Toxic Game (GhostWalkers #15) - Christine Feehan Page 0,38

hadn’t learned—nor had he wanted to until he’d found the GhostWalkers. He’d been betrayed by just about everyone he’d ever known, including Dr. Whitney. He’d been lucky enough to find a home with Team Four of the GhostWalkers in the Pararescue Unit. In his life, those men had been the first he’d ever given his allegiance to, and that had been hard-won.

He realized Shylah’d had the same shit life, thrown away by her parents and sold to a doctor who believed that all experiments on throwaway female children were justifiable, no matter what he did to them. Draden had grown cold and something had broken inside of him. Shylah had grown warm and strong, refusing to let Whitney’s evil poison her.

He stopped abruptly, just outside the door of the hut, and turned to her, framing her face with his hands. Her skin felt petal soft. Her bone structure delicate. She looked elegant, there in the forest in her camouflage cargo pants, a gun in her side holster, hair braided and wound into an intricate figure eight, and those long lashes fanning her cheeks. She would tempt a saint, and he was far from that. Even acknowledging he was physically attracted and that attraction was strong, he knew he just plain liked her. Admired her. He didn’t admire many people, especially women. Too many had come at him for all the wrong reasons.

Draden knew he shouldn’t, but he touched her mind, just to see if she was falling apart. To his shock, she wasn’t. He expected to hear screaming. Crying. She knew she was going to die. She resolved to save a bullet for herself—and for him, if he was too far gone to do so for himself. She also was certain he would do the same.

He’d almost forgotten she’d been raised military. He’d joined the GhostWalker program knowing he’d be put into situations where there was no way out. He’d joined anyway. He believed serving one’s country was a decent way to go. All along, he knew he’d been the one to make the choice and he had his reasons.

Shylah hadn’t been given a choice, but she’d been raised military and she was as much a patriot as he was. She also knew she was going to die at some point. She had resolved to get away from Whitney, and that meant death. That was the price. Still, she was willing to pay for her freedom, but she wanted to choose how and when. She’d chosen. It was that simple. There weren’t going to be hysterics. Once she’d gotten past the initial shock, she had made up her mind to be his partner and get as many desires checked off the list as possible—just as he had done.

“I’m going to kiss you.” He needed to kiss her before he opened Pandora’s box. Once he saw what was in the hut, he’d know if there was a chance for her. Strangely, his heart pounded as he waited for her answer.

Shylah continued to stare into his eyes, taking him somewhere he’d never been, but it was a place he was willing to go. He’d felt physical attraction when he was with other women. He’d never felt like this—wanting to know everything about her. Everything. Her opinions. Her friends. What she liked or didn’t like. He’d never cared, and he’d never shared anything about himself with other women. He wanted Shylah to see past his physical appearance to him. He needed her to care who he was.

“I was hoping you would.”

Her velvet-soft tone stroked his cock like the touch of fingers. That soft voice wrapped around his heart and squeezed like a fist. Those eyes, like the darkest night, sin and temptation, called to him. He bent his head. He didn’t have to go too far because she was tall enough for him to reach without stooping down.

Her arms slid around his neck, a slide of petal-soft skin. That familiar delicate scent enveloped him. Then her lips were under his. Cool. Firm. Soft. So inviting. His tongue demanded entry and she parted her lips and let him take her over. As a teen, working in the nursery, he had eaten his share of peonies. He’d become a little addicted to the taste of the flower. The petals were mild, but as a whole, they had a distinctly different flavor. If it was an acquired taste, he’d managed to develop a need for it.

That faint, elusive wintergreen was there, and he chased it. Cool