The Pawn of the Phoenix (The Memory Collector Series Book 2) (11 page)

I force myself away from the door, even though my body demands I stay. “I should go.”

Apparently Keenan is thinking the opposite, because he blocks my escape. “Stay.”

“Keenan–”

“Please, Moira,” he begs softly, drawing near. “I don’t want to be alone.”

I sigh, because his plea is so akin to the one I had made all those nights ago. “Alright, I’ll stay.” I narrow my eyes and add in a warning tone, “But I’m not having sex with you tonight.”

He flashes me that dimple of his, unsuccessfully concealing his satisfaction. My resolve immediately dwindles at the sight, and I doubt I’ll be able to sleep with him beside me. He’s highly entertained by my obvious struggle and is satisfied I’m only withholding the inevitable for just tonight. I want to smack the smugness off his face, but, instead, I hold out my hand.

“The key.”

He fumbles in his pocket for a moment and then pulls out the key. I grin before I turn to unlock the door, because I’m feeling quite haughty myself right now. Before I came to his townhouse, Keenan had forbidden me to enter his bedroom or his study—unless, of course, he invited me to do so. In just under two weeks, I have now successfully managed to enter both rooms, but I have no intention of gloating any further because it would be wasted on his intoxicated state. I silently unlock his door and immediately survey the room that has been, up until now, a mystery. Yet the most my eyes absorb is the fireplace and armoire before settling on the large bed. Suddenly, I’m feeling nervous for reasons I don’t entirely understand.

The door closes behind me, and I abruptly turn around to find Keenan attempting to unbutton his shirt. “What are you doing?”

Startled, he glances up at me. “I’m removing my clothes.”

“Why?”

“You don’t expect me to sleep in my suit, do you?”

I glance at him, and then the bed. “Well, no…”

When he continues to struggle with the dexterity required of a more sober person, I approach him and unbutton his shirt for him. The moment his pants fall to the floor, my anxiety escalates. I now understand why I’m suddenly tense. It’s because the only person I have ever actually slept with was Devin. I had wanted to have sex with him, but Devin hadn’t been interested in just a sexual relationship. He had experienced enough sexual encounters as a concubine that he had wanted more—something I hadn’t understood at the time. Naturally, I had ruined what could have been between us by getting upset when he had continued to reject me. Now, I’m about to crawl into the large bed with Keenan to sleep, not have sex. And, for some awful reason, it’s more difficult than letting him have my body.

He removes everything but his lower garment and walks to the right side of the bed.

“If I’m going to stay,” I say quickly. “Then that’s my side.”

A soft chuckle rings through the air, but he silently makes his way to the other side of the bed. I make a point to look at anything but the expanse of his bare torso until he is nestled beneath the covers. He lies down half-way on his side and looks up at me expectantly. When I remove my housecoat, I’m instantly assaulted by a wave of desire. Though I’m still wearing my chemise, the fabric is thin and doesn’t cover the dark areolas around my nipples. I find his reaction odd, considering he has seen me naked on several occasions, and he has never given into his desire before.

“I thought you slept naked,” he says quietly, his eyes heavy with lust.

I give him a wry smirk. “Not tonight, Detective.”

After crawling into the bed, I turn so my back faces him. Though there are only a few inches between us, the heat radiating from his body wraps around me in a seductive embrace. He moves closer, pressing his chest against my back, and wraps an arm around my waist. My heart thuds an erratic dance, and a slight shiver possesses me momentarily, as his breath tickles the back of my neck. His thoughts wander to the pleasant sensation of my body against his, the feel of my soft curves, the lovely warmth of my flesh, and my intoxicating—yet alluring—scent.

He kisses my neck and shoulder, and I close my eyes, relishing in the titillating pleasure. After all, it doesn’t necessarily mean sex. His hand inches lower, and I groan.

“Keenan,” I say warningly—almost desperately.

“Sorry.” He stops, diverting his attention to fidgeting with my hand instead. “I’ve just been wanting to touch you for a while now.”

I keep my voice light, so he knows I’m only teasing. “You should have thought of that before you drank. Then maybe I would have let you touch me all night.”

“I like the sound of that.” His lips press softly against my neck once more. “Does this mean I can touch you tomorrow?”

I snuggle closer, my lips curving upwards. “We’ll see.”

