Touch and Go

Touch and Go Michelle Rowen Oh, the Bahamas. What a perfect place for a fling! Or is it? Carrie Stanfield is there on assignment with the hottest guy ever! The chemistry between them is more volatile than the tropical storm that strands them on a deserted island. So why the heck won't Patrick McKay touch her already? Patrick would love to get his hands all over Carrie's sweet body.Unfortunately, he's been fooling around with a charm that makes touching another person very hard. But not touching Carrie is making him even harder…. It's not looking very good for these two. Then again, when you mess around with magic, the most seductive things can happen…. Praise for Michelle Rowen’s HOT SPELL… “Michelle Rowen’s stories are always sassy and exhilarating. This tale of an ‘unwanted’ love will have readers begging for more…. This is a romance that will last for all of eternity…literally and on the pages. The author takes us to new heights as readers. The scenes are very epic and thrilling.” —Fresh Fiction “I couldn’t put this book down and stayed up late reading it because I couldn’t wait to see what would happen next…. (A) sexy, romantic and a fun light read that I highly recommend to romance readers.” —Enchanted by Books “I loved this story from the very beginning… I would definitely recommend this book to other readers.” —Night Owl Romance “Enjoyable paranormal…interesting plot and sensual scenes.” —RT Book Reviews Dear Reader, The idea for Touch and Go came from an image in my head of a woman whose inner storm manifests itself in the real world. This would only be a metaphor in a contemporary book, but when dealing with psychic characters, heck, I can make it a real storm! So my heroine Carrie was born, a woman who desperately wants to control her erratic psychic powers. She works for a paranormal investigation agency with the one man she believes can help teach her control. However, her growing attraction to him is difficult to hide when every time he triggers her desire it turns into in an accident—broken glass, moving furniture…a tropical storm, perhaps? Patrick McKay, who also appeared in my previous Harlequin Blaze title, Hot Spell, takes the stage as the hero in this book and he’s definitely a great match for Carrie. He has a few tempests of his own to deal with that he keeps hidden from his sexy and inquisitive new partner. At least, he tries his best. All of this is set in the Bahamas because…where better for a little uncertain weather and a whole lot of blazing heat than there? Happy reading! Michelle Rowen Michelle Rowen Touch and Go ABOUT THE AUTHOR National bestselling author Michelle Rowen writes all sorts of paranormal romance—light and dark, sexy and sweet, and has won an RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice award and a Holt Medallion for her work. A voracious but picky reader, TV viewer and movie watcher, she prefers all her entertainment to include a happily ever after…or else! Michelle lives in southern Ontario and is the 2010 president of Toronto Romance Writers. To the Toronto Romance Writers Contents Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 1 Two years ago SHE’D NEVER BELIEVED in love at first sight. Lust was another matter. Her current object of lust was about six-two, with dark blond hair, broad shoulders, a navy blue suit and a killer smile. And he was walking right toward her. He approached her table at a small bistro called Amelia’s. It was one of her favorite restaurants and as good a place as any for an interview such as this. “Carrie Stanfield?” the man asked, smiling in a way that made her knees go weak. Luckily she was sitting down. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I’m Patrick McKay.” His voice was the same as over the phone—deep and mellow, with an edge of friendly amusement to it. She’d liked his voice the two times they’d spoken about setting up this meeting. She had no idea that the rest of him could possibly compete with it. In fact, she’d been expecting an old, short guy with a bald spot and thick glasses. She composed herself quickly and held out her hand. “It’s great to meet you in person, Patrick.” “You, too.” His skin was warm as his fingers curled around hers. His eyes were a vivid emerald green. The color reminded her of the ocean—clear, invigorating, bottomless. She was not usually this distracted by a hot-looking guy, especially one she had to interview. She’d been sent here to write an article for the Mystic Medallion—the magazine she hoped was just a stepping-stone to the New Yorker or The New York Times. A tiny stepping-stone. Patrick McKay was the branch manager of a local business in Mystic Ridge, New York, called the Paranormal Assessment and Recovery Agency. They investigated supernatural phenomena, and every agent who worked there was allegedly psychic. Carrie didn’t believe in psychics or paranormal phenomena. But she believed in a good story when she heard it. “You don’t believe in psychics,” Patrick said. He was still holding her hand. Her eyes snapped to his handsome face. “Pardon me?” “Do you think being a skeptic is going to negatively color your story about me?” She felt as if she’d been cornered, but he was still looking at her with friendly curiosity in his clear green eyes. He had yet to let go of her hand, though. And she had yet to pull away. “I—uh, how did you know that?” He placed his other hand on top of hers. The warmth of his touch slid up her arm. “I’m empathic.” She blinked. “That’s the type of psychic that can read other people’s emotions.” “You’ve done some homework.” He finally released her and she had to say she was sorry about that. “You take your job very seriously.” Carrie gave a nervous laugh. “I try. So, what else did you sense from me? That’s what this is, right? You’re trying to give me a psychic reading now to break the ice?” His smile widened. “But you didn’t call my 1-800 number. And I don’t have your Visa card on file.” She couldn’t help but grin. “Funny guy.” “I try.” The waiter came over to the table, but Patrick asked him to give them a few minutes. There were no other customers. It was midafternoon, between the lunch and dinner crowds. The bistro felt like a private dining room for just the two of them—much more intimate than she’d anticipated. Patrick studied her, his gaze moving over her face to her throat and down to the neckline of her white blouse, which she’d unbuttoned at the top. He politely didn’t go farther, but returned his attention to her face. “I read that you’re curious, you’re practical, and you like to be in control at all times. I read that you’re a skeptic, that you don’t believe in PARA being a legitimate business and that you’re just doing this article so you can flesh out your r?sum? and get a better job elsewhere, preferably far away from this dull little town.” She felt the color draining from her face with every word he spoke. Maybe he was the real deal after all. “That sounds pretty specific for an empathic reading. Aren’t you just supposed to read emotions?” “I’m very good at what I do. And the skin-to-skin contact helps to make things that much clearer for me.” He glanced down at her hand. Her nails were short but well manicured, thanks to a visit to the salon yesterday. He was tanned, which meant he spent a lot of time outside or he’d recently been on vacation. It made his