Free Caressed By Ice by Nalini Singh Page A

seen too much to chance feeling.”
    â€œNo.” She would not believe that. “It can be broken.”
    â€œIt’ll hurt. Both of you.” The voice of experience. “And, Brenna, he’s not the kind of man you need, to heal.”
    She gave a frustrated little cry. “Everyone thinks I should be wrapped up in cotton wool and babied—when I’m not being pitied, that is! But I’m no tame housecat. I never have been. What was done to me didn’t alter that. I’m attracted to Judd’s strength—give me a nice gentle puppy dog of a man and I’d drive him to tears within the hour.”
    Faith’s lips curved upward, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Then I almost pity Judd.” Leaning in, she whispered, “Make him uncomfortable. Don’t take no for an answer. Push. Push him until he loses control. Remember, fire melts ice.”
    Brenna looked into those eerie night-sky eyes as Faith drew back. “Could be a dangerous game.”
    â€œYou don’t seem to be the kind of woman content with safe and easy.”
    â€œNo.” She also wasn’t the kind of woman who gave up at the first obstacle. Judd might be categorically Psy, but she was a SnowDancer.
    Â 
    Almost eleven hours later, Judd found himself thinking of the way Brenna had watched him that morning as they made their way back to the den. Her gaze had been so intent, it had felt disconcertingly like a touch, no matter how impossible that was. However, the second they had actually entered the den, she’d left him and—
    He shook his head in a futile attempt to wipe her from his mind. He had to concentrate. Thinking about Brenna had a dangerous way of derailing that. She was up to something, of that he was certain. Her expression had been—
    Focus!
    The church appeared on the other side of the street like an architectural specter, reminding him of who he was and what he did when darkness fell and people thought themselves safe in their beds. He wasn’t so different from Enrique—death was his gift and the only thing he could offer Brenna. That thought finally cemented his focus. He extended his stride, concentrating on the yellow light spilling from the church’s curved windows.
    He had never decided whether the Ghost had chosen this as their meeting place out of perversity or hope. The church was small. It had been built after the Second Reformation half a century ago and was filled not with stained glass and candles, but leafy green plants and, in the daytime, bright sunshine. Tonight he entered to find it empty but for a solitary woman kneeling at the altar. He slid into a pew at the back, his eyes on the stars visible through the transparent dome of the roof. It made him remember what he’d given up when he’d left the PsyNet—the cool darkness, the icy flare of millions of minds.
    â€œThe young ones don’t kneel, but the old grew up in the time of Rome.” The voice was male and full of the same peace that soaked the walls of this building. It was the single thing this church had in common with the more ornate pre–Second Reformation churches—the sense of hushed reverence, a quiet that was so pervasive it was almost sound.
    Judd glanced at the man who’d taken a seat beside him. “Father Perez.”
    Perez smiled, teeth flashing white against his teak skin. “That makes me sound like a candidate for the senior citizens’ pension. I’m only twenty-nine.” Wearing the winter uniform of a Second Reformation priest—loose white pants and shirt, the latter bearing a panel on the left side patterned with blue snowflakes, he looked even younger. It was the knowledge in his eyes that made him old.
    Judd thought of him not as a priest, but as a fellow soldier. “It’s your title.”
    â€œWe’ve been working together for close to six years. Why won’t you call me Xavier? Even our shy friend