Born to Darkness (27 page)

She didn’t laugh. But that didn’t stop him.

“I think I’d have a better time believing you,” he continued, “if that was the case.”

“You went into
Father’s
to get laid?” Mac asked skeptically. “That place is a dive.”

“I went in to hustle a few games of pool,” Shane told her honestly. “I needed some cash so I could hit one of the nicer hotel bars, downtown. But then, you walked in.”

“And it was
lust
at first sight.” She leaned on the word, hoping that he wouldn’t embarrass them both by using the other L-word. “That’s exactly my point. That’s what I do. In this case, unintentionally, but still.”

Shane was clearly unconvinced. “I wasn’t the only man in there who noticed you.”

“And again, you prove my point.”

“Have you ever been in a bar—anywhere—where the men
don’t
look up when a woman—any woman—walks in?” Shane laughed. “I hate to burst your bubble, but the biological ability to attract applies to all women, everywhere. All you have to be is female for at least
some
men to say
I’d tap that
. It’s a given. It’s kind of like my saying that I have a special talent when it comes to eating dinner. My body’s really skilled at turning food into energy. And yeah, metabolism’s involved. Mine’s better than most. Same way you turn more heads when you walk into a bar.”

“This is more than that,” Mac told him. “Do you know how I caught Littleton this morning, before he jokered? I found him at the counter in a greasy spoon, and all I had to do was sit down next to him. I offered to trade him sex for drugs and—”

“Jesus,” he breathed. “You really are out there on the front lines, aren’t you?”

“He would have followed me anywhere,” Mac said.

Shane laughed again, but it was obviously an expression of his disgust. “You say that like it’s some kind of miracle. Do you ever even
look
into a mirror, Michelle? Do you
really
not have a clue—”

“Oh, please,” she scoffed. “And I am
not
being coy or cute or trying to—”

“Beauty is more than supermodel-perfect features,” he countered. “Which, by the way, any fool with money can buy from any doctor with a surgical knife, along with perfect tits and ass.”

“And what
I’m
saying,” she shot back, “is that beauty isn’t, ultimately, what attracts. Although it helps—I’m helped by being able to alter my appearance, which is what I did last night, FYI, before taking off my bra? That wasn’t me—that was me,
adjusted—
for your enjoyment.”

Shane still didn’t understand. She could pick up his bewilderment, along with his amusement. “Am I supposed to apologize because I thought you were hot?” he asked. “When you did something I had no idea you were doing …?”

And okay, when he put it like that, she definitely sounded crazy. “Of course not,” she said. “But you’re not letting me explain.”

“Please,” he said. “Do.”

“It’s not only the adjustments to my physical appearance that make me attractive,” Mac told him. “I also release pheromones and my pupils dilate and … I tune into individual body chemistry—when you sat down next to me, I was able to make myself smell really good, specifically
for you
. I can read body language—subtle things that you might not even be aware of, and send back messages that inform your subconscious that we’d be—yes—a perfect fit. I can do this instantly and, apparently, subconsciously. The bottom line is that I can dial up the charisma factor—that’s the best way to explain it—whenever I want to. And that makes me irresistible to men. Most men. I must’ve done it without thinking when I went into the bar last night. Otherwise you never would have approached me.”

Shane waited several beats, no doubt to make sure that this time she truly was finished. But then he said, “You can’t know what I would or wouldn’t have done.”

“On the contrary,” Mac said. “I can. You say you went in there to get laid? Well, I did, too. At the time, I wasn’t really thinking that clearly, but in hindsight? Why else would I have gone there? I walked in, and when I saw you—”

“You dismissed me,” he countered.

“As any kind of a threat,” she shot back. “But as a fuck-buddy? Apparently, I locked in on your potential right away. Sometimes eye contact is all it takes.”

Shane laughed again. “So because you
looked
at me, that was it? My free will was gone? I
had
to go over and sit next to you—I had absolutely no choice …?”

“You used the word
magic
before,” she admitted. “In a way, you were exactly right, since I cast a spell on you.”

He was shaking his head. “I don’t believe that.”

