The Pawn of the Phoenix (The Memory Collector Series Book 2) (19 page)

“Is that a challenge?”

“No, it’s a promise.”

I
t’s been
four days since Jonathan was arrested, and we still haven’t heard any word yet from the Chief. We don’t know if a blocker has managed to get past Jonathan’s barriers and, if so, whether or not they’ve found anything. The good news is it’s already two days into the month of May and there hasn’t been a murder yet. Since Richard Anderson was killed the first of April, the detective and I assumed the Phoenix was no longer killing on the seventh of each month. I’d like to think my assumptions were correct and Jonathan is, indeed, the Phoenix. Keenan, on the other hand, is cautious as usual. As much as he wants the case solved, he won’t rest until there’s proof.

The past couple of days have been agonizing as we wait to hear from the Chief. True to his word, Keenan has been a great distraction. Yet not in the way I imagined. We’ve kissed several times, but nothing more. Each touch sets me more on fire, and I don’t know how much longer I can resist the building pressure. My desire to be with Keenan has surpassed the physical impulse that had led me to Icarus, and this need frightens me. With the possibility of the investigation coming to a close, where does that leave us?

The feathery touch of a kiss on my shoulder startles me, but not as much as the feel of Keenan’s hands sliding down my arms. We’ve just recently woken up and, like every morning, he stands behind me to tie up my corset. But instead of pulling away afterwards, he remains behind me, kissing my neck in a very distracting way. When his hands trail beneath my chemise, I moan and lean against his bare chest.

I can be patient.

He turns me around, and I only have a moment to see the desire in his eyes before his lips are on mine. I inhale deeply and press myself into him, relishing in the feel of his erection against my stomach. At first, I’m hesitant, careful to keep my longing restrained. But then his mental barriers crumble with slow precision—a clear invitation—and the ticking sound of the clock has never sounded sweeter. Oh, who am I fooling? I’ve never been the patient type in all my life.

I deepen the kiss and lead us back toward the bed. The back of my legs hit the edge, and we fall onto the mattress. His body is a glorious weight pressing upon me, even if it does leave me a little breathless. My hand creeps between us to unbutton his pants, and I attempt to push the clothing down to expose the length of him. I lift my hips to meet him, anxious to feel his bare skin against mine, but he lifts away from me. He looks down at me, the corners of his lips curving up in pleasure.

“Are you in a hurry, Moira?”

Instead of admitting I don’t think I’m capable of waiting any longer, I appeal to his adherence to punctuality. “No, but we are expected at Rick’s house.”

“They can wait.”

Perhaps, but I don’t think I
can.

Before I have a chance to respond, he turns me over so I’m lying on my stomach. He begins the slow, agonizing process of untying my corset when I wish he’d just leave it on. Each pull elicits the sound of thread sliding through fabric, the faint noise sending a chill through me. I moan, biting down on my protest, and patiently wait until he’s finished. His lips press against my back in tantalizing kisses, while his hand slides down my spine. When he slips between my thighs, I try not to squirm as his thumb glides inside me, while his other fingers circle around my clitoris. I lift my hips off the bed, wanting more, but he stops and turns me onto my back. He removes my corset and chemise, the fabric brushing over my raised nipples, and then slips out of his pants.

His eyes rake over me, and I’m filled with a nervousness I can’t explain, nor understand. It’s as if it’s our first time exploring each other’s bodies, and my stomach flips with anxiety. He kneels onto the bed, intently holding my gaze, as his hands slide slowly up my thighs. With his touch, he tells me I’m beautiful. His thoughts chase away my unease, and my body relaxes and responds to his desire.

He lifts a questioning brow. “Still in a hurry?”

I clutch the sheets at my sides, my heart racing erratically. “I can be persuaded to take my time.”