We lie silently for a while, simply revelling in the pleasure of being so close to one another. My previous nerves eventually dissipate, and I can’t recall a time when I had felt this comfortable. With Mr. Hayes, I had considered his bedroom a safe zone filled with carnal pleasures, but it had lacked the safety I feel now in Keenan’s arms. And whenever my fear pricks my skin, I recall the words Keenan had said earlier.
I’m tired of pretending you have no effect on me, Moira.
I smile in the darkness and eventually fall asleep to the soothing
tick, tock
of Keenan’s mind.

M
y first thought
when sleep slowly releases its hold on me is: how is it possible to have one of the best nights in your life, yet wake up in so much discomfort? During the night, I had decided to forgo the comforts of my pillow, which is something I never do. My neck will undoubtedly be sore for the entire day. The second thing I notice is my chemise has annoyingly ridden up past my waist—hence, why I sleep naked. I groan and search for my pillow, but instead of something soft, my arm smacks into something hard. My eyes flare open as I remember I am not alone and realize my face is only inches away from Keenan’s chest. My mortification settles in while I wait for him to speak after my dazed assault. But I’m only greeted with his soft and steady breathing. Suddenly, my fears begin to take hold in the morning light.

What if he wakes up and doesn’t remember anything? He had a lot of liquor last night, so it’s not entirely out of the realm of possibility. But, then again, he never verbally admitted his feelings. The only thing he had made clear was he didn’t want to be alone, which is something he could have said to any other woman. The only way to salvage my ego is to make my escape now while he’s still asleep, and when he wakes, I’ll pretend like nothing happened unless he mentions something. Satisfied with my plan, I carefully lift myself up on my elbow and glance up at his face. Unlike me, his head still rests on his pillow and his eyes are thankfully closed.

I turn, my legs inching toward the edge of the bed, but his arm shoots out to yank me back down beside him. I yelp in surprise and refuse to see if his eyes are open. For a moment, we lie in silence, and I begin to wonder if he had grabbed at me in his sleep. But then his fingers slowly glide up the length of my arm, and his thoughts sluggishly make their presence known. He recalls the events of last night vividly enough to remember what was said—especially the part where I had said I wanted him—and he has no intention of letting me escape now. His fingers creep along the edge of my chemise, teasing the border of my cleavage, and then rise to explore the curves of my collarbone. My heart beats wildly as my body heats up in anticipation. His touch continues slowly and deliberately to feel the slight pucker of my brows, the fluttering of my eyelashes, and finally the curvature of my lips. I open my mouth slightly to taste him, and his Adam’s apple bobs downward in an anxious reflex.

He wants me to look at him, but I don’t—not yet. First, I reach out and tentatively explore the muscles before me. My fingers graze over one of his nipples before running through the slight dusting of hair on his chest. I love the protrusion of his Adam’s apple and the prominence of his jawline. His lips are practically begging me to kiss them, and when I finally meet his gaze, those green eyes are smoldering with desire. Our faces are only a few inches apart, but I manage to restrain my urge to close the distance. Instead, I run my fingers through his cropped brown hair, while his hand slides down to caress my back. The deliberate slowness of his movements has washed away my previous anxiety, replacing it with an aching need that begins with a shiver between my thighs.

We continue to maintain eye contact as my hand leaves his hair to explore other unknown parts of his body. When I creep lower, I’m pleasantly greeted with his blatant arousal. Just when I’m about to slip my hand beneath the waistband of his garment, Keenan rolls me onto my back and pushes my legs apart with his thigh. His hand skims over my stomach to the warmth between my thighs, as his face hovers an inch away from mine. I stare up at him, falling into a sea of green, and he slides his finger into me, moving with a deliberate slowness. I’m desperate to have his lips on mine, so I lift my head to meet him. But he intends to watch me squirm, loving the way my eyes become heavy and how my mouth opens partly on an exhale. He also wants me to beg, which is why he pulls away when I attempt to kiss him.

I groan, and he flashes me a satisfied grin. The sight of his dimple makes me even more aroused, and I arch my back against him. He kisses the side of my mouth, his lips barely brushing mine, and I resist the urge to pull him toward me. Instead, I let him exact his torture. His fingers continue to move deliciously inside me, while he plants soft kisses along my neck. He lowers to graze his lips and teeth on my nipples in a playful tease, the fabric of the chemise a tantalizing barrier. I moan and demand he kiss me, eliciting a soft chuckle from him before he finally obeys. He kisses me, and his tongue slides gloriously against mine. I want more of him; I need him inside me.

