Strong Enough(53)

I duly note the warning alarm that’s going off inside my head when I acknowledge that I much prefer bringing her pleasure than the idea of bringing her pain. Even the anger that I let her see, even the rough, thoughtless ways I’ve treated her body have not been cruel or abusive. She has derived great pleasure from it all and has made no secret of that fact. Even that makes my cock hard with a rush of exhilaration.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks when we are back on the move, weaving our way through trees along the thin trail.

“Power,” I tell her bluntly.

“Power,” she repeats, shaking her head. “I imagine you’re a man used to power.”

I can’t argue that. “I’m powerful by virtue of physical strength, mental acuity, by the mere reality of my occupation—finding people who hide, taking care of problems that others can’t deal with—but there are other kinds of power, too.”

“Is that what you’re thinking of, then? Some other kind of power?”

“Yes.”

“And what is this other kind you speak of?”

There’s a twinkle to her eyes—the light of mischief. She’s teasing. She thinks I’m teasing.

“The power of giving pleasure. And pain. The power of having such a profound effect on another person.”

I know by the way she glances down again that she knows what I’m referring to.

“I’d say taking someone’s life is pretty much the ultimate profound effect.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

“I know,” she concedes.

“I know that I’m powerful. I know what I do is definite, irreversible. I know the difference between being powerful and feeling powerful. In my line of work, being powerful is necessary. Like a job requirement. Feeling powerful is a hazard. If I began to think about it as having the power to take a life, or to dispense death, that would make me a psychopath, don’t you think?”

She shrugs. “I guess. I didn’t really think of it that way. But obviously you’ve thought about it quite a bit.”

I lift my shoulder this time. “I have to think of it that way. It keeps it all in perspective. To some degree anyway.”

“Well, at least you found a kind of power that you can enjoy,” she offers with a titillating peek of her tongue at the corner of her mouth.

“Oh, I like that kind of power very much. I’m so tempted to abuse it that I’ll have to watch that it doesn’t go to my head. Become a problem for me.”

“And how could that become a problem for you?”

“I’m not sure the power could, but I think there’s another component that could be quite problematic.”

She raises one smoothly arched brow, one of the sexiest things I’ve seen her do. Or maybe it’s just that everything she does is starting to seem sexy now. “Are you saying that I have some power, too?”

Her smile is bright and pleased. No doubt she likes knowing that she holds some sway over me as well. “I’m just saying that a woman like you could make a man start thinking that things could be different, that life could be different. He could find himself in trouble if he’s not careful.”

“And are you always careful?”

I pause. “Always.”

Not the answer she wanted, but it’s the truth nonetheless. I’ll give her as much of the truth as I can.

“What makes you think things couldn’t be different, Jasper?”

When I glance back, Muse’s eyes are on me, her fingers dancing over some lacy spikes of tall fern undergrowth.

Her question pricks my anger, probably because it serves only to remind me that things can never be different. Not for a guy like me. “You mean why couldn’t I have a family, have a normal life? Grow old and live happily ever after?” She nods. “Wake up, Muse!” I bark. “What kind of life could I offer a woman? A child? Fear? Stigma? Danger? I would never do that to an innocent. Never!”

I regret my vehemence. Muse looks taken aback.

“Is that how you really feel? Like you’ve got nothing more to offer than that?”

“It’s not how I feel. It’s what I know.”

She starts to say something else, but my expression stops her. I turn and walk on ahead, annoyed with this conversation and the things it’s making me feel.

We walk in silence for another half hour or so, until the trail turns to go up a fairly steep incline. I start up it, pausing to reach back and offer Muse my hand, thinking she might need the help. She looks at it with disdain, waves me off and then climbs up and around me, turning only to give me a sassy wink before she continues following the path up the hill. Now I’m stuck watching the muscles in her legs and ass clench and shift as she picks her way upward.