He smiles before he lowers his head and plants a trail of kisses along my inner thigh. When he creeps farther up, I moan and arch my back. His lips and tongue find my most sensitive part on my body, sending a wave of pleasure through me. It doesn’t take long before he’s persuaded me, and I close my eyes, relishing in the pleasure building inside. His finger slips inside, and I cry out and shudder beneath him as his tongue and lips continue to tease my clitoris. I’m still trying to catch my breath when he creeps up and slowly slips his erection inside me. He pauses, the feel of my wet and warm embrace tightening around him sending him close to the edge. He lifts one of my legs and presses himself deeper with a breathy groan, and I catch his face between my hands and kiss him. I enter his mind and trace my fingers along the gears while still kissing him, adding more pleasure to the one he’s already experiencing. He moans and fists the blanket by my head before he finally spirals into his release.

He burrows his face into my neck and exhales heavily. As we’re silently lying still in each other’s arms, the darkness chooses that moment to creep up on me. Was that our last time together? If so, does that bother me? He exhales once more, his breath tickling my neck. Of course it does. I can’t pretend anymore that walking away from him will be easy and pain-free. My arms unconsciously wrap around him, pulling him tight into an embrace, as I’m suddenly overcome with the fear of losing him. It’s the same possessive, irrational fear I experienced that night in the bathtub, and it absolutely terrifies me.

When he speaks, I realize he’s been clutching me just as tightly.

“Stay,” he whispers, and I hear a thousand promises in that one word.

“I don’t know if I can.”

He lifts his head and stares down at me, his expression intent. “Stay.”

Though his voice is firm, there’s no mistaking the imploring tone. It’s a request and a demand—the first he’s ever made. My throat closes up, and I’m incapable of responding. So, instead, I pull him into a deep kiss and hope my lips speak where my voice has failed me. When we break apart, he doesn’t press the issue, but rather helps me back into my corset.

After we’ve dressed, we leave and head a few blocks west to Constable Jamieson’s townhouse. Rick and his fiancée, Christine, have been expecting us for tea, and we’re running a little late. Thankfully, they don’t live far from Keenan, so it’s not long before we pull up into their street. When we arrive at the house, the young couple greet us enthusiastically. Their smiles are wide, and I can sense a nervous energy surrounding them, which makes me wonder if they don’t get company often.

“I was just about to call you, sir,” says Rick. “I thought something might have happened at the police station to keep you.”

Keenan’s eyes flicker in my direction briefly, but his voice doesn’t betray him. “No, just running a little late unfortunately.”

Christine walks up to me, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “It’s so good to see you again, Moira. I’d love to show you a tour of the house.”

I smile. “Of course.”

She leans toward me and whispers conspiratorially, “We’ll leave the men to fuss over one another while we get reacquainted. Besides, Patrick is very excited to show off his study and collection of cigars to the detective.”

“Is that so? I wasn’t even aware Rick smoked.”

She glances sideways at me and bites down on her smile. “Oh, he doesn’t, but he’s proud of them nonetheless. If I may be frank, I presume it’s to impress the detective.”

I’m not surprised. The constable is young and has always seemed to admire the detective. Christine continues leading me through each room, talking the whole time, and I barely have a moment to interject a word. She informs me they plan to marry in the summer and hope Keenan and I will attend. I tell her of course I would love to go, even though I’m not sure how my presence will be received by the other guests. She then tells me they hope to have a child soon after, and I smile and nod at the appropriate times. Oh, and remark on her choice of decorating even though I have no idea what I’m talking about. Finally, she stops talking and looks at me guiltily.

“Sorry, I normally don’t talk this much.”

She looks so embarrassed, and I’m suddenly struck with an idea. Maybe she’s not the only one who is trying to impress someone. The idea startles me so much that I remain quiet for a long time. In the hierarchy of slaves, I’m the lowest of them all as a concubine. Add the fact I’m an empath and was convicted of murdering my master, and I’m surprised Christine isn’t running away from me. Instead, she’s treating me as if I were her friend or the detective’s wife.

Could this be my life once the Phoenix case is closed? Helping the police catch criminals during the week and visiting Rick and Christine on the weekend. I can see it now, sipping tea with Christine in the backyard while we talk about the men smoking inside. Their children would be running around the garden, exuberant and carefree. Afterwards, the detective and I would leave to go back to his house, and we’d spend the night together. Some days we might quarrel, but in the end, we’d always manage to reconcile our differences. But could I live with the fact we could never marry even if we wanted to and to everyone else I’d be his mistress?