teeth seem that much whiter when he smiled at her shocked expression. “So…did you see anything else?” she asked after a moment. His smile faded and his expression tensed a little as if he were concentrating. “You’re in a relationship right now, but you know he’s not the right man for you. Another man hurt you a long time ago and you’re hesitant to give your heart away to just anyone. But you know there’s someone better out there. Someone who feels right from the first moment you meet.” She moved away from him. It felt intimate—too intimate—sitting here with him and having him tell her things she already knew about herself, including that man in her past who’d made her untrusting toward others. It was equal parts scary and exciting—as if Patrick knew her inside and out after only a couple of minutes. She felt off balance. One thing Patrick said rang completely true—she liked to be in control of a situation. At the moment, she wasn’t. “We should probably order something.” She reached for the menu at the same time he did and their fingers brushed against each other. Her heart began to pound faster. “Carrie…I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low. “I didn’t do that just now to scare you. I simply wanted to prove that psychics are real. That I’m real.” “You didn’t scare me.” She sounded breathless. He looked uncertain. “You’re sure about that?” “Yes, I’m sure. I mean, you didn’t tell me anything I don’t already know.” “I felt something else, but it wasn’t completely clear…” He looked down at her hand. “Do you mind?” She licked her lips, eyeing her empty glass of wine and wishing for another one. This interview wasn’t going according to plan. She’d wanted to come here, chat with Patrick for an hour or so about PARA, go back to her desk at the magazine’s office and write up a couple thousand words to appeal to readers who soaked up all things mystical in Mystic Ridge. Instead, she was getting a psychic reading from the sexiest man she’d ever met. A reading that involved touching. Now that she thought about it, there really wasn’t much of a downside to that. She extended her hand, facing up, on the table. “Fine. Go ahead.” He slid his fingers over her skin until their palms touched. Desire curled low in her body, enough to make a blush crawl over her cheeks at the thought of touching more than just his hand. If he could read her as well as he claimed, he’d be able to tell that she really wanted to— “You’re psychic, too,” he said. She blinked. “Excuse me?” He looked into her eyes, his brow furrowing. “I thought I felt it before, but I wasn’t sure. He glanced up at the light above their heads, which had been flickering for a couple of minutes as if the lightbulb needed changing. “You’re doing that, you know.” She glanced up. “I’m making the light flicker?” He nodded. “You’re a telekinetic. Unlike other psychics, a lot of TKs don’t fully develop their abilities until they’re well into their twenties.” Her eyes widened. Telekinetic. From the general research she’d done, she knew that term referred to psychics who could move things with their mind. They were also extremely rare. “What?” “Your abilities haven’t completely surfaced yet, but they’re there. It won’t be long before they become more evident.” That was the most ridiculous thing she’d heard in a very long time. “You’re wrong.” His smile returned. “I’m not. But there’s no reason to be afraid.” “I’m not afraid.” “I can help you.” “Right. Well, if I decide I need help with my light flickering telekinesis, you’re the first person I’ll call.” She let out a shaky breath. Her emotions—normally well under control—were all out of whack from meeting Patrick. She felt flustered and confused by her uncontrollable attraction to him. “Maybe we should just focus on the interview.” “Sure.” She bit her bottom lip. “You’re still holding my hand.” “I am.” He looked down at it. “And you’re not pulling away.” She wasn’t sure if it had anything to do with Patrick’s abilities, but a tingling sensation was sliding up her arm, moving further throughout her body the longer they remained touching. It felt really good. He was wrong about her—about the telekinetic thing, anyway—but she was so attracted to him she might consider letting the ridiculous subject slide. The problem was, she was seeing someone. Joe was a great guy she’d met at the magazine a month ago. He worked in the layout area as a designer. They’d only been dating for two weeks, but there was no reason she’d simply break up with him because of a couple of minutes of intense hand-holding, sexual tension and empathic reading with the psychically seductive Patrick McKay. He slid his index finger along one of the lines on her palm. Could be her life line, maybe her love line. She didn’t know. Her breath caught. “Do you get this close with every woman whose fortune you read?” “I don’t normally read fortunes.” “So I’m special?” He met her gaze and held it with a heated one of his own. His grip on her hand increased. “Carrie, you’re—” There was a buzzing sound, and Patrick’s jaw tensed before he pulled his hand away from hers and fished into his inner jacket pocket for his a cell phone. “Yes,” he said. “No, I won’t be long. Talk to you soon.” He hung up. “Let me guess,” she said, sliding her fingers around the rim of her wineglass. “It’s PARA wanting you to jet across the country to pick up a cursed garden gnome from somewhere.” “That wouldn’t be completely unusual in my line of work, actually.” He put the phone away. “But, no, that was…my fianc?e.” “Oh.” That piece of news worked like a glass of cold water thrown directly in her face. She hadn’t seen a wedding ring, so she thought— What had she thought? That something meaningful was going on between them? Stupid. This was only an interview and a glorified palm reading. Nothing more. She shook her head and smiled at her own naivet?. “So let’s talk PARA.” Patrick leaned back in his chair. “You’d be good there, you know.” “Would I? Did you read that, too?” He kept his hands on his side of the table, on either side of the place mat. It was easier to concentrate now that the thought of being totally skin to skin with Patrick McKay was no longer a possibility. And damn it, she felt disappointed about that. She couldn’t help it. A lot of things she wanted in life were positioned just out of her reach. Patrick was the most recent example. “Yes, I read it. You’re meant to be an investigator—whether it’s journalism or something else. You’re analytical, you’re naturally curious, you’re levelheaded—well, most of the time.” He smiled. She felt heat flood her cheeks again. “You make it sound like you know me.” “I think I do.” It was well past time that she gained full control over this conversation again. “Let me tell you one thing, Patrick. I am a good investigator, but I won’t ever be working at PARA. I’m a writer, not a psychic. And as far as I’m concerned, I’m done with this topic of conversation.” The light above them flickered violently until it finally went out completely. She looked up at it. “And I didn’t do that.” “I think you’d best be careful of elevated emotions in the future. It makes the TK go a little crazy if you don’t have a firm grasp of it.” He reached into his pocket and produced a business card. “Here’s my number at the office. Whenever you need me, just call. I’d be glad to help you.” She picked up the card and pointed it at him. “I won’t need it. Now let’s get back to these questions because I have to be somewhere else soon.” “No you don’t.” She hissed out a breath. “That is really annoying.” He grinned. “Sorry. Okay, ask your questions, Carrie. I’m all yours.” No, he wasn’t. But that was okay. She was only interested in the next hour. After that, she’d probably never see the gorgeous and engaged empath Patrick McKay again. She had to admit that the thought was disappointing. 