"We'll put her in the room behind you. By the way,” he said, “I'm Jake Morgan."
"Michael Kelly.” He shook the offered hand impatiently.
"Thought you might be. How long will she be out?"
Michael shrugged. “Minimum, a couple of hours. I shall stay and keep watch over her.” And what better way to start gaining her trust than by being here, guarding her, when she woke?
Jake nodded, not asking the questions Michael could see in his mind. Instead, he rose and crossed the room to speak to the older man.
Michael slipped his arms under her body and carefully lifted. She was light. Too light, really. How in hell did she manage to maintain the energy needed to feed her psychic gifts when there was so little of her?
He took her into the next room and laid her carefully on the old couch that dominated one wall of the small storeroom. She stirred and opened her eyes.
"Don't leave me,” she murmured.
Her gaze was filled with shadows and fear. He smiled and sat beside her. She shifted slightly, using his leg as a pillow. Closing his eyes, Michael carefully reached into her mind, calming the surface turmoil, stilling her fears—at least enough to allow her to sleep peacefully for several hours. That he could do this without her knowing spoke of her desperate need for rest.
He opened his eyes and gazed at her. She looked so young lying there, almost childlike. Yet he'd caught the occasional whisper of thought that spoke of a harsh past. He caressed her forehead, her skin like satin against his fingertips. Though he knew he could not afford to get more involved than he was, he found himself wishing again that he had the time to learn more about her. But that was a freedom he'd lost long ago, and it was too late now for regrets.
* * * *
Darkness drifted through her dreams. It filled her mind, washing corruption through her soul. She fought it, desperate to be free. Yet she couldn't break the chains holding her captive. In the distance she heard a voice whisper her name. She turned toward the sound, following it desperately through the darkness.
Awareness surfaced. A door slammed in the front office. Trevgard, Nikki thought, and knew by the sudden leap of tension in the main office that both his patience and his temper were growing thin. She also became aware of Michael, of the firmness of his thigh against her cheek, the gentleness of his fingers caressing her forehead. Of his scent, an odd mixture of spice and earthiness. Much too aware.
She sat up abruptly. Averting her gaze from his, she pushed her hair back behind her ears. How did you react to a man who had saved your life and yet was still so much of an enigma?
"A simple thank you would be sufficient,” he said quietly. She glanced up sharply. “I've never met anyone who can read my thoughts as easily as you appear able to.” Tommy had been able to read her thoughts, but not so easily, unless she'd been angry or tired. Michael shrugged, ebony eyes regarding her warily. “Telepathy is a strong gift in my family. Over the years, I've honed its use."