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He'd known it would come to this. If he lowered his mental shields enough to touch her inner mind, but kept his own thoughts strictly controlled, she shouldn't be in any danger of picking up on his ever-present blood lust. Sighing, he reached out to touch her mind for the last time.
"You're thinking he can't possibly do this. There's no way he could know that I'm thinking about a lemon chiffon pie. With whipped cream. On one of Mama's blue and white Corelle serving dishes."
"Enough! You proved your point." Her eyes widened, and she took an involuntary step backward, away from him. She put one hand to her head, as if she could feel where the treacherous thoughts had leaked out. "Do you do that all the time? Listen in on people's thoughts?"
"No. I'd go mad from the constant chatter. One of the first things a telepath learns to do is to put up mental shields, keeping their thoughts in and everyone else's thoughts out. I've had a lot of practice, so I can control whether that shield is more like a brick wall, or like tissue paper." He stared into her eyes, hoping she'd make the connection with her own gift. "For an untrained telepath, the shield is more likely to stay as a brick wall, or to fluctuate unpredictably."
She watched him with the blank look that said she was amassing information, but had not yet formed an opinion. He tried again.
"Haven't you ever wondered where your sudden flashes of insight come from?"
"You mean you think I'm a telepath, too?"
"I know you are."
Her eyes slid out of focus, and he watched as she replayed scenes in her memory, testing this new theory against the facts. She was so beautiful, so intelligent, so open to everything life had to offer. How could he give her up?
She focused on him again. "Even if that's true, what does it have to do with last night?"
"Do you believe me?"
"You didn't answer my question."
"And I won't, until you answer mine. Do you believe that you have the telepathic gift?"
She strolled around the office, her fingers trailing over the backs of chairs and across book cases. Returning to her starting point, she tipped up her chin with determination and announced, "I won't dismiss the possibility. That's the best you're going to get."
"Good enough." He looked down at his desk, stirring the paper birds with his finger. He had no idea how to say this. "That's why you're not to blame for what happened last night. You let your mental shields down, and were overwhelmed by my thoughts and desires."
"Your desires? You wanted to kill me?"
"No. You weren't trying to kill me, whatever it looked like."
"Then what— "
"You wanted to feast on my blood. Just as I passionately desired yours."
Chapter 17
"YOU'RE TRYING to tell me you're some kind of a vampire?" Rebecca chuckled. "Yeah, right."
Desmond's eyes glimmered the wet color of a stormy sea, and his lips lifted in a soft smile of pity. He believed what he was telling her. Dear Lord, she'd married a madman.
"You're not a vampire." She edged away from him, around the chair and toward the door. "You're not dead. I've seen you eat and drink. You have a daughter for heaven's sake!"
"I'm not a vampire. I'm cursed. My father angered a Voodoo priestess, and I'm paying his price." He stepped toward her, stopping when she backed away. "I'm not insane."
He was reading her mind!
"And I'm not reading your mind," he added. "You have a very expressive face. Your thoughts are clear for anyone to see."
She reached the door, and the knob pressed against her hip. Desmond watched her as she reached back and turned the knob, but made no move to stop her. He just sighed and looked down at the floor.
"I didn't expect you to stay once you knew."
Her hand froze on the door knob. What was wrong with her? This was Desmond, the man she loved. So he thought he was cursed. Maybe it was his way of dealing with all the death that had surrounded him.
She crossed the office to where he stood, and laid her hand against his cheek. He jerked back his head, eyes wide and nostrils flared, then just stared at her. Quivers of emotion rippled through him, but he stood rooted to the spot. Silent. Staring.