2 TWO YEARS SURE COULD change a lot of things—personally and professionally. Carrie pulled her jacket tighter around her, ignoring the winter chill in the air and the snow falling around her. She stared up at the tall glass front doors of the Paranormal Assessment and Recovery Agency a moment before entering the building’s front lobby. Well, here I am. She’d kept Patrick McKay’s business card safely tucked away in her wallet all this time, taking it out every now and then to look at his name, title, phone number and email address. He’d somehow managed to frequently work his way into her hottest dreams after spending only one hour in her company. But dreams weren’t reality and she was more than aware of that. Her normal life was just that—normal. She still wrote articles for the Mystic Medallion. The profile on Patrick had garnered rave reviews from readers who loved finding out more about all things supernatural. A year ago, she’d rented an apartment in New York to try her hand at big city living and bigger writing gigs. It had gone well, or it was starting to when disaster struck and Patrick’s “read” on her proved only too true. Six months ago, on Carrie’s twenty-ninth birthday, her telekinesis arrived in full force. Bam. Or, rather, splat. The cake her then-boyfriend had bought for her flew across the room and straight into his face when she learned from a friend that he’d cheated on her. Things had been crazy ever since. The control she’d valued since leaving home at eighteen and putting herself through college by working two jobs was gone. Telekinesis was real. Forget about flickering lights in restaurants, she was now a full-out safety hazard. A jinx. A walking natural disaster. That should be her byline—Carrie Stanfield: Natural Disaster. She believed in psychics without question now. In fact, as she reflected back on her life, there’d been signs she was a telekinetic since she was a kid. Little things. Doors slamming shut when there wasn’t a breeze. A boy in Grade Six who’d picked on her losing his balance and falling headfirst into a swimming pool. The windshield of her father’s car cracking down the middle as he drove away, leaving her mom for another woman. It was different now. Worse. Her emotions played a huge part with the crazy happenings. She knew she needed help mastering her new and unwanted abilities. And she just happened to have the business card, tucked away safely in her wallet, of someone who’d promised to help. Someone who’d said she would make a great agent for PARA due to her journalism background and her natural curiosity. Two weeks ago, she’d summoned enough courage to finally call Patrick to explain her situation. True to his word, he told her to immediately move back to Mystic Ridge and start work at PARA, where he’d personally help her master her telekinesis. She was so grateful she’d nearly cried right then and there. She could investigate paranormal phenomena. Sure she could. And in return she’d get her life back under control. It sounded like a fair deal to her. An opportunity that sounded too good to be true. Plus, she’d get to see Patrick again. The idea thrilled her more than she’d like to admit, even though she knew his fianc?e of two years ago was probably his wife now. I’ll lust after him at a safe distance, she thought. Still, even solid in her knowledge that he was off the menu, she felt her heart thudding wildly as she waited for him in PARA’s lobby at promptly one o’clock this Monday afternoon. Today her new life would begin. And then she saw him get out of the elevator at the far end of the lobby with a brunette woman. They begin walking toward her. He was just as she’d remembered—tall and lean, mid-thirties, with hair the color of dark golden sand and eyes the color of an emerald-green ocean. He wore a crisp white shirt that fit his top half perfectly and slate-gray pants that fit his bottom half perfectly. Over the past two years she’d hoped that it was just her imagination that had made her remember this electric attraction to him. It wasn’t. She felt it now as keenly as she had the first time she’d seen him. Two years, too many erotic dreams to count, and she knew she wanted Patrick McKay to make wild love to her. The light above her head didn’t flicker this time. It shattered, raining tiny pieces of glass down just in front of where she stood on the ceramic tiled floor. She winced. One look at Patrick was enough to spike her emotions enough for her telekinesis to create a minidisaster. Great second impression. He stopped walking and looked up at the broken light, then down at her. He raised an eyebrow. “That was definitely you this time, wasn’t it?” She grimaced. “Guilty as charged.” “Welcome to PARA, Carrie,” he said. “Thanks. I’m—I can’t tell you how glad I am that you’ve agreed to work with me.” “Mastering TK is a challenge, but I think you’ll be up to it if you’re willing to work hard.” She glanced down at his left hand, surprised not to see a gold wedding ring there. Her eyes flicked back to his. “I’m a hard worker.” “I’ve asked that you be temporarily assigned as my partner so I can work personally with you.” She couldn’t help but smile. “That sounds good to me.” Patrick then looked at the woman standing next to him. She was beautiful, with dark hair a shade lighter than Carrie’s and bright blue eyes. “This is Amanda LaGrange. She’ll be helping you get settled in and she’ll show you around. If you have any questions, Amanda’s the one to ask. I’m going to be away for the rest of the day, but we’ll touch base tomorrow. Our first assignment together will be an off-site assessment next week. I hope your passport’s up to date.” An off-site assessment sounded interesting. “It is.” Amanda stretched out her hand. “It’s great to meet you, Carrie.” Carrie smiled and shook it. “You, too. And thanks again, Patrick. I’m going to sound like a babbling, enthusiastic newbie for a while, but the fact that you’d remember me after all this time really floors me. I appreciate it more than you know.” She extended her hand toward him. She waited. And then waited some more. His shoulders stiffened and he looked down at her hand. “Carrie, I…” Amanda glanced at him for a moment. “Sorry, Carrie. Patrick doesn’t touch…uh…” She appeared to grapple for her words. “Patrick prefers not to have physical contact with anyone. Don’t take it personally.” No physical contact? Carrie felt confused and embarrassed as she pulled her hand back and shoved it into the pocket of her winter jacket. This was the extreme opposite of the first time they’d met, when he’d taken her hand in his. Maybe he’d become a germaphobe in the last couple of years. “It’s okay. I understand.” She didn’t, but she didn’t want him to feel awkward about it. Patrick cleared his throat. “I can make an exception for my new partner, of course. Let’s try that again, shall we?” He held his hand out