted her into the boat. “We’re adults, remember? Now that we know it can happen, we’ll be more careful.” He managed a quick, teasing grin. “Until we don’t want to be careful.”

Dahlia swallowed hard. She had courage, he had to give her that. Respect for her grew with every moment in her company. She didn’t back away from him, but held her ground. They were both standing up, and she had a long way to look up. “It could happen, Nicolas. You’ve never seen what pure energy can do, but I have. I generate heat when it happens and fires start. People get hurt.”

“Have you ever made love to someone, Dahlia?”

His voice was so low she had to strain to hear him. She felt the surge of darkness, of danger, something lethal and deadly emanating from him.

“No, I’ve never wanted to get that close to anyone.”

“Until now.” He wanted to hear her say it. At least give him that much. He needed that much.

“Until now,” she agreed.

Nicolas stepped away from her, sank back into position. “Thanks for not pushing me into the water. You must have thought about it.”

“Don’t give me too much credit.” She made her way to the motor. “I wasn’t certain if I shoved, you’d fall.” She sent him a quick grin before turning to the task of speeding across the water.

Nicolas stared toward the thick brush and heavy trees and tried not to think about the taste and feel of Dahlia. He made it a mental exercise, clearing his mind, allowing the thoughts to enter without dwelling on them and letting them go out again on a tide. He was certain of only one thing. He knew Dahlia was part of him. How and why didn’t matter. Nothing, no one, had ever thrown him before. She mattered to him. What she thought, how she felt. And he wanted her.

It was nearly noon when Dahlia eased the boat along a rickety pier. “This is where we get off. We’ll have to catch a bus or hire a taxi from here.”

“I’ll have to break the rifle down. Even so, the two of us look memorable in these clothes. And your shirt is transparent. I don’t think I can take a bunch of men ogling you.” He didn’t look up as he took his rifle apart and carefully wrapped it before putting it in his pack. The ammunition belt followed, along with every other visible weapon.

Dahlia gasped and crossed her arms over her br**sts. “You could have said something.”

“I didn’t want to embarrass you.” This time he did look up, only a small glance.

She had the impression of a fleeting smile. She caught the shirt he threw her and hastily put it on. “Next time, I’m pushing you in,” she vowed.

CHAPTER SIX

Nicolas walked through the large condo, checking all the exits, learning where the windows were and which made good escape routes. The main entrance opened out onto the street corner so they could choose either direction if they had to leave in a hurry. He noted there was also a street entrance through the locked wrought iron courtyard gate. The courtyard was large with overgrown plants, shrubbery, and large shade trees. It provided excellent cover should they need it. The condo had an upstairs with a balcony that also gave them access to the roof. Calhoun had chosen the location with care. They had cover, escape routes, and were near the river as well.

Dahlia opened a vault, hidden in the wall behind a picture of wild horses racing through waves. Inside were weapons, ammunition, and a great deal of cash. There were also a number of identity cards. Driver’s licenses, Social Security, and other forms of ID in various names with pictures of both Jesse Calhoun and Dahlia Le Blanc.

Nicolas thumbed through the papers Dahlia had taken from the safe earlier. All the while, he was conscious of the sound of water. Dahlia was taking a shower. No matter how hard he tried to prevent it, his imagination insisted on conjuring up a vivid picture of Dahlia naked, wet, her hair slick and her face turned up to the hot spray. He closed his eyes against the image and groaned softly. Where had all his self-discipline gone? His tremendous control? He couldn’t blame energy, sexual or otherwise, for his fantasies. It was the glimpse of her bare bottom, the curve of her hip. Her bare br**sts gleaming at him in the sun. Or maybe it was her smile. She didn’t smile often, but when she did, Nicolas could swear it was for him alone, no one else. And then there was her skin. . . .

“Hey! Lover boy! Stop mooning around and hit the shower. You smell like a swamp rat, and it just doesn’t do a thing to put me in the mood.” Dahlia stood in the doorway, a towel wrapped around her like a sarong. Her hair was up in a towel and she was dripping water all over the floor. She’d obviously come downstairs straight from her shower to scold him for his indiscretions, but changed her mind.

“You’re not helping me with my overactive imagination,” he pointed out as he walked toward her. He paused beside her, close, trapping her body between his larger frame and the doorjamb. Deliberately, slowly, he reached out and touched her face. He thought it a small victory that she didn’t automatically pull away. She braced herself for his touch, but she didn’t wince as he drew his finger down her cheek to the side of her mouth. “You have incredibly beautiful skin.”

Her eyes went black. Wary. He felt her tense, but she still didn’t flinch away.

“I want to kiss you again, Dahlia.”

Her eyes were huge. She lifted her chin, but didn’t break eye contact. “I want to kiss you too, but that doesn’t mean we should. It’s dangerous. And we don’t even know each other.”

A faint smile came out of nowhere. “I’m willing to get to know you intimately. Very intimately. That would solve the problem quickly.” His thumb slid over her velvet-soft lower lip, stroked small caresses there. He was fascinated by the shape of her lips. He could actually taste her in his mouth—haunting, feminine. Addicting.