“And you also probably didn’t believe that Diaz could pick you up and move you across a room,” she pointed out.

And there it was—she finally felt it. Doubt had put a chink in his certainty, which wavered as he gazed back at her.

“It probably hasn’t fully worn off yet,” she told him quietly. “Whatever it was that I did to you. But it will. It always does. And then you’ll believe me, too.”

She’d managed to silence him. She turned toward the door, aware that there was only one more thing that she had to say. She forced herself to turn back and meet his still-steady gaze. “I
am
sorry—”

He cut her off. “I’m not,” he said. “Whatever that was that happened between us? And it sure as hell felt like free will, but even if it wasn’t? I’m not
sorry
. It was fucking great, Michelle.”

Oh, God. “Please don’t call me that.”

“It was fucking great,” he repeated. “Mac.”

She’d expected his anger or indignation. She didn’t quite know what to say, particularly since she now felt the sudden pressure of tears. Dear God, don’t let her cry. “Somehow I doubt you’ll still feel that way tomorrow.”

“And if I do?”

“You won’t.” She had to get out of here. She opened the door.

Shane didn’t stop her, other than to say, “Elliot thinks I helped fix your ankle—that I helped you heal today, too. How does that crazy shite fit in?”

“I don’t know,” Mac admitted, glancing back at him over her shoulder. She didn’t know how the fact that just touching this man
brought her up to nearly sixty percent integrated fit in with any of this, either. But she
did
know that she was unwilling to keep on deceiving him. “But thank you for … that.”

He was still watching her, and despite his still-new doubt, she felt it again—that distinct chime of his desire. Despite everything she’d told him, he wanted her to stay.

And God, wouldn’t that be nice—to be able to use sex to release some of her anger and grief at killing Rickie Littleton, at failing to find Nika Taylor, at her own blind and dumb luck for crashing into this incredible man in the first place?

And then, after, she might even be able to fall asleep without assistance, next to his solidness and warmth …

“I’m so sorry,” Mac told him again as she closed the door gently behind her, and the latch caught, locking him in, because Bach didn’t want him wandering the compound while all of his babysitters had been ordered to rest.

He didn’t complain about the lockdown. But he found the intercom. The speaker clicked on, and his voice followed her as she walked away.

“I’m not,” he said again. “Sorry. I’m not …”

“Give it time,” Mac said, even though he probably couldn’t hear her. “And you will be.”

Stephen Diaz lived on the very same floor as Elliot, in the OI building known as the barracks.

Elliot stood outside of the Greater-Than’s apartment, afraid to ring the bell and wake him up, but knowing that he had to do it. He had to talk to Diaz
before
the meeting in Bach’s office. And that meant that this conversation had to happen now.

Regardless of how tired he was.

Regardless of the fact that Diaz might be asleep.

So he raised his hand to ring the bell—and the door opened before his finger hit the button.

Diaz wasn’t sleeping. In fact, it was kind of obvious that he’d recently showered. His chiseled face was freshly shaven, his short, dark hair was artfully arranged. He was dressed for company in a really nice, soft-looking shirt that was a vibrant shade of blue—with its sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the collar comfortably open.

Or maybe this was just the way he spent his alone-time at home. In faded jeans that he
had
to know made him look like a million bucks, and brown leather sandals that exposed his perfect toes …

In contrast, Elliot felt rumpled and messy. Although, even when he tried to dress up, he still managed to look disheveled, so it shouldn’t have bothered him.

But it did.

“Hey,” Elliot said, because one of them had to say something, instead of just standing there, staring in silence. “Um, sorry. About the late hour. I mean, it’s morning, sure, but … I know you were up all night, because I was, too, although, now that I think of it, it’s probably not your night to sleep, although Dr. Bach
did
give the order to rest, and it really felt—to me—like you needed at least a nap, so …”

Okay.

He sounded like a moron, but close proximity to Diaz usually made him yammer as if his IQ had suddenly dropped. Recent events had made that phenomenon worsen.

The man was clearly embarrassed by Elliot’s somewhat obvious mission—he was hardly able to meet Elliot’s gaze. But he did open the door wider and even stepped back to let the doctor come inside. “I was pretty sure you’d be, um, coming by,” Diaz murmured. “So …”

So
, indeed.

