Burn With Me (6 page)

She covered her face with her hands and heard the traffic again in the distance. Heard the birds chirping in the trees.

When she began to hear whistling, she realized she was lying on the ground, legs sprawled and breasts bared for anyone to see.
For whoever was
whistling to see
.

Greg? He didn’t whistle. At least not in tune. But he should be here by now, shouldn’t he? How much time had she spent in Crazy Town? Had that entire episode taken place in less time than it took to grab a sandwich?

As she scrambled to her feet, straightening her skirt and lifting her blouse back into place, her mind was busy tying itself in knots. What the hell? Why would she dream about wanting to dominate a man and trying to set him on fire? Even more intriguing and terrifying, she thought as she took a mental inventory of her body, how could a dream tear her underwear and leave bite marks on her breast?

She looked down at her palms again and remembered how the black sand had moved as if it had a will of its own. Had poured into her wound and burrowed beneath her skin like a living thing. What if it hadn’t been sand? Words like virus and nano-assassins were echoing in her head when she heard the slow, obvious footsteps that went along with the oddly sweet melody of the whistler. It definitely wasn’t Greg.

“Greg?”

It didn’t hurt to hope.

The man who came walking around the fig tree near her hidden nook beyond the archway was not Greg and he wasn’t her dream lover—but he wasn’t a stranger either. Her sexy, stalking giant. Again. Did the universe have it in for her? Was it
trying
to send her around the bend?

Her body, which had cooled considerably since her previous partner disappeared, came to life with a heated blast that nearly knocked her over. She licked her lips and put her hands behind her back.

Just in case that part had been real.

He slid his own hands into the pockets of his blue jeans and she noticed he was dressed more the way she imagined he should have been last night. A little bit biker, with a dash of bounty hunter. Sexy as hell. His black T-shirt revealed a partial sleeve of beautiful and intricate tribal-style tattoos covering his left biceps. Tattoos on top of bulging muscles, just as the good Lord intended. She licked her lips, continuing her inventory. His jeans and boots were still expensive, but well-worn, telling her that this was who he was.

She really wished she were dreaming, because this would be the perfect time for round two of the best fantasy ever. It wasn’t slutty if it was a dream, right?

Each minute they stared at each other in silence seemed to crawl by, letting her know it was definitely
not
a continuation of her fantasy. Her giant was very real, close enough to touch, and he still didn’t seem up for talking…or any other style of communication.
Could
he talk? She was starting to wonder.

The thick, expectant feel of the quiet made her restless, nervous, but she had to force herself to break it. “Did you happen to see the man I was with last night when you walked in? He stopped to grab lunch for us. He should be here any minute.”

Wonderful. Now she sounded like a scared rabbit. She wasn’t afraid of him. Much. 

You should be
, her inner voice shook.
There’s something different about him. You can sense it. He’s dangerous.

More dangerous than the dream man who’d just seduced her in broad daylight? She found that hard to believe.

But you aren’t sure.

The corner of his mouth twitched slightly. Was that his version of a smile? It made her desperate to make him her pet project. She could devote an entire bucket list to his lips alone. To making him smile with them and…other things.

He shifted, drawing her attention back to his eyes. “I didn’t, no. But a woman came in as I did, carrying a book and a thermos. I believe she intends to linger. Your friend isn’t here? I was certain I heard at least two voices.”

She blushed. “It’s this garden. I heard voices too.” And felt fingers and lips and teeth, among other things. “Maybe it’s haunted.”

“I don’t believe in ghosts.”

God, his voice was just as delicious as the rest of him. A hint of English, of course, though not as pronounced as Penn’s and laced with traces of a different accent, as if English wasn’t his native tongue. Gravel wrapped in velvet. Elegant but rough. A sensual contradiction.

Up close in the daylight he was more breathtaking than she remembered. So wide and broad and tall he made her feel delicate. Feminine. She could see his eyes now. The eyes she’d been wondering about, wishing she’d seen last night. They were a rare combination of gold and brown. The color of sunlight glowing through amber. They darkened as she studied them, as if her attention was affecting his mood.

