Unwilling, unable, to pull away from him in spite of her simmering anger, she watched. "It's very energetic." No NewsNet reporter would ever gesticulate as wildly, much less use such emotive language.

"Hmm." Reaching over, Dev stole some of her trail mix, popping it into his mouth in a smooth gesture that hijacked her interest from a report on what appeared to be some kind of political turmoil in Sri Lanka.

Drawing in a deep breath, she tried to focus. But the scent of Dev - rich and wild, with an edge that tasted of steel - settled over her senses, holding her in thrall. He glanced over at that very moment and for the space of a single frozen second, everything stopped. Dev broke the electric contact by putting his arm around her.

She resisted. Because in that fleeting instant, she'd glimpsed a thousand shadows in his eyes. "What's going to happen when we get back to New York?"

"Later, Katya."

Shaking her head, she turned to push at his chest. "The pretense ended last night." With the painful honesty of that kiss.

He closed his hand over hers, holding her palm against those pectorals she ached to have the right to stroke. "A few more hours," he said, his expression stark with things unsaid. "Do you want this to end so soon?"

No, she thought, no. Even if their relationship was a fragile construct formed of hopes that would never survive in the harsh light of day, she wanted to cling to it with all the strength in her. Giving in, she settled herself back by his side, curling her fingers lightly into his chest, her knees scraping against his thigh as she sat with her legs bent, feet pointing away from him.

His chin brushed her hair as he said, "Watch this."

It took her emotion-torn mind several seconds to realize the import of what the reporter was saying about trouble in Sri Lanka's legislative capital. "She's talking about Psy." Her mouth fell open. "The reporter's saying Psy attacked a government building!"

Dev's free hand came to rest on her knee. "Only four people," he murmured, "but that's four more than should exist under Silence."

"That's Shoshanna Scott!" Blasted by memory, by reams of connected knowledge, she would've jerked upright had Dev not been holding her.

On-screen, the slim brunette waited until the reporters had quieted to make her statement, her pale blue eyes striking against the darkness of her hair, the creamy white of her skin. Shoshanna Scott was the Council's public face for a reason - she had an appearance of such delicate beauty that people forgot the Psy ruled with their minds, not their bodies.

"This was," she began in a clear voice, "an incident provoked by Jax."

Katya couldn't believe it - her memories, shaky as they were, told her the Council liked to consign the Psy drug problem to the darkest of corners.

"The psychological weakness," Councilor Scott continued, "inherent in those who succumb to Jax is unfortunately not a genetic abnormality we can screen against."

"Councilor!" A short man with stiff black hair stood up, his eyes that of a rottweiler. "There are rumors this incident was caused by Psy who've given in to their emotions. What's your answer to that?"

"It's a ridiculous assertion. Normal Psy do not feel."

"Clever," Dev muttered, stroking his hand down her calf in a caress that shattered her concentration. "She's sidelining those four, effectively making them non-Psy."

Another reporter stood up even as Katya realized he was tugging her feet out from under her, placing them on his lap. "Dev - "

"Shh." His eyes were on the screen, but his fingers continued to stroke lightly over her calf. "Listen."

She forced her attention back to the screen, hearing only the last part of the newest question.

" - Jax is a problem for Psy?"

"For the weak among us, yes," Shoshanna said. "Some individuals are intrinsically flawed."

The report cut off at that moment, with the anchor doing a short analysis. "She took the less damaging blow," Katya said, skin stretching tighter with Dev's every languid stroke, "acknowledging the Jax problem rather than admitting Psy are beginning to break Silence."

"Yeah, that's my take, too." His hand closed over her ankle in a grip that screamed possession. "It's not really admitting anything, is it? Everyone knows some Psy do Jax. The junkies are hard to miss." The lazy stroke of his thumb over her anklebone.

Her thighs pressed together in an instinctive response she barely understood. Dragging in a breath, she tried to find her train of thought. "But it's the deeper issue that's really interesting - the public nature of the breakdowns."

"These four aren't the first," he said, his breath mingling with hers as their faces came ever closer. "There was a rash of similar incidents not that many months back. They'll be in the CTX archives."

It should've been a startling piece of information, but - "I worked with Ashaya for years. I always knew there was something imperfect about her Silence." And if there was one, why not more?