to her, his expression tense. Carrie glanced at Amanda, who watched them with a slight frown, before she took Patrick’s hand. He squeezed, but didn’t shake it. His skin was slightly rough and as warm as she remembered. It sent a shiver of awareness through her that made her breath catch. Nothing had changed. She still felt this strange sensual pull toward him that was much too strong to ignore. She wondered if he felt the same. She shifted her attention from his hand to his handsome face and was startled to see his already tight expression had grown pained. She tried to smile. “Hope you’re not reading something horrible about me this time.” “No…nothing like that.” His voice sounded strained and he let go of her and took a shaky step backward. “That’s more than enough.” He said it under his breath, more to himself than to her, then gingerly touched his temples as if he had a headache. She watched him cautiously. “Is something wrong?” “No, it’s—it’s nothing. Sorry, Carrie, we’ll have to catch up later. I need to go. Right now.” He turned and quickly walked out of the building, pushing through the glass doors without another word. Carrie watched him leave, deep uncertainty filling her. She glanced at Amanda. “I have that effect on men lately. They run away from me as fast as they can.” Amanda laughed. “I have trouble believing that.” “So did I scare him away? That just seemed a little…odd.” Amanda was quiet for a moment. “Come over here. Before I show you the rest of the office and introduce you to everyone, there’s something we have to talk about.” Carrie followed her toward a black leather couch in the waiting area across from the reception desk. “That sounds ominous.” “Don’t worry, it’s got very little to do with you. It’s all about Patrick. And since you’re going to be working one-on-one with him, you have a right to know.” “Know what?” Amanda sat down and crossed her legs, gazing out the glass doors in the general direction Patrick had departed. “He’s changed. He never used to be this way.” “What way?” She pressed her lips together for a moment. “Before, he was funny and great to be around. He was a good sounding board, gave terrific advice and was fair to every employee at PARA. If you had to think of the perfect boss, Patrick McKay would be it.” “Sounds too good to be true,” Carrie said. Amanda smiled. “He wasn’t perfect, but he was close.” Her pleasant expression faded, replaced with concern. “But then he changed. Some time ago, he covered for an agent on a case and ended up getting shoved down a flight of stairs by a poltergeist.” Carrie gasped out loud. She’d been reading up on the paranormal world in preparation for her work at PARA and knew a poltergeist was a nasty supernatural force that enjoyed making trouble and throwing furniture around. “Was he…is he okay? I mean, he seems fine now, but…” “No, he wasn’t okay. The accident put him into a wheelchair for ages. He was supposed to go to physiotherapy three times a week to get back on his feet, but he wasn’t very patient with it and started slacking off, then wondered why he wasn’t seeing any solid results. Then one day about four months ago, he started walking again like nothing happened.” Carrie leaned back into the sofa. “Just like that?” Amanda nodded. “It was a miracle. But being healed stripped away his previously great personality. He even took a demotion from agency manager to field agent, which is the main reason he’s able to partner with you. While they’re looking for a replacement manager he’s doing a bit of both jobs, although reluctantly. But now he’s guarded and private to a fault, and he doesn’t like being around other people. And he never touches anyone. The handshake with you is the first time I can remember seeing him touch anyone in recent memory.” Carrie considered all of this. It didn’t make much sense to her. But maybe Patrick had some issues about being in a wheelchair that made intimacy difficult now. Or perhaps it was posttraumatic stress from the injury itself. “What about his wife?” “Wife?” “Last time I saw him he said he was engaged.” Amanda pulled her cell phone out of the pocket of her dark blue suit jacket and glanced at the screen when it buzzed, then she tucked it away again. “He was. But they broke up shortly after he was injured. He hasn’t been seeing anyone since then. I figured he didn’t want to date while he was dealing with his injury, but now that he’s healed, I really don’t understand what’s going on with him, and he refuses to talk to anyone about it.” Patrick looked exactly the same as the first time Carrie met him, but she had sensed something was different about him. Guarded was a good way to put it. “Why are you telling me all of this?” she asked after a moment. Amanda hesitated. “Because Patrick’s decided he wants to help you. That means you’re going to get a chance to spend a lot of time with him when he would normally keep to himself. It’s an opportunity I didn’t want to let pass.” “An opportunity for what?” “You’re a journalist, and from what I’ve heard, a damn good one. You investigate stories and get to the bottom of them.” “This is true,” she said, not without a smidgen of pride. She had the shiny awards to prove it still boxed up from her move to her new apartment three miles from the PARA office building. “I want you to find out what happened to Patrick and why he changed.” Carrie studied Amanda’s serious expression. “You really care about him, don’t you?” “He’s a good friend to me and my husband—or at least he used to be. He has a problem and he won’t confide in anyone. Sometimes an intervention is necessary.” She exhaled a little shakily. “So, will you help me?” Two years ago Carrie had felt such a strong physical attraction to Patrick that she hadn’t been able to forget him. Now she had a chance to get to know him better, to work with him personally as he helped her learn how to control her telekinesis. She didn’t know much about him, really, except what Amanda had just told her. But he’d offered his assistance without hesitation the first time they’d met. If she could help him in return, she would. “Okay,” she said with a smile. “I’ll let you know what I find. Promise.” If there was one thing Carrie loved, it was a mystery. 3 CARRIE STANFIELD WAS just as sexy as he remembered. Her hair was a little longer now, but otherwise she looked just the same as she had the last time he’d seen her. And touching her, feeling the warmth of her smooth skin against his after fantasizing about it all this time— It had been worth it. Patrick couldn’t believe he was actually shaking, and it had very little to do with the freezing cold temperature at the end of January. He stood next to his car in the parking lot after brushing the snow off his windshield and stared down at his trembling hands. “Oh, come on,” he groaned. “Get control over yourself, will you?” He was fine. Seriously. Just fine. There was a time when Patrick could get a read on someone simply by being in the same room with them. It had been a very handy, very powerful tool he’d taken for granted. Back then, touching someone skin to skin helped hone in on certain feelings. He could tell, if he concentrated, when someone was lying. And sometimes he could even glean specific thoughts. A powerful psychic ability like that had taken him to the top of PARA pretty damn fast, and it was a gift he’d had