If only he spoke more often and didn’t appear to be stalking her in the shadows he’d be the perfect man.

She rocked back and forth on her heels, wanting to know more about him but feeling strangely awkward. Aziza wasn’t vain. She’d never thought she was anyone’s idea of a great beauty, certainly not her own, but she’d also never had to work so hard to get a man to talk to her. It was a whole new level of frustration, and she damn well didn’t like how it made her feel.

If he wasn’t going to make polite conversation, she might as well stop walking around the obvious issue. The one that practically screamed to be addressed. The elephant in the garden. 

She forced a light, almost playful tone. “Is there a reason you’re following me? Because unless we have the same tour guide, or my best friend hired a bodyguard for me without letting me know, this isn’t looking good for you. If you want to save face at all and not make me call for the police, you should at least tell me your name.”

“Do you
need
a bodyguard?” he evaded, but he was looking at her. Studying her the way he had before.

“I already have a guy that does it for free. Why? Is that what you do for a living? Was I right? You’re certainly dressed for the part. Yesterday I would have pegged you for a banker who moonlights as a bodyguard or private investigator. Someone who leads a double life. But then, I have a vivid imagination.”

He lifted one shoulder in response, and Aziza felt her teeth grind against each other. “Noncommittal but a step in the right direction. Let’s start from the beginning. My name is Aziza. And you are…? You should tell me because there are only so many ways I can fit the words
sexy
and
giant
into the conversation without getting into trouble in civilized company.”

Nothing.

She threw up her hands, forgetting about the possibility of them turning nuclear in her irritation. “Isn’t this the actual
birthplace
of manners?” Her breath came out in a frustrated huff. Some gentleman. “Look, maybe we should go back to the long-distance stalking. You won’t have to talk and I can hold on to my illusions about you actually being fascinating and keep coming up with funny names to descri—”

“Meeting,” he interrupted, his brow furrowing as if he didn’t know what to make of her. He pulled his hands out of his pockets and flexed them self-consciously. “I was called in for a meeting with…my employer. Ties are, unfortunately, mandatory. My
name
is Brandon. I apologize for not giving it sooner, but I’m not used to—”

“Americans? Talking?
Girls?
Please don’t say girls. Not that I’d have anything against that, but it’s a much bigger obstacle to overcome than a lack of conversational skills.” She took a step closer, knowing her smile of relief was probably too broad. Too giddy. But she couldn’t help it. He was starting to relax. And now she knew his name.

“You
are
forward, aren’t you?”

She nodded. “It’s kind of my thing. And I don’t mean to tease, but you have to admit this is an unusual set of coinc—”

Greg’s voice was raised in irritation. “Aziza Jane, where the heck are you? I had to help this weird little boy find his mother, and then I got turned around. Say Marco, hon, because my hands are full.”

“Marco,” she replied instinctively.
Darn.
She looked up to apologize for the interruption, but was stopped short. Her new friend had a dangerous expression on his ruggedly handsome face. He moved in closer and inhaled sharply, looking down at her body in a way that made her feel naked. But not in a good way.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered, unable to help herself. He was looking at her with something akin to disgust. For some reason she couldn’t explain, that mattered. This stranger’s opinion mattered. And was, apparently, changing again. “What’s the matter?”

“This was a mistake,” he muttered, turning without another word and striding away. He rounded the corner just as Greg came into view, and her friend dropped the wrapped sandwiches he held as he recognized her silent giant.

Greg bent down to retrieve them, looking over his shoulder until the other man was gone. “Was that the guy you said was following us? Did he threaten you, Aziza? What the hell is going on?”

She was so upset at the way Brandon looked at her—as if she’d done something she needed to be ashamed of—as if something was
wrong
with her. Had he been here all along? Seen what she’d done in the garden right before she heard his whistle? 

She felt the heat and glanced down at the hands she’d been holding behind her back…and whimpered.

It didn’t matter now. The turmoil inside had found a new outlet. One that superseded her obsession with the sexy giant. One she wasn’t sure she knew how to handle.

And it wasn’t turning off.