It was difficult not to think about what had happened, down in the main function room after Rickie Littleton had jokered—when Diaz had tried to push Elliot out into the hallway. With his telekinetic powers occupied by locking Shane Laughlin into place, Diaz had had to use physical force. He’d grabbed Elliot from behind, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him back against his chest.

And just as it had happened down in the exam room, Diaz had suddenly and instantly been deep inside of Elliot’s head.

The Greater-Than’s thoughts had been a rapid-fire jumble of words and images.

Elliot was in danger simply by being there. Shane, too, but Elliot …

Elliot caught a flash of himself—a memory from months ago—as he laughed at some test of one of the trainee’s powers that had gone ridiculously wrong.

But then Diaz had realized that Elliot could hear his thoughts, and he’d addressed him directly. His vehemence was strong.
You should have kept Shane in the exam room, where it was safe!

But it was because they were here that Diaz was up to sixty percent, Elliot tried to tell the Greater-Than.

How can I concentrate on rescuing Mac? God damn it, I want you safe! I want …

“It’s Shane!” Elliot had said, speaking over Diaz’s thoughts, saying the words aloud. “He’s giving you that boost and holy crap, it’s—”

You. God, I want
you.

And the flood of erotic images was back, and it was all so vivid and overpowering that, for a heartbeat, Elliot wasn’t sure where he was. It was only because Diaz was holding him that he didn’t fall over. And it was, finally,
that
that grounded him and brought him back—the fact that he was pressed so tightly against Diaz that the other man’s very physical attraction was both unavoidable and unmistakable.

Diaz obviously couldn’t and didn’t fail to notice it either, and he let go of Elliot—fast—breaking the intimacy of their mental connection.

And just as quickly as Elliot’s theory about Shane fell apart, a new theory blossomed. What if
he
were responsible for Diaz’s boost in power? Not because he was special, but because of Diaz’s attraction?

What if Mac was right, and sex didn’t hinder a Greater-Than’s progress, but instead
helped
?

“
Use
it,” Elliot had urged Diaz. “For God’s sake, man, don’t fight it,
use
it!”

He had no clue what Diaz was feeling or thinking—because their connection was no longer active. But he
did
know that Diaz combined his ramped-up power with Bach’s, and together they were suddenly able to contain both the joker and the rampaging furniture so that Elliot and Shane could reach Mac.

After the battle had ended, there’d been no chance for Elliot to talk privately to Diaz.

Until now.

So Elliot walked through the door, hyper-aware both of the bigger man’s presence and the fact that he’d never been inside of
Diaz’s apartment before. The Greater-Than had obviously brought in his own eclectic furnishings—including bookshelves aplenty—and he’d adorned the walls with boldly colorful artwork that had a distinctly Mexican flavor. He’d renovated, too—opening the place up so that instead of having two separate bedrooms, he had one single, much-larger main room, with his bed tucked away in an alcove and …

Okay,
that
was the exact same bed Elliot had envisioned earlier, both when he’d tried to help Diaz up off the floor in the hall, when those shockingly intimate images had first flashed through his mind, and again, down in the function room, just a few hours ago. It had looked familiar to him, he realized now with a jolt, because he’d seen it before, in his dreams.

He’d been here before, in this apartment
—in his dreams
.

Holy crap.

“Can I get you some coffee?” Diaz’s voice came from right behind him, and Elliot quickly turned.

“Yeah,” he said. “Thanks. Wait. You don’t drink coffee.”

Yet he could smell it brewing—rich and fragrant. And sure enough, there was a fresh pot in a small coffeemaker that was out on the kitchen counter, hissing and spitting its last.

Diaz slipped into the kitchen area, behind a breakfast counter that separated it from the otherwise open room. There were two brightly colored mugs already out and waiting. One was filled with hot water that steamed as a tea bag brewed.

As Elliot watched, Diaz pulled the pot from the hot plate and poured the coffee into the blue mug, filling it close to the brim. He pushed the mug forward, handle out, clearly aware that Elliot drank his coffee black.