complete control over. He could turn it off if he didn’t want to be bombarded with details about another person’s life and turn it back on when he needed it again. Then he’d had the accident. Thankfully, it hadn’t led to permanent paralysis, but spine injuries were a bitch to heal. His fianc?e, Julia, hadn’t stuck around very long once he’d landed in a wheelchair and had to start painful physio sessions. He wasn’t sure if she’d left because of his own miserable attitude at suddenly being physically challenged or that she simply didn’t want to be with him any longer. In any case, she’d broken up with him, returned the engagement ring and walked away. He heard she’d gotten married recently to a CEO in Los Angeles. The news hadn’t hurt half as much as he thought it would. Maybe they’d grown apart well before the accident and just hadn’t realized it, but his injury provided the perfect catalyst for Julia to make her life somewhere else. With someone else. He preferred being alone, anyway. It was easier. Being stuck in that wheelchair had been torture. He was used to being physically fit and completely independent. Working in an agency that dealt with enchanted objects on a daily basis could only lead to certain temptations. And he’d successfully been tempted by a healing charm a couple of agents had brought back from Egypt. Patrick began wearing the silver disc on a thin leather rope around his neck. And it had worked like, well…a charm. In a single day, the pain was gone and he was able to walk again as if the accident had never happened in the first place. It was too good to be true. Only, like many things that were too good to be true, his restored health had come at a price. Now he couldn’t get a read on someone simply by being in the same room. He had to actually touch them. That alone would have been fine. He’d have been willing to give up a fraction of his former power in order to recover from his injury in record time. But now when he touched someone, he experienced their emotions and thoughts like a bone-crushing, mind-numbing wave that threatened his sanity and frequently gave him nosebleeds. The pain was too much for him to handle, and he had a high tolerance to begin with. Sure, he could walk. Hell, he could run marathons like he used to—and he did take great joy in running five miles every morning at sunrise. But if he touched anyone, he was brought to his knees by the agonizing pain. As a result, he didn’t touch anyone. Pain avoidance. Sanity preservation. He’d prefer his head not to explode. He needed it right where it was. His BlackBerry, once a useful tool, had become his lifeline. He was never without it anymore. What information he used to get from touching someone, he now tried to get through the smart phone. He had a connection to the PARA database through it—a wealth of info about everything he needed to know. It wasn’t the same as before, of course, but he was adapting. It wasn’t as if he had much choice in the matter. With his reduced capabilities, he’d known he couldn’t be the agency manager anymore, but PARA was his life. He wasn’t willing to simply walk away from it and start fresh elsewhere. He’d been asked to reconsider his decision, to be the boss again, but he wasn’t ready for that. Not now. Maybe never. Not touching anyone had become second nature to him by now, but he knew it marked him as an outcast. His friends and coworkers were confused by his behavior, but he couldn’t tell them the truth. No one knew his secret. If news got out that he never tapped into his abilities anymore, he’d lose his credibility—and job. Then along came Carrie Stanfield. She’d called him out of the blue a couple weeks ago, worried her telekinesis was completedly out of control. Telekinetics were rare and valuable—he knew this from years of managing psychics. He’d wanted her on staff two years ago when he’d sensed her burgeoning power. He hadn’t changed his mind about that. He’d hired her while he still had the authority to do so. But she was going to be trouble. The woman even looked like trouble with that long, sexy raven-colored hair and those cinnamon-colored eyes and lush pink mouth. A mouth that was a little too wide for her face, a feature that kept her from being just another generic and forgettable beauty. There’d been something about her that day in the restaurant. It wasn’t an unusual situation. He’d been interviewed before, but his reaction to her had been out of the ordinary, to say the least. Instant attraction. He’d never felt anything like it before. The only thing that held him back from doing anything about it—and, possibly, making love to her right then and there—was the fact they were in a public place and he was engaged to be married. No woman, not even his ex-fianc?e, had ever affected him so strongly. His cock hardened even now at the memory of her skin against his and the cautious desire he’d seen in her eyes. It was a mutual attraction and one that he’d sensed when he touched her. Carrie had wanted him. No one but Patrick knew he’d kept the article she’d written in his top desk drawer just so he could look at her picture every now and then. He’d been convinced he’d never see her again. And yet here she was. The brief handshake a few minutes ago had confirmed to him empathically that nothing had changed. She was still attracted to him after all this time. But nothing could happen between them. A few seconds of the intensely pleasurable feel of her warm skin against his—a torturous tease for someone who’d been celibate for longer than he cared to admit—before his power kicked in, making his head feel ready to explode with agonizing pain. He couldn’t imagine what a more intimate exploration of her beautiful body would do to him. Just the thought of her naked flesh pressed firmly against his gave him a hard-on. He’d empathically read something other than attraction from her today, though. She was scared. Nervous. Uncertain. She hid it really well. He wanted to help her. He could help her. He’d worked with dozens of telekinetics over the years. Carrie was just going to be a greater challenge for him. Their relationship would have to be hands-off—literally. Professional only. If anyone found out about his secret, his job was in jeopardy. He could do both. He could help Carrie master her psychic abilities so she’d make a great addition to the PARA team, and he could keep his hands to himself. When he felt better and less shaky, he got in his car and adjusted the mirror so he could look himself in the eye. You can do this, he told himself. The pep talk didn’t help much. Given enough time, Carrie would learn to keep her distance from him like everyone else at the office now did. Their first assignment together would take them to the Bahamas for a couple of days. It was to be a routine assessment and recovery of an allegedly magical object. Business only. This was how it had to be. There was no other choice. He’d touched the beautiful Carrie Stanfield for the last time. 4 A SUB-ZERO, FROZEN landscape one day, palm trees and blue skies the next. Carrie thought she might be able to get used to a job like this. She’d had no idea her first official assignment as a PARA agent would be a trip to the Bahamas, but she wasn’t going to complain. She just hoped and prayed that nothing would go wrong. Patrick seemed to have a lot more confidence