The moment the door was closed, Player stripped and stepped under the hot water to wash off the road and to try to let the clean scent the women kept in the bathroom clear his fragmented mind. His head was pounding, the roaring so terrible he could barely stand it. Truthfully, he’d only experienced pain this bad once before. That was the time he’d lost total control, and his entire world had come apart when he realized what could happen. He was scared for everyone there in the clubhouse, and if necessary, he was going to bunk right there on the bathroom floor.
He took his time letting the hot water pour over him until he began to hallucinate that the shower floor was beginning to fill up like a pool. He had to blink rapidly, call the numbers aloud to himself as he dried off and dressed. There was no staying in the bathroom. He had to get to his private room, put in earplugs, turn off the lights and go to sleep. The more he slept, the faster his brain healed.
He took several deep breaths of the lavender, deliberately dragging the scent into his lungs, flung the door open, and planted his gaze on the door to his room. It seemed a very long distance away. He sprinted. He was normally fast. Very fast. He had long legs, and he could cover the distance with ease, but the floor undulated like a massive snake, threatening to throw him off balance.
Music played in his head. Will you, won’t you. Will you? Won’t you? He tried to shut it off. Lobsters clacked their claws while snails shook heads and tortoises asked them to dance. He leapt over the wood rising like waves, the creatures looking at him with wide, knowing eyes. He kept his desperate gaze glued to his door. It appeared to be moving as well, growing smaller and smaller, as if he had been dropped into an alternate world. He shook his head hard, drops of sweat hitting the floor. He began to count aloud, uncaring if anyone in any of the rooms heard him. It was the only way he wasn’t going to suck them into his reality.
Doggedly, sweat dripping off him, ignoring the seriously pitching floor and the diminishing door, he kept running. He knew this universe, the one that sucked him in and became a nightmare version of reality. Everything in it was too dangerous for words. His fractured mind changed the world around him into a dark, sinister place where torture, murder and vicious cruelty lurked around every corner.
He refused to acknowledge the whispers growing loud enough to interfere with his counting. He lost track for a moment but immediately started over again. Then, thankfully, his hand was on the doorknob, and he shoved the heavy oak door to his room open, all but fell inside, slammed the door closed and leaned against it, breathing hard.
The music changed from lobsters clacking their pinchers together and singing about turtles joining them in a dance to a distinctly Middle Eastern beat. The tinkle of little bells caught at his mind, pulling him out of his head. Lighting in his room was dim. Candles were scattered around, flickering gently. A mixture of essential oils gave off the fragrance of pink plumeria, Egyptian musk and ginger, bathing his senses in the exotic flavors. Instantly his mind filled in all the details of a stormy night, so far from the nightmare images of his childhood and the night they’d accidentally consumed mushrooms.
Player flattened his palms against the door and stared in shock at the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen in his life, dancing just a few feet away, staring back at him with enormous, startling chocolate eyes, framed with dark lashes. Her hair was dark and extremely thick, still moving with her body to the music, falling past her shoulders in luscious waves. This definitely wasn’t part of the familiar nightmare world his fucked-up brain conjured when it was fractured and he needed to be alone and just let it heal.
Soft washed-out blue jeans rode low on her generous hips, and a rose-colored tee was knotted under her equally generous breasts. Her abdominal muscles had been undulating to the music as her hips performed intricate movements and her curvy buttocks and very high rounded tits shook to the music. Coins and bells hung from a wide golden belt wrapped around her hips, and bells swung from an ankle bracelet with every movement she made. She came to an abrupt halt when his shocked gaze hit hers.
“What are you doing in here?” Player managed to find his voice. It came out rougher and far more gravelly than he intended, maybe even a snarl. He had a lower register, one that tended to intimidate easily.
He was a big man with wide shoulders, a thick chest, muscular arms and narrow hips. His hair was brown with streaks of blond. It fell a few inches beyond his shoulders, a thick wild mass that made the vivid blue of his eyes only more piercing and direct. He kept a short, trimmed dark beard and moustache that also added to the effect his eyes had on others. He was very aware she might find him extremely intimidating, especially alone in the room with him, but he couldn’t move away from the door no matter how much he told himself to step away.
“I’m so sorry.”
Her voice was musical. Soft and gentle. Like a cooling breeze sweeping through the room . . . or his mind. She looked genuinely distressed, her amazing eyes expressive, the long lashes sweeping down as color flooded her face.
“One of the Torpedo Ink members told me to come into this room. That I should dance in here.” Her explanation came out fast, the words tumbling over one another, and yet at the same time, her tone was lyrical, as if she’d blended the notes with the universe, unlocking some secret formula that set everything right.
Player could see letters floating in the air, but they were moving away from him. Away from her. The eastern-themed music didn’t fit at all with the down- the- rabbit- hole nightmare world his mind created when he was so far gone like this. He pressed his palms harder into the door, standing firmly in front of it, more to keep her in now than to keep everyone else out. He recognized that in some way, she was soothing to his fragmented brain, and that was a puzzle he needed to solve. Now he just wanted her to stay and talk.
Her body had been moving when he’d entered, and the rhythm of her bare feet, ball to heel, hip dipping low, swaying gently, hands flowing so gracefully, all kept time with the earth itself. She seemed to flow gracefully, in harmony with the music, with the earth.
He was a woodworker. A musician. Everything about him had to do with nature and rhythm. At the moment, he was so out of sync with nature, so completely out of tune, but he recognized that she was the most naturally gifted woman—make that “naturally gifted person”—he’d ever met. He hadn’t known anyone like her actually existed. She could have been born of the earth itself.
It wasn’t just that incredible voice of hers, but her body as well, every movement, no matter how small, flowing and soft. He was mesmerized just by the way, when she spoke to him and she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, he felt the heartbeat of the earth, like the beat of the Arabic music playing so softly in the background.
“What are you doing?” He made every effort to gentle his voice. It still came out with his rougher rasp, but he didn’t sound like he was going to kill her. That was a plus. “Before I came in. What were you doing?”
The color sweeping up her neck and into her face deepened. “Practicing dancing. They said it would be all right to wait in here.”
Player dared to bring one hand up to his neck to massage the tight knots. He tried to breathe through the pain in his head, making it difficult to think straight. His brothers. They must have sent an exotic dancer to his room, thinking he would need some relaxing fun after his long drive. They had no idea the mission had gone to hell and things had taken a turn for the worst. This woman, with her beautiful bedroom eyes and thick pelt of glossy hair, practicing her craft while she waited for him, shouldn’t be wasted. He took another deep breath to try to get on top of the crushing pain.