Never Enough: Delos Series, 3B1 Page 7

Matt watched Dara slowly awaken, her blond hair mussed, an angel’s halo about her head as the dawn rays leaked in around the drapes in their bedroom. Her face was utterly free of tension, a slight tinge of pink staining her cheeks, those thick blond lashes quivering, telling him she was drifting up through the layers of sleep toward wakefulness. He was propped up on one elbow at her side, the sheet scrunched around her waist, the rest of their bedcovers on the teak floor from the wild, hungry sex he’d shared with her last night. He ached for her again, tenderness toward her winding like a quiet breeze through his chest as he absorbed Dara’s slow awakening.

  Usually, Dara was up and gone by the time he’d rise in the morning, the condo cold and lifeless without the sunshine of her energy within it. Matt hated awakening with the sheet beside him cool to his touch, indicating she’d risen long ago, taken a quick shower, and hurriedly driven over to the hospital. And she could arrive home as late as midnight on a bad day where there were a lot of emergencies involving babies.

  Smoothing her hair away from her brow, his touch feather-light, Matt hoped he had not disturbed her. He knew her work could be draining, though she seemed to have been energized by his arrival at her condo in mid-December. In the ensuing days they spent with one another, Matt had watched Dara bloom beneath his care and love, just as she was helping him. He’d loved having this time for them to get to know one another outside the stressful circumstances of Afghanistan.

  Her soft mouth compressed, and then she licked her lower lip. There were other ways to share and show his love with her. As he moved a few more strands of her hair, the silk sleek between his fingers, he knew these days in Hawaii were a dreaded countdown for both of them. Already, he could see shadows in her eyes sometimes, her worry about his returning to the war zone. About losing him. And Dara was the biggest worrywart he’d ever met. To give her credit, she was very good at cloaking it, but with his senses blown wide open, he could damn near read her feelings.

  It was more sensing than actual telepathic words or thoughts, but it kept him in touch with Dara when she tried to hide her anxiety from him. Matt would never tell her just how much he could read her. He could smell her fear, her concern, and her happiness. Just as he could sense her sexual need of him. He’d discovered early on that there was a subtle shift hormonally, and, like the animal who’d lived within him since he could remember, he smelled that change in a woman’s body. He knew which woman was attracted to him and which wasn’t. Which one wanted sex with him. With Dara, her scent was far more complicated and layered. He wasn’t that good that he could mentally understand it all. But with her? Everything shifted dramatically, changed and became beautiful, haunting, and Matt craved only her presence, her intelligence, how she saw life, what touched her, what brought her to tears, or made her smile. And that smile of hers went straight to his heart and directly to his soul. Matt wanted to put all those revelations into words and share them with her.

  He wrestled daily in Dara’s presence to articulate his feelings. It wasn’t his forte. Frustrated by his inability to share all this with her, he tried to communicate his heart, his appreciation of how she lightened his soul with her quiet, steady presence, through his touch, his kisses, and by giving her a sense of protection. Her lashes barely lifted, and Matt smiled down into her drowsy, dark-blue eyes, her black pupils large. He leaned down, cupping her chin, guiding her mouth to his, kissing her slowly, deeply, wanting to convey the powerful love he held only for her. She made that sweet humming sound in the back of her throat, her body moving sinuously against his.

  Slowly, Matt eased from her wet, warm lips, holding her drowsy gaze. “How about I make us breakfast? And I’ll get a tub of hot water ready for you.” He wanted to do small things, give gifts from him to her, find nonverbal ways of letting Dara know that he loved her and couldn’t conceive of life without her. He saw her lift her left hand, the sparkle of Grandmother Damia’s engagement ring caught in the dawn light as she caressed his jaw.

  “That would be wonderful … thank you,” she said, her voice low and slumberous.

  “You got it.”