in her ability to keep her telekinesis under control than she did. A warm tropical breeze that held the barely-there scent of coconut suntan lotion wafted gently past her as she stepped from the taxi onto the pavement. The late afternoon sun was low in the sky, and she closed her eyes for a moment, letting her pale skin absorb the sunshine she’d been craving since winter hit New York State full-force in late November. The Vitamin D would do wonders for her. She’d been concerned about the flight to the Bahamas—wouldn’t want to accidentally break a window at thirty thousand feet altitude the way she had with her father’s windshield—so she’d gotten a prescription for Xanax that pretty much knocked her out for the entire trip. She’d also stopped drinking coffee three days ago. Caffeine made her jittery. She missed coffee. She had packed a bathing suit for any off-time she’d get while down here. As they said, when in Rome… Or the Bahamas. “You ready?” The words jolted her out of the pleasurable moment and she opened her eyes. Patrick stood in front of her. He’d finished paying the taxi driver. Her gaze swept the length of him, over the dark jeans and black button-down shirt that clung to his arms and chest. Her appreciation for what she saw stayed hidden behind her sunglasses. “Of course.” This had been the way conversation had gone between them since landing at the Nassau International Airport an hour ago—short and to the point. She was almost used to it by now. Just as Amanda said, Patrick was not the same as he’d been the first time Carrie met him. He was more serious now, and kept to himself unless contact with other employees was unavoidable. He’d spent a little time with her in the office the previous week, outlining her job responsibilities. Showing her files on past assignments. She’d studied them and learned. It amazed her to think it wasn’t so long ago that she hadn’t believed in the supernatural world at all. Now she was a part of it. Patrick also gave her a stack of paperwork to read about telekinesis—he called it TK. She spoke to another telekinetic agent—one who worked at a branch of PARA in Texas. He’d given Carrie a half-hour talk that made her hope for the best. Since she was a realist, however, she didn’t set her hopes too high. Being close to Patrick made it difficult to concentrate. She hadn’t had enough time to figure out what he was hiding yet. They were rarely alone, and every time they were, he usually found a reason to leave after a few minutes. She had to admit that she’d enjoyed reading all about the history of the agency and liked meeting everyone in the office. She hadn’t expected to feel so welcome—especially with her extremely conflicted feelings about her own psychic predicament. But everyone had been amazing and the job seemed both interesting and challenging. Each case was like figuring out a mystery. That appealed to her. When she was a kid, she told everyone she was going to be a detective like the ones she watched on television. She devoured Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys novels. Something about solving a puzzle challenged her. She hadn’t become a detective, but some of her articles had required extra digging. Those were the ones she loved writing the most. Patrick McKay was a puzzle for her to solve, no doubt about it. And it only made him more intriguing. Occasionally, she’d look over at him and find that he was staring at her. Their eyes would meet and hold. And she felt it—there was heat between them. Moments like that didn’t last long. Patrick would turn away, leaving her hot and bothered and determined to get to the bottom of the enigma that he was. Come what may, Carrie had one hell of an inconvenient crush on her handsome new partner and spent too much time fantasizing about tearing his clothes off and shamelessly having her way with him. But that would require him to touch her. And for some reason he had issues with that. Since their strange handshake on her first day, they hadn’t had any physical contact. Nor had she seen him touch anyone else. She’d been watching. He definitely had a secret, no doubt about it. The only question was—what was Patrick McKay hiding from everyone? “This place is gorgeous,” she said, taking in the green grass, the red, orange and bright pink hibiscus flowers twice the size of her hand, and the Royal palms that lined the cobblestone driveway leading to the front doors of the Violet Shores Resort. Patrick glanced down at his BlackBerry. That thing always seemed to be in his right hand, as if it were surgically attached to him. “The owner and his wife ran this place together, but she died a year ago and he’s stayed on by himself. It’s a couples resort—mostly honeymooners. Smaller than a lot of the other resorts in the area, but this is a nice piece of beachfront property that includes a small private island.” Across the street was the Loa Loa, a five-star resort Carrie had read about in the in-flight magazine before she dozed off. It dwarfed this place, but didn’t hold a candle to the unobstructed ocean view that Violet Shores had. “Welcome,” a voice said. Carrie turned to see a man approach. He was around thirty, attractive, with short light brown hair with sun-kissed highlights. He was dressed in a casual green golf shirt and tan pants that hung a bit loosely on his thin but athletic frame. “Thank you for coming. Patrick McKay, right?” “That’s right. You’re William Crane?” Patrick glanced at the man’s outstretched hand, but didn’t make a move to shake it. He smiled. “Guilty as charged.” “Good to meet you.” Patrick nodded at her. “This is Carrie Stanfield, my partner.” “Please call me Will.” He reached his hand out to take Carrie’s and she didn’t hesitate to shake it. Firmly. It hadn’t escaped her notice that Patrick had blatantly refused to shake William’s hand. Then again, she hadn’t expected him to. Patrick glanced at her and their eyes met. She looked down at his hands, which he quickly slid into the front pockets of his jeans. “Something wrong?” Patrick asked pointedly. “No, of course not,” Carrie said. “You have a beautiful resort, Will.” “Thank you.” “Where did the name Violet Shores come from?” “My wife’s name was Violet. I officially changed the name six months ago because when I’m here…she’s still with me.” Will’s smile faded at the edges. “Since she’s been…gone…times have been tough. Bookings are down. Way down. I’m desperate for a solution or I’m going to lose the place.” Carrie couldn’t help but feel his grief, and her heart ached for this man she’d just met. She glanced around. Now that Will mentioned it, it was extremely quiet here. No cars other than their taxi had pulled up since they’d arrived. Considering the hotel was located in a popular area of Nassau, there should have been some activity. “Where is everyone?” she asked. “I have a few guests right now, but…well, come inside and I’ll tell you all about it.” Will led the way and into the lobby, which had a shiny indigo teal tile floor. The skylight above showed a section of bright blue sky. A woman behind the main desk nodded at Will in greeting. Doors to the left led to the pool and beach area, and a young, attractive couple walked through them into the lobby. “I hate you!” the woman snarled. “I wish I’d never married you.” “The feeling’s mutual,” the man snapped back. “Do you know how much that