“What the hell is making that ticking noise?” Maestro demanded, his gaze swinging suspiciously toward Player. “I hear it every once in a while, mostly in the middle of the night, a clock ticking so damn loud I can’t think. I want to smash the damn thing. Tell me I’m not crazy and everyone else can hear it.”
Zyah blinked rapidly, trying to rid herself of the shimmering sight of the large White Rabbit thumping his foot on the top of a table behind Maestro. The rabbit was dressed in a suit, and he pulled out a gold pocket watch, shaking his head and glaring at Player. She was fairly sure that rabbit was still an illusion in Player’s mind, but in another minute, it would escape into the room with the others.
Her grandmother spoke softly to Maestro, reassuring him he hadn’t suddenly gone insane; she heard the sound of the clock as well but she had no idea where the timepiece was. He was welcome to look for it. Jonas chimed in and said maybe a battery was low, and the clock went off now and then somewhere in the house.
In sheer desperation, Zyah put one hand around the nape of Player’s neck and with the other turned his head so he had no choice but to look at her again.
“Baby,” she whispered softly, using her most intimate voice, opening her mind to his, allowing her healing warmth to flow into him. “I said you forgot to say hello to me. I missed you while I was at work.” She framed his face with both hands and brought her lips to his, just rubbing gently. Exchanging breath. Breathing herself into him.
It was supposed to be just a brief moment, to bring him back. To get rid of the White Rabbit and his pocket watch. To remove all the bombs from Player’s head. Just one small opening between them, but she had already poured too much of herself into his mind, given him so many pieces of her soul, that the moment she opened that conduit between them and her lips brushed his, the sheer intimacy between them became so much more. Raw sexual need swept through her veins like a tidal wave poured from her mind into his. There was no way her brain and her lips weren’t communicating her desire for him, no matter how hard she tried to tamp it down in front of the others. She’d wanted to save him, save them all, but there was no way to touch his mind without giving him everything.
His hands came up, sliding up her arms to capture her face, tilting her head to the exact angle he wanted, and he simply took over the way he did. Their chemistry erupted and exploded beyond anything she could have imagined. They weren’t in bed. They were in her grandmother’s parlor, but it didn’t matter. He swept her away, just as he had that first night. Just as he had the week before. It was the same, so hot, so unexpected, as if they’d melted together, her arms winding around his neck because she couldn’t do anything else.
“Seriously, Player?” Maestro snapped and slid his hip off the sideboard in disgust.
Player was the one to lift his head, his hands sliding from where they cupped her face to her shoulders, pulling her closer, then threading his fingers through one of her hands to bring it to his hip. He angled his body slightly, toward the others in the room, as if he was far more aware of them than he had been.
Jonas swung his gaze from Maestro to Player as if really noticing him for the first time. Anyone knowing Jonas knew better. “How exactly did you get hurt, Player?”
Zyah leaned her head against Player’s shoulder and answered for him. “In the garage. He jumped over the hood of my car . . .” She frowned, looking at Player. “Who knows what he was doing? It just happened very fast. It terrified me.”
She tilted her face toward his, and Player obliged her, kissing her again. This time it was slow and gentle, the burn smoldering, spreading fire through her veins until she wanted to cry. Until she couldn’t think straight and there was no holding herself safe from him. Once again, it was Player who broke the kiss, as if he sensed she was losing too much of herself in the exchange or that, like her, he was giving too much of himself away.
She couldn’t speak a single word. Not one. There was no way to get her mind and mouth to coordinate, but Player didn’t seem to have the same problem—but then he never did. He tucked her closer to him and she didn’t have the strength to pull away.
“Why are you here, Jonas?” he asked, threading his fingers through Zyah’s and bringing her hand to his chest, rubbing her knuckles back and forth almost absently over his heart, although she didn’t think he did anything without a reason.