I abruptly push him away, slightly breathless with desire. “Just one second.”

I hastily jump out of the bed before things progress any further and catch his befuddled expression. The moment I exit the room, I make an effort to hurry. I rush to my own room to insert the contraceptive the Elite had given me. Overall, it doesn’t take me long before I’m back in Keenan’s bedroom. He has moved in my absence, sitting instead at the edge of the bed, with his elbows on his knees. He’s uncertain as to why I had suddenly left, but as soon as I lift my chemise over my head, his doubt vanishes.

His eyes rake over my naked body with reverence and need, and I now understand why he had never reacted to my lack of clothing the other times. It’s because now I’m willing to offer him what he wants, rather than flaunt him with maybes. He pulls me closer so I stand between his legs, his hands sliding up my sides, and he explores my body once more before his lips brush against my stomach in a flutter of soft kisses. When his lips find my breasts, he swirls his tongue around my nipple before gentle sucking it into his mouth. I moan and lean into him. I climb on top of him, wrapping my legs around his waist, and our lips meet fervently as I gently rock my pelvis against him.

His heart rate picks up speed, and I taste a hint of nervousness. It’s been quite a while since he was last physical with a woman and a steady stream of anxieties trickle into that clock of his. The last thing I want is him thinking. Rather I want him to be lost in pleasure along with me. So I pull away from him slightly and rest a finger against his lips.

“I want this, Keenan.” I stare into those green eyes that always manage to undo me. “I want you.”

His concerns immediately dissipate at the sound of my desire. Even if I wasn’t an empath, I could tell he wants me as well. His eyes soften into a comfortable laziness, and he turns to place me on the bed beneath him. He removes his undergarment, so when he lies back on top of me, our bodies meet in a naked embrace. I pull him closer, wrapping my legs around him, and welcome the weight of his body on top of mine. His lips meet mine in an ardent kiss, and the tip of his erection glides smoothly inside me. We move against each other, while the rest of our bodies struggle to pull the other closer.

He suddenly rolls onto his back, pulling me on top of him, and then sits up so we’re once again in an upright position. His left hand clutches the back of my neck, while his other arm is firmly wrapped around my waist. I continue to taste him, my tongue exploring his, as I lower myself around him, relishing in the feel of accepting him again. I build up the pleasure within me to match his. When we’re both close, he pulls his lips away and looks into my eyes. Our breathing quickens as the intense pleasure between us reaches its climax, and I cry out in ecstasy as his orgasm swirls gloriously around in my head, heightening my own.

The moment the waves cease, I lower my head onto his shoulder, breathing heavily. The soft ticking inside his mind is almost rendered mute by the fast beating of his heart, and the only emotion I can sense now is an all-encompassing content. Though I’m thoroughly satisfied at the moment, I wonder if I’ll ever have enough of him. I take one last inhale of his scent before I move to climb off him, but Keenan halts my progress, wrapping his arms tightly around me.

“You can’t stay inside me forever, Keenan.”

His lips curve to reveal the dimple that always melts my resolve. “As appealing as that sounds, I suppose you’re right.” He opens his eyes and looks at me drowsily. “It would certainly make traveling in public nearly impossible.”

I pitch my voice in an agreeable tone, but fail to conceal my mirth. “Yes, that would definitely be problematic.”

“And we’d eventually tire of one another.”

I laugh. “We don’t need to be physically stuck to one another for that to happen.”

“No, I suppose not—though it would happen sooner.”

His dimple reappears, and he pulls me in for a deep kiss. When we separate, the photograph of the young woman I had found in his office surfaces to the front of my mind. We lie down beside one another, and I honestly can’t say what possesses me to say the words that tumble out of my mouth. Perhaps it stems from a mixture of curiosity and jealousy.

“Is that what happened between you and Celeste?”

His brows immediately pucker, and an emotion I didn’t expect overwhelms his features. “Who?”

I simply stare at him for a moment, debating whether or not I should continue down this unpleasant spiral. He’s clearly not faking his mystification, so I have a chance to save myself by changing the subject. But, instead, I plunge further, even if it leads me to my doom.

“Celeste,” I repeat. “Your ex-lover?”

“My ex-lover?” he echoes, his frown deepening. “I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about, Moira.”