wedding cost?” “I know because my parents paid for it. Your parents were too damn cheap to chip in on anything but the flowers.” He glowered at her. “I should have hooked up with your roommate instead of you.” “I knew you had the hots for her, you bastard!” She burst into tears and ran off toward the elevators and he stomped back out to the pool area. A chill moved down Carrie’s arms after witnessing the squabble. A couple of moments later, they arrived at Will’s office. “What you just saw out there is one of the many problems at Violet Shores right now.” “A married couple arguing about their relationship.” Patrick crossed his arms. “Not all that unusual.” “Yeah, but they only got married yesterday. Here, on the beach at sunset. They invited me as one of the witnesses, since they decided to elope. They were madly in love, no doubt about it—so much so that I envied their happiness. Now? I don’t know.” Will sighed. “And they’re not the first to have a falling out right after their vows. Almost every couple that stays here and is obviously in love leaves miserable and, uh, not in love. I assume other guests are repelled by the arguing and fighting and end up going across to the Loa Loa, hoping there are rooms available.” “And you think this is a curse?” Carrie asked. He spread his hands. “What else could it be?” “You said you believe you’re in possession of a cursed amulet. It says here—” Patrick studied the small screen of his BlackBerry “—you’d give more details once we arrived.” Carrie took a seat across from Will’s desk when he indicated that she should. Patrick remained standing. “Yes.” Will lowered his voice to a whisper and looked around nervously. “It’s Erzulie.” “Gesundheit,” Carrie said. “No, I didn’t sneeze. That’s the name of—” “The Caribbean goddess of love and sex,” Patrick finished. Will nodded. “It’s all her fault.” Patrick eyed his screen again for a long moment. “You think a mythical goddess cursed your resort.” Will’s jaw set. “Yes, I do. And I’m surprised you sound so skeptical considering who you work for.” “I didn’t say I didn’t believe you, but it’s very unusual. I’ve never, in all my time at PARA, come across anything like this before. I typically deal with curses and enchantments cast by magic-using humans, not…goddesses.” Will looked at Carrie hopefully. She shrugged. “Patrick’s the expert here. I’m new at this.” His shoulders slumped. “Well, that’s just great.” “But…” she began. “Why would a—a goddess of love and…uh…” “Sex,” Patrick said. The sound of that particular word leaving Patrick’s very enticing lips caused a pleasant but unexpected shiver to run down her spine—similar to the one she felt every time he said her name. The sensuous reaction was instant. She cleared her throat, feeling warmer all of a sudden, wishing she wasn’t wearing a long-sleeved shirt. She’d have to take a swim in the pool later to cool herself off. “Why would a goddess of love and sex want to curse your property?” “Because I pissed her off.” “You pissed off a goddess.” He nodded gravely. “When Violet passed away I was out of my mind with grief—I just couldn’t accept she was gone. I acquired the amulet from a museum auction—had to mortgage the resort since it was a huge amount of money—I was told to hold the amulet and think very hard about what I wanted in order to summon Erzulie. So I did. I wanted to see if she could…” His voice trailed off. “Could what?” Carrie prompted after a moment, disturbed that Will’s expression had grown strained. “Could bring Violet back to life.” His eyes were glossy now. He rubbed the back of his hand over his forehead. “Anyway, little did I know, she hates being woken by humans and our petty little problems. She refused to help me. After that, everything went to hell. Not only was I in debt thanks to buying the amulet, but the property’s now cursed. I can’t pay the bills and I’m going to lose the resort. The Loa Loa has already made me an offer. They want to expand. But I—I just can’t give up that easily. So I called your agency hoping like hell you could help me.” Carrie glanced at Patrick. There was genuine concern on his face for their grief-filled client. One thing she knew for sure about Patrick, he sympathized with people in distress. She was the perfect example. Will’s pain had reached him. It had reached her, as well. “Of course we’ll help you,” he said after a moment. Her heart warmed and she was relieved he wasn’t going to argue about it. Will nodded. “If there’s anyone in the world who can get to the bottom of this I know it’s you, Patrick. Your reputation precedes you. That’s why I asked for you specifically.” Patrick smiled. His lips were a major distraction for Carrie, especially after the mention of sex. “We’ll try our best to find out what’s causing your problems—whether it’s really a curse or something else entirely.” “Good. Thank you.” “Where is the amulet?” Patrick asked. “A couple miles from here on the west island. It’s a tourist trap only accessible by private boat, lots of great photo ops. I buried it there hoping to be rid of it once and for all, but it didn’t make a damn difference—the damage was already done. My boats are both in the shop, but they’ll be back tomorrow so you can head over.” “Sounds fine.” Will glanced at Carrie and smiled. “Till then, why don’t you two have some fun here at the resort? I’ll give you a honeymoon suite with a heart-shaped hot tub. It’s way classier than it sounds, I assure you.” Carrie shifted in her seat, feeling a line of perspiration slide down her spine. Great. Now she had a very clear image in her head of a wet, naked Patrick rising out of a steamy tub, the hot water trickling down his chest, over his flat stomach, and down to his— Suddenly, the coffee mug on Will’s desk shot off the side and crashed to the floor. She froze. Oops. Will frowned as he looked at the broken glass. “That’s odd. Is there a breeze in here?” Carrie cleared her throat and looked away. “Carrie is my business partner only,” Patrick said, not acknowledging the most recent telekinetic accident. “We’ll require separate rooms. In fact, I’d like our rooms on separate floors, if possible.” “If you insist. This place has four full floors to play with.” He sighed. “The Loa Loa has twenty-five.” Carrie eyed Patrick with surprise. Separate floors? She knew he didn’t want to touch anyone, her included, but that was a bit excessive. Then again, maybe he was just scared he’d get hit by an unidentified flying object if he were too close. She couldn’t say she blamed him. Damned breakable coffee mugs. She remembered her mother switching to plastic travel mugs for her coffee since regular ones had a mysterious habit of breaking. Carrie was dismayed to realize that probably had been her fault. Will went to see that their bags were taken to their rooms. Patrick’s arms were still tightly crossed as Carrie got up from her chair. She studied his body language, her gaze moving over him and ending at his green eyes. “What is it?” he asked, watching her carefully. “I’m just trying to figure you out, that’s all.” He was quiet for a moment. “There’s nothing to figure out. With me, what you see is what you get.” “Sure it is.” His poker face gave her no clues about what his problem might be. “Settle in, freshen up, and meet me by the pool in an hour. We may as well use the extra time we’ve been given to do some