stairs behind him, looking pale.
âWhatâs the matter, Benson?â
âItâs Miss Phoebe, sir. I heard her. Through the air vents.â
âHeard what?â
Then Cain knew. A scream, stifled and long, echoed through the halls.
He waved Benson back and the butler hesitated, then returned to his rooms. Cain hurried into the east wing, knowing exactly where she was, and pushed at the old-fashioned door latch. It was locked. He could hear her whimpering, begging, and threw his shoulder into the door. The latch gave and he rushed inside.
She was on the bed, curled into a tight little ball, hanging onto the bedpost as if it were the mast of a sinking ship. He hurried to the side of the bed, bending over her. Her eyes were tightly shut, her fingers white-knuckled on the post. He called her name, over and over, yet when he touched her, sheclawed out at him, catching his cheek and batting at him.
âPhoebe, wake up! Itâs a dream. Wake up!â
Cain gripped her shoulders, pulling her from the post, and propelled her back on the bed. âWake up.â She fought him. He pressed his weight onto her, stilling her kicking legs and wild punches, then cupped her face. âItâs only a dream, honey,â he said softly, close to her ear. âWake up now.â
A little sound escaped her, weak and whimpering. Then suddenly, she blinked, staring at him as if he were a stranger, inhaling sharply. Cain felt his insides shift at the confusion in her eyes.
âItâs me, Cain. You were dreaming.â
Her lip quivered, her chest heaving to bring in needed air, and he eased off her, his hand sliding to her bare shoulder. âItâs all right. It was just a dream. No one will hurt you again.â
She just stared at him, tears filling her eyes, then she buried her face in his shoulder.
And she cried.
His battle with touching her was outweighed when her fingertips dug into him, and Cain wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into the curve of his body, rubbing her spine. She struggled against her tears, and Cain tightened his arms. He gazed down at her body nestled against his, the supple curves ofher leg hitched over his thigh. He wanted to push her onto her back, press himself against her, yet instead, he stroked her spine and bare shoulders, hoping his own body didnât betray him. Her skin was flawless beneath his palm, and she felt so delicate against his roughness. In the silence, he sensed the tension leaving her body, in the way she softened, her curves meshing with his harder planes. Cain could spend a lifetime just like this.
After a moment, she sagged almost bonelessly.
âSorry,â she said sheepishly, and the sound was muffled against his chest.
âHow long has this been going on?â
âWeeks.â
âWhat did he do to you?â
âIâd rather not relive it again. I just had the Technicolor version.â
He understood and didnât press her, watching her toy with his shirt buttons, wishing sheâd yank them open and let him feel her skin against his. âPhoebe?â
âYeah.â
âYou okay now?â
She looked up, searching his face. âYeah. Just peachy.â She reached out, sliding her fingers over his jaw, his lips. Cain closed his eyes briefly, smothering a moan as the walls heâd erected started to crumble. He struggled, his mind shouting reasons,flashing pictures that spilled guilt and remorse through him as he caught her hand, stopped her.
He eased back, needing to leave, wanting to stayâand each feeling clawed at him.
Her gaze locked with his. All she did was whisper his name.
Then he was sinking into her mouth.
Nine years of capped electricity connected again.
And exploded.
Four
O ne touch of her lips and he knew it was madness.
One taste and he was sinking into the abyss of desire.
Cain groaned darkly and gathered her closer.
And the worst happened.
She welcomed him.
Openly,
Learning to Kill: Stories