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"Yes." He tried to wait her out, but she just kept looking at him. Staring at him with those big gray eyes, as if she expected literal pearls of wisdom to fall from his lips at any moment, and didn't want to miss any of them. He couldn't resist her, no matter how painful the memories were that she called up. It was something she needed to know, anyway.
Taking a deep breath, he explained. "When Gillian's condition was first diagnosed, we attempted a blood transfusion. We didn't know about the neukocytes then. It nearly killed her."
Rebecca reached out and stroked Desmond's cheek in a reassuring caress. He smiled, leaning into her touch.
"That must have been awful for you," she said.
"Yes." He closed his eyes, luxuriating in the silken feel of her palm and the whisper of her fingertips. She hadn't meant to upset him, only to understand what she was up against.
He jerked away from her, throwing up his mental barriers. Touching her mind had been an instinctive response to the intimate discussion and comforting gesture. But it proved that they must avoid any sort of physical relationship, not just making love.
He stood up and poured himself a mug full of water as an excuse to get away from her. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw her standing in her head-tilted "thinking" pose. He waited for her next question.
She folded her arms, and fixed him with a look of stern resolve. "You didn't know the dangers then. Now you do. I don't see why we can't just be careful."
She still didn't understand the seriousness of their situation.
"I can only guarantee your safety if we refrain from physical contact. All physical contact."
She frowned. "I touched your cheek not five minutes ago, and nothing disastrous happened. Don't you think you're overreacting? Just a little?"
"You weren't using your mental powers at the time. If you had been, who knows what might have happened."
"Why can't you just use this mental shielding you've spoken of before to keep my thoughts away from yours?"
"Because a shield like that takes conscious control." He shook his head, wishing she'd understand this and make the denial easier for him. "Rebecca, despite my curse, I'm still just a man. I don't have that kind of control. When I hold you, when I touch you, God, even when I just think about holding you or touching you..." He wrenched his thoughts away from images of the two of them tangled in passion.
She stepped away from him, linking her hands behind her back to prevent herself from offering any unwanted gestures of compassion.
"That's it then. A platonic relationship."
"At least until you can control your gifts enough to provide some shielding for your thoughts."
"How long will that take?"
He hated her desperate, pleading expression. Even worse, he hated destroying the slim thread of hope he'd just handed her. "To be able to control my thoughts even during moments of extreme mental or physical stress, took me thirty-five years."
"You expect me to wait until I'm more than sixty years old before I touch you again? No. There's got to be another way."
Chapter 18
REBECCA WRACKED her brain for a solution on the silent walk back to the apartment. Desmond hovered beside her, jumping away with a guilty start whenever he brushed against her. It was clear to her that he was fooling himself if he thought he'd be able to stay away from her.
No, they'd make love again. Probably sometime soon. Despite their best intentions, the magnetism that drew them together was too primal to overcome with rational arguments. If they were anywhere near each other, they'd come together. They wouldn't be able to help it. She needed to find a way to live through the experience before it happened.
She imagined dying in the agony he'd described, and shivered.
"Cold?" he asked.
"A little." She rubbed her arms, even though the chill that permeated her came from within.
Desmond took off his jacket and draped it around her shoulders, careful to avoid touching her. "Better?"
She snuggled into the raw silk, still heated with his warmth. It was almost like a caress, and she could imagine the sleeves that held her so securely were really his arms. The warmth behind her was really his body, pressed close to hers.
"Rebecca— " Desmond's voice vibrated, just short of a groan.
"What?" She stopped walking and glared at the flesh and blood man beside her, annoyed that he interrupted her pleasant fantasy with harsh reality.