  *

  Dara felt groggy even after a nice, hot bath. She had put on a pair of white linen slacks with a pink, cap-sleeve tee. Knowing how much Matt loved her hair down, she had brushed it until it shone like old gold. She inhaled the scent of bacon in the air as she left the bedroom. The morning sun had not yet risen enough to come over the spine of the sharp-toothed volcanic mountains. She’d seen a map in a picture frame in the bedroom and studied it. Oahu, like all the other Hawaiian Islands, had been created by a series of eruptions over millions of years. She was struck by how the volcanoes had created this particular island, the mountains rising sharply above it, down the eastern side of it, reminding her markedly of a human backbone. She was always amazed at the way life mirrored nature and vice versa.

  “Mmm,” she called, letting Matt know she was approaching him from behind as he worked at the stove. “That bacon smells really good.”

  He barely turned his head, catching her smile as she approached him. “Hungry?” Dara looked good enough to eat as dessert, the pink color of her form-fitting tee bringing out the soft blush across her cheeks. Never had he seen Dara look so relaxed. No longer were there smudges beneath those large, intelligent eyes of hers. There was no more tension in her face, either. She walked languidly, like the lioness he always thought of her as. That sway of her hips made his cock swell with need beneath the zipper of his jeans. With Dara, his senses were always on, always in tune with her, and right now, that faint smile tugging at the corners of her mouth made him go hot with longing for her. She was an aphrodisiac, he decided. It didn’t matter what Dara did or didn’t wear. He was simply addicted to her in every possible way.

  She came up behind him and laid her head against his back, her arms going around his waist, resting lightly against him. “I’m hungry, and you look sorta good yourself. Never mind the bacon.”

  He chuckled. “Funny. I was thinking I could have you for dessert after we eat breakfast.” Her breasts were pressed against his back, his skin prickling with fire and hunger beneath them. He felt her laugh, her arms tightening momentarily around him and then releasing him, and she moved to the counter beside him.

  “Men,” she muttered, shaking her head. She picked up a woven basket and placed some paper towels in it, handing it to him as he scooped the bacon out of the iron skillet. “You know, as a doctor, I understand hormones. And I know males have a much higher testosterone level than we women.” She smiled wickedly, seeing the gleam in his gold-brown eyes, feeling that dangerous sensuality he always exuded. “And that testosterone makes you male, but it also stains your brain with sex, too.”

  “Oh,” he deadpanned, handing her the basket, now filled with bacon. “I know about the studies where men think about sex every five minutes during every waking hour. Is that what you’re referring to?” He saw the merriment dance in her eyes as she pushed away from the counter and took the basket over to the bamboo and glass table in the dining area.

  “Most definitely,” she shot back, giving his crotch a significant look. “I’d say the study was right, hmm?”

  His mouth curved. “Looks like I can’t hide the evidence, can I? Guilty as charged.” Matt took an egg and milk mixture and poured it into another awaiting skillet. Earlier, he’d chopped up some sweet Maui onion and sharp cheddar cheese and added some Middle Eastern spices into the mixture. He listened to her husky laugh, meeting her smiling gaze. “You inspire me. What can I say, sweet woman?” He gave her a sizzling look that made it clear he wanted to make love with her. Matt enjoyed this kind of repartee with Dara. She wasn’t at all challenged by what he needed sexually from her. She was enough of her own woman, confident enough within herself, to tell him yes or no.

  Good thing Dara didn’t know he already knew what her answer would be, based upon his sensing abilities. That would be his secret. Matt found her easy to tease because she possessed a wonderful sense of
humor, and he would never hurt her by being rude or harsh with her. He wanted her trust, her vulnerability. And right now, he felt equally vulnerable with her. It was a new feeling within him. Somehow, last night, things had remarkably changed between them as they mated like two animals starved for one another. It was an evolution in their lovemaking. And it had surprised both of them last night, judging from the expression on Dara’s face as they came together like fire and oil tossed upon one another.

  “Well,” she said, trailing her fingers down his left arm, “I really liked what happened to us last night. That was new, Matt. It was”—she sighed, leaning her hips against the counter, watching him make the omelet for them—“incredible, heady, euphoric, and I can’t even find the words to really describe how wonderful it made me feel.” She lost some of her smile. “Did it do the same for you?”