Heat flared between them, smoldered there. Dahlia inhaled sharply. “Nicolas.” There was an ache in her voice.

His fingers curved around the nape of her neck. He knew better. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand the consequences. It was just that nothing mattered but touching her. Getting close to her, skin to skin. Burying his body deep inside hers. The rest of it was just details. He had a primitive need to leave his mark on her, so that she would always be his. Always want him in the way he wanted her.

Dahlia could feel the heat swamping both of them. It would take so little to just wrap her arms around his neck and burn in the fire, but it wouldn’t be fair to Nicolas. He had no idea what he’d be getting into, nor how dangerous it might be. She took a deep breath and pushed one hand against Nicolas’s chest. “Go take a shower. Use cold water, it will help.”

It took him a moment to control the urgent demands of his body. As he stepped away from her, the pad of his finger slipped down her throat and trailed over the swell of her breast before he dropped his hand to his side.

Dahlia shivered at his touch. She remained still, only inches from him, refusing to back away . . . or move forward. “Fortunately, Jesse stashed some clothes here for me. He’s a thoughtful man.”

“Is that what you call him? I think interfering busybody would just about say it all. I like you without clothes.”

“Nicolas,” she cautioned. “I’m hanging on by a thread. You’re supposed to help.”

“Tell me why again, and I’ll work on it.”

“We don’t know what can happen.” He was still standing close enough that she could feel the heat of his body. His need was urgent and evident and he made no effort to hide his arousal. “And,” she held up her hand before he could speak, “I’m not completely comfortable with you yet.”

He sighed softly. “You managed to think of the one thing to say that gives me no other recourse.” He went up the stairs, his body aching for relief.

Nicolas would normally revel in the hot shower after such uncomfortable conditions, but he found he was different. Soaping the mud from his hair, he contemplated his uneasiness. As a rule, he enjoyed solitude. He needed seclusion. Isolation was his chosen way of life, so much so that he normally avoided people, yet he felt reluctant to be away from Dahlia.

He was a methodical man, one who thought things through logically. As he showered, he forced his mind to regain discipline and control. He should have been the one controlling the situation, not Dahlia, and yet she had stopped them both times. His lack of discipline when he was all about discipline confused him. Determined to recover his normal tranquility, he used the training ingrained in him by his maternal grandfather, Konin Yogosuto. Automatically he began deep breathing. He concentrated on his teachings, beliefs that were a part of his life, a part of who he was. Unification of mind and body. Complete harmony in the universe. One with the universe. Where there is chaos, there must also be calm. He repeated the soothing mantra, allowing the familiar teachings to center him.

Energy, sexual or violent, even normal energy, swarmed to Dahlia. He created the energy simply by thinking of her. By wanting her. If he was to find a path with her, he needed to find a measure of control. Dahlia was a unique woman, one who had lived a life of solitude and betrayal. She wouldn’t trust him until he earned that trust, no matter how attracted they were physically. Dahlia needed friendship and she needed to feel “normal,” whatever that might be. Whatever it was, he was determined he would find a balance that would work for them.

It felt good to be clean and dry again. He dragged on a pair of jeans and thought about what Dahlia’s life had to have been like. While he was hunting and fishing and learning martial arts, she was alone in rooms filled with one-way glass and silent watchers. His grandfathers loved him and often hugged him, beaming with approval when he succeeded. There had been two women in Dahlia’s life, and their loyalty had not been entirely hers. She needed time. Even if a sexual relationship bound them together, Nicolas knew it would never be enough for him. He knew he wanted all of Dahlia Le Blanc, not just her body.

DAHLIA dressed slowly, grateful for the clothes Jesse had stored in the closet for her. As she pulled on a pair of jeans, she listened to the sound of the shower. Nicolas had power now, and he knew it. Dahlia had never let another human being have true power over her since Dr. Whitney had when she’d been a child. Others might believe they had control, but it was never so. She should never have blurted out the truth, telling him she wanted to kiss him.

Jesse had always told her she should have a backup plan and not to trust anyone entirely. It had never seemed a problem before. Even Milly and Bernadette, the two people she’d really loved, had reported to someone else about her. It hadn’t been just Dr. Whitney they’d reported to. Whitney had lost interest in her around the age of seventeen or eighteen. He had provided the money for her home and the specialized gymnasium equipment, but once he had made a decision that she would never be able to work as an operative, he never returned. Had he checked, even once, he would have found she’d proved him wrong, perhaps out of sheer stubborness.

Dahlia wandered into the kitchen and opened cupboards. They were stocked only with the bare necessities. She made a pot of coffee, mainly for the aroma and something to do with her hands while she tried to puzzle out who wanted her dead. Who knew about her, and why would they want her dead? Was it possible those she’d worked with didn’t want it known that she did recovery work for them and sent out a team to kill not only her, but Milly and Bernadette as well? It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense.

She rubbed at her damp hair with the towel, taking out the excess moisture. There was no need to kill any of them. No one would ever believe Dahlia Le Blanc, a woman raised in a sanitarium. It was the perfect cover and the perfect protection. If she were caught, she was simply a mad-woman unhinged by her own conspiracy theories.