Ким Харрисон - Every Witch Way But Dead

"Nick is a good man," I said, my voice shaking.

"Nick is a good man," he agreed, not turning around.

"He makes me feel wanted, needed."

Kisten slowly spun. His stubble caught the faint light filtering in from the street. The outline of his wide shoulders tapered down to his slim waist, and I mentally shook myself at how good he looked. "He used to." His low, smooth voice sent a shiver through me.

"I don't want you to talk about him anymore," I said.

He gazed at me for a heartbeat, then said, "Okay."

"Good." I took a quick breath, turned and walked out.

My knees were shaking, and listening for any steps behind me, I took a right into my room. Heart pounding, I reached for my perfume. The one that hid my scent.

"Don't."

Gasping, I turned, finding Kisten behind me. Ivy's bottle slipped from my fingers. His hand darted out, and I jumped as it enfolded mine, imprisoning the precious bottle safe within my grip. I froze. "I like the way you smell," he whispered, far, far too close.

My stomach clenched. I could risk bringing Al down on me by tapping a line to knock him unconscious, but I didn't want to. "You need to get out of my bedroom," I said.

His blue eyes looked black in the dim light. The faint glow from the kitchen made him an alluring, dangerous shadow. My shoulders were so tense they hurt as he opened my hand and took the perfume from me. The click as it hit my dresser jerked me straight. "Nick isn't coming back," he said, unaccusing and blunt.

My breath slipped from me, and I closed my eyes. Oh God. "I know."

My eyes jerked open when he took my elbows. I froze, waiting for my scar to flash into play, but it didn't. He wasn't trying to bespell me. A foolish part of me respected that, and like an idiot, I did nothing instead of telling him to get the hell out of my church and away from me.

"You need to be needed, Rachel," he said, inches away as his breath shifted my hair. "You live so brightly, so honestly, that you need to be needed. You're hurting. I can feel it."

"I know."

His solemn eyes took on a shade of pity. "Nick is human. No matter how he tries, he'll never understand you entirely."

"I know." I swallowed hard. There was a wet warmth in my eyes. My jaw tightened until my head hurt. I will not cry.

"He can't give you what you need." Kisten's hands slipped to my waist. "He'll always be just a little afraid."

I know. My eyes closed, opening as I let him pull me closer.

"And even if Nick learns to live with his fear," he said earnestly, his eyes asking me to listen, "he won't ever forgive you for being stronger than he is."

A lump formed in my throat. "I…I have to go," I said. "Excuse me."

His hands fell from me, and I pushed past him and into the hall. Confused and wanting to scream at the world, I strode into the kitchen. I stopped, seeing among the pots and flour a huge aching emptiness that had never been there before. Arms wrapped about myself, I lurched into the living room. I had to get the music off. It was beautiful. I hated it. I hated everything.

Snatching up the remote, I pointed it at the player. Jeff Buckley. I couldn't handle Jeff in the state I was in. Who in hell put Jeff Buckley in my player? Clicking it off, I tossed the remote to the couch. Adrenaline jerked me straight as the remote hit, not the suede of Ivy's couch, but someone's hand.

"Kisten!" I stammered as he turned the music back on, watching me with half-lidded eyes. "What are you doing?"

"Listening to music."

He was calm and wire-tight, and panic struck me at his calculating surety. "Don't sneak up on me like that," I said, my breath coming short. "Ivy never sneaks up on me."

"Ivy doesn't like who she is." His eyes were unblinking. "I do."

He reached out. Breath coming in a quick surge, I knocked his arm aside. Tension sang through me as he jerked me forward, holding me to him. Panic, then anger, flashed. There wasn't a twinge from my scar. "Kisten!" I exclaimed, trying to move. "Let me go!"

"I'm not trying to bite you," he said softly, his lips brushing my ear. "Stop it."

His voice was firm, soothing. There was no blood lust in it. My thoughts flashed back to waking up in his car to the sound of singing monks. "Let go!" I demanded, strung out and feeling like I was either going to hit him or start to cry.

"I don't want to. You're hurting too much. How long has it been since someone held you? Touched you?"

A tear leaked out and I hated that he saw it. Hated he knew I was holding my breath.

"You need to feel, Rachel." His voice grew soft, pleading. "This is killing you slowly."

I swallowed the lump in my throat. He was seducing me. I wasn't such an innocent that I knew he wouldn't try. But his hands upon my arms were warm. And he was right. I needed another's touch, ached for it, damn me to hell. I had almost forgotten how it felt to be needed. Nick had given that back to me, that tiny thrill of excitement knowing someone was wanting to touch you, wanting you and you alone to touch him.

I had endured more short-term relationships than a socialite has shoes. Either it was my I.S. job, or my wacko mother pushing for commitment, or that I attracted jerks who simply saw a redhead as a potential notch on their broomstick. Maybe I was a crazy bitch demanding trust without being able to give it. I didn't want another one-sided relationship, but Nick was gone and Kisten smelled good. He made me feel the pain less.

My shoulders eased, and he exhaled as he felt me stop fighting him. Eyes closing, I dropped my forehead into his shoulder as my folded arms made a small space between us. The music was soft and slow. I wasn't crazy. I could trust. I did trust. I had trusted Nick, and he had left.

"You'll leave," I breathed. "They all leave. They get what they want, and they leave. Or they find out what I can do, and then they leave."

His arms about me tightened for an instant, then relaxed. "I'm not going anywhere. You already scared the hell out of me when you took Piscary down." He buried his nose in my hair and breathed in my scent. "And I still am here."

Lulled by his body warmth and his touch, my tension tricked away. Kisten altered my balance—and I moved with him. Moving, hardly moving, our weight shifted as the slow and seductive music lured me into swaying with him.

"You can't hurt my pride," Kisten whispered, his fingers tracing the middle of my back. "I've lived my entire life with people stronger than I. I like that, and have no shame in being the weaker one. I'll never be able to cast a spell, and I don't give a shit that you can do something I can't."

The music and our almost-not-moving started a warm spot in me. Licking my lips, I slipped my arms from between us to find they felt natural about his waist. My heartbeat quickened and my eyes were wide as I stared at the wall, my breath slipping in and out of me in an unreal evenness. "Kisten…"

"I'll always be here," he said softly. "You can never fill my need, never drive me away, no matter how much you give me. The good or the bad. I'll always be hungry for emotion, always and forever, and I can feel you hurting. I can turn it to joy. If you'll let me."

I swallowed as he drew us to a stop. He pulled back, and with a gentle touch on my jaw, he tilted my head so he could see my eyes. The pulsing beat of the music pattered on my mind, numbing and soothing. His gaze was heady. "Let me do this," he whispered, deeply dangerous. But with his words, he put me in a position of power. I could say no.

I didn't want to.

My thoughts pinged through me too fast to be realized. His hands felt good, and his eyes held passion. I wanted what he could give me—what he promised. "Why?" I whispered.

His lips parted and he breathed, "Because I want to. Because you want me to."