  “Oh, yeah,” he assured her, casting her a quick glance as he folded the omelet with the spatula. “Whatever happened last night, it happened to both of us. And I’m not sorry for any moment of it. Are you?” Matt gave her a questioning look. And last night, they’d gone at it pretty hard. That kind of rousing sex wasn’t for every woman, and Matt knew that. It seemed to suit both of them at that moment, however, but he didn’t want to take any chances. In the cold light of day, when they weren’t ruled by their hormones, they needed to discuss what had occurred.

  Dara brought down two, bright-blue ceramic plates that had colorful pink and white hibiscus flowers painted on one half of the rim. “Something happened,” she murmured. “I can’t explain it. I could sure feel it, though.” Moving to another drawer, she pulled out the flatware. “I loved it.” And then she grinned, giving him a teasing look. “I wondered if it was the water we drank last night or something. Is there something magical in Oahu’s water, you think?”

  A rumble of a chuckle rolled through his chest as he divided the finished omelet, placing half on each awaiting plate. The toaster popped up four pieces of toast, and he handed the plates to Dara. “I don’t think it was the water. But if it was, Oahu has one helluva aphrodisiac on its hands. They’ll sell bottles by the billions if everyone who drinks it experiences what we did last night.”

  Laughing outright, Dara placed the plates on two colorful, quilted placemats that had bright red and yellow Hawaiian designs on them. “You’re right about that!”

  Matt brought over the buttered toast on another plate and pulled out her bamboo chair, which had a thick, jade-colored cushion on the seat. Dara gave him a look of thanks and sat down. “I feel it was us. And maybe,” he murmured, setting the plate of toast between them and going to the fridge, “it was the magic of Hawaii. Of getting into a stress-free climate.” He found guava jelly in the fridge, brought it over to the table, and sat down at her elbow.

  “I’m not sure, Matt. I’m still feeling odd and different inside, but it’s not a bad thing. It’s a good thing.”

  “Could you describe it?” He sliced into his fragrant omelet after capturing four pieces of bacon and placing them on his plate.

  Dara frowned, opening the jar of pink jelly and taking a piece of toast into her hand. “The closest I can come to describing it is, it’s like when you drink champagne. You know that bubbly, happy sensation your tongue gets when it hits it?”

  Raising his brows, Matt gave her a look of pride. “You’re pretty good at this. I’d say the same thing now that you’ve drawn me a word picture of it.”

  “Are you still feeling bubbly and happy, then?” She crunched into the guava jelly–slathered toast, a satisfied look coming to her face.

  “Yep. It’s very nice.” He held her amused blue gaze, seeing how much she relished that island jelly on the toast. Dara was artless when it came to hiding how she felt. She simply couldn’t do it, and Matt was grateful. The only time she hid her feelings, or tried to, was when she became worried or anxious. Which was a lot of the time. He wondered if something in her childhood had triggered that reaction in her and silently promised himself to ask her that while they were on vacation. He’d find the right time and place to delve more deeply into her family past.

  She set the toast on her plate, picked up bacon from the basket, and took a bite of it. “Were you hiding that aspect of yourself from me, I wonder?” She held his hooded gaze.

  “It’s always been a part of me, Dara. But I try to monitor and find out what my woman wants, not what I necessarily want. Making love is a two-way street. It has to be mutual.”

  “But it was mutual last night, Matt.”

  “Sure was,” he said, meeting her winsome smile. Her blue eyes were shining, and he could feel her love enveloping him like an invisible embrace. They had never had this kind of downtime to sit and talk deeply, to explore one another in so many areas that needed to be plumbed in depth.

  “I loved it. Nothing had ever felt so right with you. I felt …” She rolled her eyes upward in thought. “I felt like we were two wild animals circling one another, both powerful, confident, and so sure of themselves. It was so freeing. I’ve never felt so untamed or primal before.”

  He almost choked on a piece of the omelet, quickly picking up a glass of the pink guava juice he’d poured earlier for them. Taking a slug, Matt swallowed hard, seeing the sincerity, the searching and questioning in her expression. Dara was expecting an answer from him. “Well … yes,” he managed to say, his voice a rasp as he cleared his throat. “I suppose you could put it that way.”

