“You’re in pain. I can help.”
“No . . . don’t. Go away. Please.” His teeth chattered when the temperature dropped severely.
“I can drop the temperature even more to freeze the pain out of your brain.”
“No.” His thoughts tangled. How had she gotten in here? The mind probe. What had happened to him during that probe?
“You miss me.” She hadn’t asked, just spoken, as though saying the words would give them weight and value. “Remember the last time we were alone?”
All too well.
Good thing he’d stretched out still fully clothed. The last time he and Kizira had been alone they’d ended up naked.
Like he needed that image worming its way into his splitting head right now? She had to go. He was civilized only when he had all his faculties accounted for, and right now parts of his mind had taken a hiatus.
She spoke softly. “You were in my head today where you shouldn’t have been, Quinn. Why?”
He frowned, and even that hurt. Had he reached into her mind during the probe, too? No. She’d climbed into his, fearless of what he might have done to her. She’d been in a vision of the future, not here today. What kind of connection had opened up by tapping the spirit of Conlan’s evil father?
No matter what, Quinn had to keep her out of his mind.
He mumbled, “How was I in your head?” but the words might have come out, “Howz I in ure ’ead?”
She made a sound he recalled from their time alone when she’d get exasperated with him. “Can you at least sit up and talk to me?”
“Honestly . . . no. Had a . . . difficult day.” When he heard the shirr of material heading his way, he opened his eyes again, but the room blurred.
Kizira crossed the room, her body appearing to flex and reshape as though she’d been caught in one of those warped circus mirrors. She moved silently, but her usual intense glow had dimmed to almost nothing.
He asked, “Why aren’t you glowing?”
“You obviously have a volcanic headache, and as I recall, light hurts your eyes.” The powder blue gown poured down her body, hugging curves and falling to her ankles. Her flame red hair—now a soft brunette—hung in a long braid over her left shoulder, falling past her breasts.
Beautiful breasts when she’d been naked.
He closed his eyes and indulged a moment of self-loathing at his mental track.
She’d stand out among all the women in contemporary clothes stalking around Buckhead outside his hotel because Kizira was like no other woman.
And she was his enemy.
He needed to keep that thought forced between the erotic images determined to crowd his mind.
The mattress depressed next to him when she climbed on.
“Kizira,” he warned. He didn’t want to use any kinetic power on her and frankly didn’t know if he had it in him to raise a decent defense. Had to keep his energy focused on locking down the walls of his mind.
The ice pack disappeared from his head. The pounding kicked his skull. He released a noise that sounded pitiful to his ears.
Her cool palm covered his forehead.
He tensed, then groaned out a sigh of relief at the instant change from brutal pain to just a splitting headache. “Go, Kizira.”
She hushed him. “Shh. Let me help you while I’m here.”
Bad idea. But bloody hell, only a fool would refuse her help, especially when he needed to get back on his feet for Tzader and Evalle.
He’d let her do her majik, then he’d thank her and send her on her way.
