Stephanie Draven - Dark Sins and Desert Sands

As she stared, he turned so that his broad back was exposed to her, and now her breath caught in her throat. Scars knotted across his spine. The pale marks twisted together, snaking across his flesh like serpents coiling for a strike.

Layla’s hand went over her mouth to stifle a gasp.

“You still think I did this to myself?” he asked.

For a moment—just a moment—she could envision his wounds, bleeding and raw. She thought she heard his throaty cry of pain and shook her head to dislodge the terrible sound. Was it possible that he was telling the truth? Could she be responsible in some way for the agony written large upon his flesh? Layla shook her head. No, it wasn’t possible. She may not have all her memories, but it wasn’t in her to hurt anyone. She was a healer. A healer .

“Convinced that I’m telling the truth yet, or do you need to see more?” His hands went to the front of his jeans, and he snapped the button open. “‘Cause I’ve got plenty to show you.”

“Don’t,” Layla said, reaching out to stop him. Their fingers tangled, right there at the front of his pants. Embarrassment flared even hotter at her cheeks and she tried to yank back. He pressed her fingers against the fabric, so that the rough teeth of the zipper scratched her skin. He was close to her now, and the scent of him filled her nostrils. The potent evidence of his masculinity at eye level was overwhelming and the reality of her situation hit her all at once. She’d been abducted by a stranger off the street and was now holed up with him inside a hotel room. Worse, he was looking down at her like some djinn about to devour her.

“Unzip me,” he said.

Her mouth went dry. She couldn’t say what made her do it. Maybe he was in her head, compelling her obedience. Maybe she was too afraid of him to refuse. Or maybe it was the heated sensation that curled in her belly. She pressed the flat of one palm against his thigh, French manicured nails splayed over the denim. Then she tugged gingerly on his zipper with the other hand. It was obscene to watch herself do this. Curiosity mingled with humiliation.

For one brief and wildly insane moment, she wondered what it would be like to touch him. Both shame and titillation shook her to her core as he slipped the waistband over his hips and exposed his boxer briefs and, just below the hem … the marred flesh of his thighs. A row of puckered burn marks trailed down his leg. Someone had taken a hot poker, or a cigarette, and pressed the burning end into his skin, over and over again. The sight seared into her, as if she’d been the one burned. “I did this to you?”

“No,” he said, his voice low. “But you worked with the people who did.”

It couldn’t be true. If it was true, it made her sick. It made her even more of a stranger to herself than she already was. So how could it be that she was also feeling something warm, something petal-soft and exquisite? Something like she imagined arousal was supposed to feel. No sooner did it begin to blossom inside her than it was crushed under the weight of recollection. “You’re Rayhan Stavrakis.”

“That’s right.”

She couldn’t make sense of her memories, but she was astounded to be remembering anything. “Greek … Arab … Syrian?”

“American,” Ray growled. “Not that it matters.”

“I’m sorry,” Layla whispered, staring at his scars. The words were so completely inadequate that she nearly choked on them. “I don’t remember much, but I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah? Well, now you’re gonna make it up to me.”

Well, wasn’t Layla Bahset just full of surprises? Ray watched the blush intensify on her upturned cheeks, and though she’d completely misread his intentions, her reaction made him hard. Very hard. He remembered what she’d said to him when he’d entered her sleeping mind. “Make me want something,” she had pleaded. “Make my pulse quicken with excitement. Make me sigh with longing. Make my body weak with pleasure. Make me, make me, make me … “

Now she was poised at the edge of her chair in that red dress, nearly on her knees. Those glossy lips of hers were near enough to his cock to kiss it, but his desire was squelched by the humiliation he saw in her eyes. She’d once insisted he was a terrorist; now she apparently believed he was the kind of man who’d force her to trade in sexual favors. He wasn’t sure which assumption was worse.

Tugging his jeans up, he fastened them again. Deciding it might be easier to control himself if she were at eye level, he said, “Stand up.”

She rose, and he realized she was trembling. She stood there in front of him, hugging herself. He’d taken the calm and composed lady shrink and rattled her to the bone. It didn’t make him feel good about himself. The fact that she didn’t remember what she’d done didn’t make her innocent, but there wasn’t any satisfaction to be had from terrorizing someone who couldn’t appreciate the karmic justice of it. “So, Doc, when I said I wanted you to make things up to me, what did you think I meant?”

“You know what I thought.” Her words were like ice.

“Yeah, well, I’m interested in your mind . The information I need to get my life back is locked in that pretty head of yours and you need to tell me what you know. That’s the only way you can make things up to me.”

“I just told you that I have amnesia. But if what you’re saying is true, there has to be a record of what happened in your case somewhere. Maybe you should file a request under the Freedom of Information Act.”

“A FOIA request? That’s your brilliant solution? Sweetheart, I didn’t even get a lawyer, much less a trial. No, the only way to prove my innocence is to find my accuser and you know who that was.”

“I don’t know who gave evidence against you. I don’t remember.”

“Maybe you don’t want to remember,” he snapped.

She shrank away as if she thought he might strike her, or ravish her, or worse. Though it scalded his tongue to comfort her, he found himself saying, “Look, you don’t have to be afraid that I’m going to … take advantage of you.”

Her green eyes looked haunted and lost. “Maybe I’m afraid I want you to.”

What kind of game was she playing with him now? It was like a matador snapping a red cape in front of a wounded bull. Heat seared through his body and tinted his vision with scarlet need. It’d been one thing to meet the alluring lioness in her mindscape, the one who tempted him with her blatant sensuality. But to see the confusion of the buttoned-up woman in front of him was an entirely new kind of torment. One that dizzied him.

“You’re bleeding again,” Layla said softly as Ray swayed on his feet.

He’d obviously used his powers too many times in the past few days. It was all catching up with him. There was never a time when he hadn’t experienced pain and blood in the aftermath, but Layla was harder to control than anyone he’d encountered before. Keeping her here with him was taxing him beyond endurance.

“You should let me go, Ray,” she said softly.

“I didn’t just snatch you off the street for my own reasons, okay? You’re being followed.”

He could see that she didn’t believe him. “Those men that you yanked me away from, they looked like federal agents. Which makes me think they aren’t after me. They’re after you.”

Ray shook his head, hand coming to rest on the back of his neck. His control over her was fraying. “No, Doc. I’m telling you, they were watching you .”

“Well, I’m not afraid of government officials.”

“Goddammit, Layla! People with badges aren’t always the good guys. Do you think that with skin like yours, with a last name like yours, that professional courtesy is going to save you if they’ve decided you’re a threat to national security? Did the fact that I fought for my country matter a damn when I was being tortured?”