Could this be my life if I stayed?

And what happens if the passion between us fades and we drift apart? Where do I go from there? I absolutely refuse to go back to the pleasure house, so maybe I’d become a blocker for the police. These are all things I never considered until this moment with the potential of the Phoenix being caught. Now they come tumbling to the forefront of my mind, urging me to find answers, and I feel more befuddled than I’ve ever felt. This is the exact reason I didn’t seduce Keenan when we first met, because I knew our emotions would only complicate things. It would be so much easier if I didn’t feel anything toward him.

Then I could walk away without a backwards glance.

But now it’s too late. He’s made a demand, and I’m incapable of refusing. If I were to walk away now, I’d be limping with a deep wound—one I have no doubt would take a long time to heal.

Christine draws my attention to the present by speaking. “Come, the men are probably waiting for us outside on the patio.”

I follow her through the hallway to the back of the house, and we step outside where Keenan and Rick are already seated, waiting for us. They stand the moment we appear, and Rick ushers Christine into her chair. I automatically reach for the other chair, but Keenan has already pulled it aside for me. I stare at him for a moment, baffled, and his brow lifts in a silent question.

“Please, sit,” says Christine.

I hastily cover up my confusion by looking away and sitting down as Keenan pushes the chair closer behind me. It’s a silly thing, I know. But it’s rare I’m treated with such civility that I’m wholly unprepared, and my bitterness threatens to make an appearance. I can feel Keenan’s eyes on me as he takes his seat, but I know better now than to look. If I look into his eyes, I’ll say yes without a moment’s hesitation. And right now it’s best if I consider my options.

“Patrick has told me about the riots,” says Christine. “I don’t know how you three have managed to deal with that these past few weeks.”

The detective takes a sip of his tea before speaking. “It’s more of an inconvenience than anything else.”

“That’s quite the understatement,” I scoff and resist the urge to glare at him. “Unless you’ve forgotten the time they attacked me.”

Christine’s eyes widen and she lowers her cup. “You were attacked?”

At that moment, I can feel all of their eyes on me. Christine is staring at me in horror, while the two men look at me with disapproval. I would have expected the expression from Keenan, but not from Rick. It isn’t until he speaks that I realize my error. Christine isn’t aware of the danger, and the two men have kept her in the dark for a reason. While Keenan doesn’t want citizens to worry, Rick’s motive is a little more personal. He doesn’t want his fiancée to fear for his life every time he leaves the house more than she already does.

“They’re just a little restless,” he says, placing a placating hand on her arm. “They haven’t hurt anyone.”

“He’s right,” I quickly interject. “I’m being dramatic. When I say attacked, I only mean they called me names. And it’s only because I’m an empath. They don’t bother anyone else.”

Her brows furrow in a disapproving frown, but I can sense she’s relieved. “They shouldn’t say those things. You’re helping the police. If anything, they should be grateful.”

“Well, you’re one of the few who carry that sentiment.”

“It’s not right.” She sighs and places her cup delicately onto the table. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll see if the refreshments are ready.”

The moment she’s gone, Rick gives me an appreciative smile. “Thank you for that. She worries so much already.”

“It’s the least I could do for making the mistake in the first place.”

The housekeeper steps outside and informs Rick there’s a call for him. He politely excuses himself and leaves, and I’m once again alone with the detective. I sip my tea and pretend I don’t feel his gaze on me, but the intensity of his stare causes me to squirm in my seat. So, instead, I stand and walk over to the porch’s railing. When I sense him stand as well, I wrap my arms around my torso and carefully keep my eyes on the garden before me. I can just imagine Rick and Christine’s children running around, weaving their way through the flowers and screaming in excitement. I smile, knowing they’ll most likely be spoiled little brats, but I have no doubt they’ll also be cute.

“They have a beautiful home,” I say quietly, and I hate that my voice wavers slightly. “And they look so happy together.”

“They do.”

I inhale deeply before speaking. “You could have that, too.” This time he doesn’t respond, so I continue even if the words threaten to choke me. “You could have a wife and a beautiful home.” I pause and close my eyes, forcing the tears back inside. “You could have children.”