  “Your mom named you Aslan, which is Turkish for ‘lion,’” she pointed out, cutting into her omelet with zest. Her knife and fork hesitated above it as she studied him intently. “Now, I know you have mystics in your family, Matt. And even your parents and your uncles have all said that you three kids are psychic. That it’s a gene that has come down from the Turkish side of your family line.”

  Dara was like a lioness on the trail of a scent. He supposed that to be a doctor, one had to be like that. She would find a piece of evidence, a symptom, then run it down like a hunting animal. She’d put those symptoms together and come up with a diagnosis. She had a very scientific and logical mind, which he respected, and he found it interesting that she was homing in on his family’s seer-like ability. Matt tried to downplay it. “Well, that’s true, but it’s more sensing than anything else, Dara. I don’t see the future, for example.”

  “But your grandmother Damia did.” She triumphantly flourished her left hand, where she wore that diamond engagement ring he’d given her. “She definitely saw the future. She said her rings would go to a fair-haired woman. That was me.”

  “Well,” Matt hedged, seeing her get excited, that look of the hunter who’d found her prey, “but none of the three of us have that exact ability. And it’s differently expressed in Alexa, Tal, and me.”

  “So, you’ve known about this all your life?”

  “Sort of,” he muttered, keeping his head down, paying a lot of attention to his food, hoping she would let this go and stop hunting. “Tal and I have powerful sensing abilities at times. It comes and goes in me, like it does in her. And maybe that’s why in a dangerous situation, which we were always in over in Afghanistan, it served to help keep us alive and out of ambushes.”

  “But you didn’t sense that ambush we got caught in going to that Afghan village.”

  “That’s right. Like I said, sweetheart, my sensing ability comes and goes. When it comes, I’m always grateful to have it, but when it goes, I can’t control it or ask it to come back to serve me. It’s not something I can will into happening. It’s sort of like an ocean tide; it just does what it wants, when it wants.”

  “That’s fascinating,” she said, consuming everything on her plate and going back for more bacon. “It’s really what people call intuition. It’s our sixth sense, which scientists have pooh-poohed but have never really studied. Shame on them.”

  If only she knew. But Matt said nothing because he had a top secret clearance, and he wasn’t about to tell Dara that he was part of an ongoing, remote-v
iewing program within the CIA, where people were found and used for their psychic abilities. And even that ability came and went. There were times he’d get a flash, a picture. Other times, he’d get nothing. Everyone thought that the sixth sense of human beings had been shut down, but it hadn’t. If Dara found out about it, God, she would hound him about his skills. Maybe one day he would tell her the full scope of his psychic aptitude, but not right now. This was vacation. A time to relax, to enjoy one another, not delve into the depths of something he still didn’t fully grasp himself.

  Matt could see the ongoing curiosity about his skills in her eyes and knew that Dara wasn’t grounded in the psychic realm at all. And for now, that was okay with him. He reached out, squeezing her lower arm for a moment. “I just think that we hit a new level within our growing relationship last night. It was great sex combined with the love we hold for one another, Dara. And it worked for us.” He saw her expression lighten; she was satisfied with his explanation sans the psychic element attached to it.

  “Life is so interesting to me,” she said, giving him a grateful look. “People are all so different. You, especially. You’re like a Rubik’s Cube. Continually fascinating to me.”

  “What? We’re all just petri dishes to be studied by you, doc?” He slid her an amused look.

  Bursting out with laughter, Dara wiped her lips on her white linen napkin. “That’s unfair, Matt! I’ve never seen you as a petri dish! God forbid!”

  He had her going, and he couldn’t stop a grin from emerging. “No? Am I not one of your favorite scientific experiments? You just admitted I fascinated you. I can always see the curiosity in your eyes about me.”

  “Well,” she said, stumbling over her words. “Not like that! You aren’t some scientific experiment to me, Matthew Culver.”

  Uh-oh, now he’d gone and done it. Dara didn’t take that tone of voice with him often and rarely called him Matthew. But when she did, it meant he’d wounded her, and he hadn’t intended to do that. Sometimes, his teasing didn’t come out playfully and she took him seriously instead. Matt knew this was one of those times, and it left him scrambling. “I didn’t mean it quite that way,” he parried, cleaning off his plate and setting it aside.