"Stop that."

Only then did she realize she'd been petting him through the thin cotton of his T-shirt. "I - "

His hand curled into her hair, tugging back her head and cutting off her words. She found herself looking up into a face that could have as easily belonged to some dark age of war and conquest. Devraj Santos, she thought, made a good show of being civilized, but peel that away, and this was who he was at the core. Hard. Ruthless. Quite possibly without mercy.

"Such big eyes," he murmured. "Don't you know you shouldn't play with what you can't handle?"

"I figured," she said through a throat that had gone as dry as dust, "my status as a likely enemy spy would save me." Except somehow, she was draped across his lap, her heart thudding in time to his.

"No one said," he murmured in that low, compelling voice, "I couldn't have it both ways." His lips touched hers.

The intensity of it made her toes curl. "You can't." But her hand was on his neck, though how she dared touch a man this dangerous, she didn't quite know - no matter how tame he appeared, he wasn't, never would be.

"No?" Another fleeting touch, the hand that had been on her leg closing gently around her throat.

"No," she whispered. "I'm either the enemy or . . ."

"Or?" He sipped at her lower lip, a tiny, suckling kiss.

"Exactly." It came out ragged, her heartbeat pulsing in every inch of her skin.

He gave her another one of those maddening little kisses, making her fingers clench on his neck, her body twisting impossibly closer. Something flickered in his eyes, a glimmer of what seemed to be gold. Then his head dipped and she forgot everything but the pleasure that arced through her body.

Taking her lips in a slow, so slow kiss, he drove her mad even as he gave her just what she wanted. The heat of him was a wave against her body, making her nipples ache, the soft cotton of her bra suddenly unbearable. It would've made a "normal" Psy pull back, scramble to reinitialize the conditioning. But Katya craved the sensations, the feeling of being alive, of existing.

Here, with Dev, there was no room for the madness that had stalked her in that lightless, formless chamber, where the temperature never changed, and no one spoke to her for so long, she would've debased herself for a simple human kindness.

Teeth sinking very deliberately into her lower lip.

She opened her eyes to find him watching her with the glittering gaze of a tiger who'd sighted prey. When he released her kiss-wet lip, she stayed in place, feeling his pulse against her palm, his skin hot and somehow intriguingly rougher than hers, his body so big, so strong that it blocked out the world. What would it be like if he covered her with that raw male heat, if he simply took her over?

She shivered.

Rubbing his thumb over the sensitive hollow at the base of her neck, he said, "Top or bottom?"

"What?" Had he read her mind?

"Top or bottom?" he repeated softly.

She was suddenly very certain she was in over her head. Devraj Santos wasn't the kind of man a woman "learned" on. He'd not only take, he'd demand, and if those demands weren't met . . . He'd be no easy lover.

As his next words proved.

"Would you like me to kiss you here" - the brush of his knuckles across her breasts - "or go lower?" A big hand closing over her thigh.

Dev knew he should stop, that she'd hate him the next day if this went any further. But he'd used up his self-control last night. No amount of metal on earth could stop him now. All he wanted was to strip her naked and taste. "I'm a selfish bastard."

Her eyes were almost pure green as she looked at him. "Not if you're the one being kissed."

He froze.

Before he could snap himself out of it, she was pushing up his T-shirt, her intent clear. He wasn't about to argue. Releasing her only for the seconds it took to rip the soft cotton over his head, he shifted their positions until she sat straddling him, her hair brilliant in the sunshine pouring in through the huge windows to his right. "I'm yours," he whispered, his voice husky with the ferocity of his hunger. "Do whatever you want, whatever you like."

She spread her fingers on his pectorals, the shock of it going straight to his cock. "I want to . . ." Her voice whispered away as her fingers caressed him, light, so light that his entire body arched upward, begging for more. She shuddered, leaned forward. . . then shook her head. "No."

It took him almost a minute to find his voice. Even then, it came out gravel rough. "Are you sure?"

"What happens when I insist on going north?" Her hand swept out, accidentally knocking the trail mix to the floor.

And he knew the time of illusions was over. "I can't let you go."

Hazel eyes locked with his, the intent in them unmistakable. "You can try to hold me. You'll fail."