Another part of his mind grabbed on to that thought with hungry teeth. Looking wasn’t touching, it whispered.
“That answers one question.” Ivy’s breath fogged the air as her voice merged with the voracious one in his head. “Empaths are immune to the infection.”
Subtly altering the air molecules around her face so the air she inhaled was no longer so cold, he muted the sly voice that had found a loophole in his resolve. “Yes.” Even if it could be argued that Eben and the baby’s mother had somehow protected themselves, the same couldn’t be said of the infant. “There may also be another empath among the wounded survivors.”
“Three confirmed empaths in such a small area, possibly four.” Ivy stepped close enough that the sleeve of her jacket brushed his arm. “It hints at exactly how many there must be in the Net.”
“And the fact of their necessity.” The PsyNet was alive in a way no one understood. It wouldn’t have produced so many empaths in this generation unless they served a vital function.
Nodding, Ivy bit down on her lower lip as she had a habit of doing, her eyes focused on the ground and a vertical line between her eyebrows.
What are you thinking? he asked, though he had no right to know.
Give me a minute.
So close to him that he could reach out and embrace her, she—
He paused, worked through all the tiny details he knew about her. Would you like me to hold you? he asked, unsure he was correctly reading the subtle cues.
She turned into his body in answer. Wrapping his arms around her, he took care to make certain the gauntlet didn’t dig into her, and cradled her head as he’d done when he’d held her after the nightmare. She seemed not to mind the hold, and he liked the feel of her hair, silky and warm against his skin.
This touch didn’t count, either, that starving part of him whispered. Ivy needed this; to deny her the contact would be to hurt her. Cheek pressed to his chest and arms around him, she was a small weight he could feel through her jacket and his combat uniform. He preferred her dressed as she’d been the other time, her clothing thinner, less of a barrier. It made him consider how much more of her he’d feel if he, too, was dressed in light civilian clothing.
His mind jabbed a warning down his spinal cord, telling him sensation equaled pain. Fighting the psychological brainwashing, because there was nothing painful about holding Ivy, he lowered his head to speak to her, the words quiet in the intimate space between them. “Should I have been there when you woke?”
Ivy stroked his back, and he wanted the armor off, wanted to know what it felt like to be touched by someone who did it for no reason but that she liked him. “It’s all right. I know you have a lot of duties.” Continuing to pet him in the way he’d so often seen humans and changelings do with one another, she said, “Was it bad?”
Vasic knew he should break contact, not for his sake but for hers. But if he didn’t hold her, protect her, who would? Yet the brutal fact was he had no right to even ask that question, have that thought.
“Not as bad as many other operations,” he said, putting aside the cold truth for this stolen instant. “I found survivors this time.” It hadn’t only been blood and desolation.
“I’m glad you weren’t hurt.”
He didn’t know what to say to that, so he just held her tighter.
“Thank you for holding me.”
“It’s what you need.”
“What about you?” she asked, leaning back in his arms so she could look up into his face. “What do you need?”
“This.” Having her so close, so trusting, was far more than he deserved.
Ivy shook her head a fraction. “I can sense you now. Just a hint every so often.” The clear, penetrating copper of her eyes seemed to see right through him. “I felt your hunger before.” A whisper that touched him in places she shouldn’t have been able to reach. “You want something.” Bracing her hands on his shoulders, she rose on tiptoe. “Tell me.”
He could feel his pulse rate accelerating, her words threatening to unleash the selfish, hungry thing that lived in him. “Holding you,” he said, because it was vital she understand, “it doesn’t come with any strings attached.”
Ivy’s lips curved. “I know.” Breath brushing his jaw as he leaned down a little to hear her quiet voice, she said, “You did it because you like taking care of me.”
He couldn’t dispute her conclusion.
“Well”—another whisper of air against his skin—“I like taking care of you, too. Let me give you what you want.”
Vasic knew he shouldn’t . . . but the news he’d received over the comm an hour ago appeared to have obliterated his defenses against his empath. “Send me another image,” he said before he was aware of forming the words.
Ivy’s eyes widened, her throat moved, and he knew he’d crossed a line, might just have lost the tiny part of her he’d permitted himself to have. A stabbing sensation in his gut, he went to withdraw his request when she said, “D-do you want to see me, rather than an image?”
Chapter 29
BLOOD A ROAR in his ears, Vasic wasn’t conscious of teleporting them back to her cabin. It was lit by a lamp Ivy had left on beside the bed, the glow soft around the screen she hadn’t folded up.
Breaking contact with him, Ivy took a step back. “Rabbit’s usually home by now,” she said after a quick glance at her pet’s cushioned basket. “Eben?”
“Spending the night on a cot in Isaiah’s cabin.” And because he knew her, he told her the rest. “Isaiah has three younger brothers—he offered to take Eben to allow you to rest, and the boy appears to have bonded with him. Rabbit is with Eben.”
“Oh, that’s good.” Her voice trembled, her skin flushed hot . . . but she raised her fingers to the zipper of his jacket.
“Don’t,” he said, hating himself for having asked, for having pushed. “I’ll go.”
Ivy reached out to grip his hand. “Stay.” A whisper that wrapped steel chains around him. “I want to . . . I just—” Blowing out a shuddering breath, she gave him a nervous, coaxing smile. “I’ve never done anything like this before. Be patient with me.”
Her words turned him to stone. He didn’t move when she released his hand and began to tug down the zipper. There were so many things he would never do with Ivy Jane, but this one thing, this experience of erotic pleasure, it would always be a thing they had shared. Breathing ragged despite his attempts at control, he followed her every move as she took off the jacket and put it on the chair to her right.
She wore her heavy orange cardigan beneath, over a long-sleeved white top. He watched her fingers fall to the buttons, slide one after the other out of the holes until the garment was open. His rock-hard penis pulsing in time with the thumping beat of his heart, he clamped down on his Tk. Using it on her would be breaking the rules, would be touching when he’d been invited only to watch.
Making a quintessentially feminine move, Ivy shrugged the cardigan off over her shoulders to drop it on top of the jacket. The white top was a thin thermal knit, shaped her curves with gentle precision. When she crossed her arms in front of her, hands going to the bottom of the top, he had to close his eyes, his chest screaming for air. His lashes flicked up the next instant.
He didn’t want to miss even a millisecond of this.
Ivy bit down on her lower lip, released the swollen flesh . . . and tugged the top off over her head. Raising one hand to pull back strands of her hair that had curled over her face, she didn’t attempt to hide herself from him, the plump mounds of her breasts cupped by a confection of ivory satin and lace. “That’s not Psy issue,” he said, fighting every single cell in his body not to push the delicate fabric aside and look his fill.