“I don’t know, Greg.” She waited until he was looking at her and lifted her palms up so he could see the blue fire emanating from her skin. “You tell me.”

Chapter Three

How Greg had managed to get them both back to her aunt’s without causing an international incident was a mystery, a miracle Aziza would always be grateful for. She vaguely recalled a few gasps from strangers, quickly followed by his hurried explanation of a magic trick gone wrong, but she couldn’t be sure. Whatever he’d said had obviously been convincing.

The fact that he hadn’t run screaming in the other direction, hadn’t found a crucifix or holy water to douse her with was also a blessing. Greg had never let her down before, but then, she’d never been on fire.

“Does it hurt unbearably?” Penn whispered, once she found her voice again and the two of them were sitting down in her cramped living room. 

She shook her head. “I can feel the heat, but no. What happened last night hurt more. This doesn’t even seem to be spreading. I just…can’t touch anything.”

The sandwich had been proof of that. When Greg dropped it again at the sight of her hands, she’d reached down out of habit to help him—and set it on fire. The wrapper, the bread—everything had gone up in flames. 

Aziza looked around her aunt’s living room at the memory and cringed at all the books and piles of unedited manuscripts crammed into every corner. Penn’s hatred of using the computer for her editing work could come back and bite her in the ass. Paper and fire…not a good mix.

Oh God.
“I can’t touch anything.”

Greg came in from the kitchen and sat down on the table in front of Penn’s hard, narrow couch. He was carrying a large bowl of water. “Okay. It’s going to be okay, Aziza.” He glanced over at Penn and swore. “Shit, if this doesn’t work I think we should take her to the hospital.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it.” Penn shook her head, her gaze never leaving Aziza’s hands where they hovered carefully away from anything flammable. “But I doubt taking her to hospital will fix this.”

“Put your hands in the water, honey.” Greg’s voice was shaking and she glanced up at him.
Fear.
He was afraid for her. “Let’s see if this does the trick.”

She was dubious, but willing to try. Her hands hesitated over the bowl. “It’s the curse, Greg. What else can it be? This is how it’s going to happen.”

“Curse?” Penn sounded confused. “Did I miss something?”

“Tarik and Adam,” she whispered. “Joseph. All of them dying two years apart. All in unexplained ways. It’s my turn.”

Penn’s expression changed to one of empathy. Sadness. “Joseph was a soldier, love. There’s nothing unexplained about that. But I won’t count him out yet. They never found his body. He was listed as missing—”

“
Presumed
dead,” Aziza finished. “I know. But it’s been close to two years. They gave up a long time ago. I know because I have the flag to prove it. It doesn’t matter anyway. He’s gone. They’re all gone. And now I’m…” Her throat tightened in panic. She wasn’t ready. She had to fight. Hadn’t that been what her dream man had said? She
needed
to fight.

I’m not ready yet.
I still have a few months left…

Greg was working hard to ignore them both. “Just put your damn hands in the water, Aziza. Now would be good.”

She stuck her hands in the glass bowl and watched as the flames continued to flicker beneath the water. It was kind of beautiful in a way. The fire danced and twirled around her fingers like a living thing. Aware.

The water began to boil and Penn gasped, scooting away from Aziza instinctively. “Bloody hell.”

“Exactly.” Greg sounded grim. “It’s not going out. I don’t see any coating on her hands. No lighter fluid or accelerant. She’s not showing any signs that the fire is burning her skin, though turning that sandwich to ash with a touch certainly proves she’s giving off heat. Maybe we should call the fire department. Spontaneous combustion is a theory tha—”

Penn chuckled delightedly, which seemed entirely inappropriate for the current situation. “You’re babbling, big boy,” she said, reaching over Aziza to pat him on the knee. “We get it. You’re smart, you’re gifted and you have no idea what’s happening to her. But I do. Keep your eye on the water, succulent Aziza, while I resolve the situation before you accidentally blow up your humans.”

Aziza felt every muscle in her body screaming. She couldn’t look away from her aunt. She could see it in her eyes—the emerald green light that told her
he
was there instead of Penn. Her dream lover.