Free Playing With Fire by Cynthia Eden Page B

tormented him for hours. No, not dreams. Memories, streaming through his mind.
    Different times. Different places.
    The thing that had always been the same? The fire.
    Consuming.
    Destroying.
    Cassie was in the bedroom at the top of the stairs. Did she dream of him?
    Something had been done to them, he knew that now. The attraction that he felt for her was unnatural. The ache to be close to her . . . the pain of being apart . . .
    Another fucking experiment?
    When he’d been in Chicago, he’d felt like part of him had been missing. At first, he’d thought that hole came from not having all his memories. That it was just the result of all the dark spots in his mind.
    Then he’d looked up in Taboo and seen her and thought—
    There you are.
    Did she feel the same intense need that he did? Probably not. In his dreams . . . fucking memories . . . she’d been one of the people wearing the white lab coats. She’d been there to experiment on him.
    She hadn’t been part of the testing. Whatever had been done to make him need her so much, hell, maybe she’d even been a part of that manipulation.
    He turned away from the window and its view of the darkness. His gaze centered on the stairs. Had she known? Had she deliberately manipulated him so that he’d need her?
    That way, I’d never truly be free. Because the lust for her compelled him to seek her out.
    It was what he was doing even as he stalked up the stairs. They creaked beneath his feet, the only sound to penetrate the stillness of the cabin. He climbed slowly, heading for her, the need to see her driving him.
    In front of her closed door, his fingers curled around the doorknob. He twisted.
    And found the damn thing locked.
    What the hell?
    â€œDid you really think I’d just leave my door unlocked for you?” her voice called out.
    Not asleep. For a second time, she’d fooled him with that sleeping trick. So he just shoved open the door, splintering the lock.
    She jerked up in bed, gasping.
    â€œNo, what I thought ”—he headed for the bed, for her—“was that if I fucked you, this constant need I have for you would go away.” He tossed her own earlier words right back at her, but they were the truth. Maybe that was what he needed. Just one time with her. One long, hot time.
    Cassie had a death grip on the covers as she clutched them to her chest. “You—you have a constant need for me?” She blinked. “Wait! That’s what I told you.” Her head shook, whipping her hair around her shoulders. “You’re making fun of me now? Asshole! Get out of here! Just get—”
    He was on the bed. On her. Crushing her down onto the mattress. His body caged hers. Held hers. His fingers twined with hers as he pushed them back against the pillow near her head. “I’m not making fun of you.” Unbidden, the thought came . . . I’ll kick the ass of anyone who dared.
    â€œYou don’t even remember me,” she whispered the words to him. “So don’t act like—”
    â€œI remember . . . flashes of you.”
    Her body tensed beneath him.
    â€œIn my first dream, you drove a knife into my chest.”
    Her lips trembled.
    He bent his head and brushed his lips over hers. “But I realized soon enough that it wasn’t really a dream, was it? That was a memory.”
    He knew she’d killed him, so why was he there, holding her so tightly?
    Her scent surrounded him and made him nearly feel drunk.
    â€œI had to do it,” she told him, her voice a husky tremble that seemed to stroke right along his skin. “It was the way you escaped. Th—the other doctors thought we were just running new blood work on you. They hadn’t planned for a containment with your fire. When I stabbed you and your fire broke free, you were able to get away.”
    â€œI got away, but lost my memories.” His legs were on either side of hers, but he