“It’s nothing.” I wave my hand dismissively, curling up in the nook of his arm, and rest my head on his chest. “Ignore everything I just said.”

He doesn’t respond, and his brows are stuck in an expression of deep thought. Though I had told him to forget it, he won’t. What I said has perplexed him, and he’s trying to sift through his memories for a Celeste. He has only ever known one person named Celeste, and he was never romantically involved with her. His thoughts continue to baffle me. Why would he keep a picture of a woman in a romance novel if he never had an intimate relationship with her? Perhaps it was love from a distance? I sigh in annoyance. Now he can’t help but think about another woman right after having sex with me, and it’s my own fault.

I attempt to change the subject. “I’m pretty sure Mrs. Whitmore heard us.”

“Probably.”

The idea doesn’t bother him at all, and he’d gladly do it over again. I don’t need to ask him to know the sex was great, because the answer is all there in his thoughts. But Keenan isn’t an empath, so he doesn’t have the luxury of reading my thoughts. He’s wondering if the experience had been pleasant for me, or if I had exaggerated the intensity of my pleasure. I smile against his chest, debating whether or not I should stroke his ego with grateful affirmations, or if I should leave him squirming in speculation.

Mr. Hayes enters his mind, and he automatically compares himself to the Dream House Instigator, questioning if I had enjoyed the other man’s company more. Jealousy spreads, slow and steadily, encompassing the floor and spreading up the gears in his mind. It doesn’t stem from a need to exceed the other man’s prowess in the bedroom, but rather from a desire to please me. Apparently, we’re both thinking about other people when we should be thinking about one another.

I prop myself up on my elbow and look at him. “That was amazing.”

He narrows his eyes, suspicion quickly overriding his jealousy. “Have you been reading my mind this entire time?”

“Only what comes to me easily.” I flash him my best innocent smile.

“I see. And how much is that?”

“A lot,” I admit. “But it wasn’t intentional. Your mind was too preoccupied on other things to put up much of a defense.”

He pauses, and I know exactly what he’s thinking. He’s not angry in the least. How could he be when he practically gave me those thoughts? Rather, he’s annoyed he can’t read my mind—that he has to resort to verbal questions and chance the possibility I might lie. So when his mouth parts open, I know he’ll ask for fairness.

“Since you’ve been listening to my personal thoughts, I think it’s only fair you answer a few questions of mine.”

“Naturally,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Alright, ask away.”

He immediately erects a mental barrier, funnelling all his thoughts out of the clock and effectively out of my reach. “Why did you agree to Mr. Hayes’s offer? Was it because you were genuinely interested or was it an attempt to raise my jealousy?”

“Honestly?” I say, and he nods. “I needed a distraction.”

He scrutinizes me, his gaze flickering over my face. “Why him?”

I sigh. “Because the man I wanted didn’t seem to want me in return.”

“And why do you say that?” He’s clearly annoyed, but I can’t read his thoughts to find the source of his irritation.

My own frustration rises, and I give him a pointed look. “Because he continuously rejected my advances. Then there was that time he told me I was annoying–”

“You are frustrating and difficult.”

“–and an unwanted distraction,” I continue.

“That as well,” he says slowly. “But I never said you were unwanted.”

“You didn’t have to. It was sort of implied.”

“So that’s why you slept with Mr. Hayes?” He’s absolutely calm as he says this, but I can sense he’s simultaneously incredulous and aggravated.

“Yes, more or less.”

It sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud, but at the time it didn’t feel absurd. I had wanted Keenan and had even made my desire for him known. Yet he hadn’t responded and had even retreated further away from me after our first kiss. I went to Mr. Hayes, knowing he would divert my mind from thinking about the detective. Was it wrong? I don’t think so, but to Keenan, I would venture to say yes.

He turns onto his side and peers down at me. “Do you intend to continue to see Mr. Hayes?”

His barriers are erected firmly in place, so I can only sense any emotion he’s experiencing strongly. I could shatter the wall that blocks my path, but I don’t. I respect his privacy—at least I try to most of the time. Even though I honour his decision to hide his thoughts, I’m a little peeved he happened to choose this moment. After that question, it would be nice to know his thoughts—to gauge where we stand. If he wants to continue seeing me intimately, then my answer would definitely be no. But if he doesn’t, then I’m undeniably going to need someone else to distract me.