telekinetic exercises.” He raised an eyebrow, and she had a momentary glimpse of the warm humor she remembered once seeing in his eyes. He drew closer to her, so close that for half a second she actually thought he’d brush up against her. “So there are no more accidents involving glassware.” Her face flushed at that and she chose not to comment. Instead her attention moved over his face to his throat. He’d undone the first couple of buttons on his black shirt, showing off a tantalizing glimpse of his toned upper chest. “What’s that?” “What?” “That.” She pointed at the small, crudely engraved tarnished silver disk that he wore on a thin black leather strip. “Doesn’t really suit you.” He brushed his fingertips over it. “That’s why I wear it under my clothes.” “What is it?” “Just something I picked up.” “It looks Egyptian. Are those hieroglyphics?” At his raised eyebrow, she added, “I took Egyptology as an elective in college.” He covered the pendant with his hand, then did up a button so it was hidden again. “Like I said, meet me by the pool in an hour if you want to practice. If not, I’ll catch up with you later.” It looked as if she’d hit a sore spot by questioning him about that pendant. Interesting. “No, I’ll be there. Practice makes perfect, after all.” “We’ll get the amulet first thing tomorrow. If it really is a danger, I’ll destroy it here. Otherwise, I’ll take it back to PARA to go into the vault. We can be back in Mystic Ridge in forty-eight hours or less.” “Barely enough time to get a good tan before we’re trudging through snow again.” “Try to remember that this is a business trip, not a pleasure trip.” He blinked. “Why are you smiling at me?” “You sound like a boss.” “I’m not.” “You used to be.” He exhaled. “I used to be a lot of things.” “I noticed you didn’t shake Will’s hand.” He was silent for a moment. “What’s your point?” “Just a bit strange, is all,” she said. He fisted both hands at his sides. “Why don’t you touch anyone anymore?” “Because I choose not to.” He was close enough that she could feel the heat from his body. If she wanted to touch him, all she’d have to do was reach forward and slide her hands over his chest. But she didn’t. “Ever?” she asked. “Rarely.” “You touched me when I started last week. Am I special?” He began to look vaguely amused by her onslaught of questions. “It was only a brief handshake. Don’t get too excited.” Again her cheeks flushed. Patrick McKay was the first man capable of making her blush in years. “But you didn’t shake Will’s hand, and he’s a client. I’d think you’d make an exception for him, too.” She cocked her head as she studied his tense expression. “What?” he asked warily. “What would you do if I touched you right now? Right here?” He held her gaze for a long moment. “Nothing. But I’d probably consider it very unprofessional behavior that you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself, Ms. Stanfield.” She’d take his rebuff as a slap on the wrist if she didn’t see the heated look in his eyes. “Yes, sir.” His jaw tensed. “Pool. One hour.” “Okay.” As she turned and walked away, she realized she was smiling. After all, she did love a mystery. And Patrick McKay was a tall, blond, handsome mystery she was determined to solve. Whether he liked it or not. 5 WHEN HE FIRST MET Carrie, he’d read her as someone who was curious to learn more, someone who liked to find out the truth. He’d taken it as an indication that she’d be a good PARA agent—one who wanted to investigate mysteries and get to the bottom of them. Patrick hadn’t figured he’d be one of the mysteries she’d set her mind on solving. The thought was as disturbing as it was fascinating. He liked that he was right about her, but he’d prefer she cast her interest elsewhere. He’d rather keep his secrets entirely to himself. While the thought of letting the beautiful woman get closer to him wasn’t a bad one, he knew it couldn’t happen. Touching her was tempting, but it would be torture. He didn’t like torture. And he didn’t like the idea of getting fired from PARA for having a few secrets he’d prefer not to be revealed before he was good and ready to reveal them himself. He hadn’t thought of Carrie as an investigative journalist. He’d met his share of those in his day. While psychics were familiar in society, they certainly weren’t accepted by everyone. A lot of people were interested in psychics and agencies like PARA, but others didn’t want to know about the ghosts and spirits that could be lurking around the corner. Some would prefer not to know that empaths could gauge your emotions just by shaking your hand. Or that telekinetics could pick up a car with the power of their mind and throw it over a cliff if they wanted to. Or…forget cars. Some could simply break a light. Or a coffee mug. Speak of the devil, Patrick thought. He dug his fingers into the arms of his chair as Carrie came fully into view on the pool deck. She’d let her hair down from the ponytail she’d had it in earlier so it hung long and sleek over her shoulders. She had on a brightly colored wrap skirt—a sarong, he thought they were called—that fit snugly over her slim hips. Other than that, she wore only a black bikini top that, given how little it covered of her breasts, was definitely not appropriate for a business trip. Not that he was complaining, of course. After nearly two years of no sex, he thought he had himself totally under control. He’d dealt with several women who’d come onto him, both at the office and during off hours. They’d taken the hint pretty damn fast and he hadn’t suffered. Well, not too much, anyway. But a mere glimpse of Carrie’s breasts—covered, even—was enough to instantly make him hard as a rock. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Now he was suffering. Carrie was too much for him. He was too attracted to her. He’d gotten a very deep empathic read on her the day they first met, one that made him feel as if he’d known her for years. He’d seen into her heart. And he’d liked what he saw. Plus, she was gorgeous as hell and he’d give a lot to be able to touch her and explore this desire he felt for her—one that had only become stronger with every additional day she’d been in his life. The real thing was much better than a small black-and-white photograph at the end of a magazine article. Carrie was a true danger, no doubt about it. This was a mistake, he thought. His own issues made it impossible for him to get close to anyone. She’d be better working with somebody else. It made sense. And it would be best to let her know now, rather than have it come as a surprise when they returned to Mystic Ridge—especially after he’d been the one who promised to help her in the first place. He owed her that much. “Sit down, please,” he said. “I need to talk to you.” Her eyebrows rose and she took a seat across from him. “Sounds serious.” “Don’t worry, it’s not a big deal.” “What is it?” “When we get back, I’m going to ask for you to be reassigned as someone else’s partner.” She wore dark sunglasses so he couldn’t see her reaction to this announcement. “You don’t want to be my partner?” “I don’t think we’re a good fit.” “But it’s only been a week. And we haven’t even worked together much. How do you know we’re not a good fit?” “I just know.” “But—but I thought you were going to help to teach me control over my abilities. You promised you would.” He tried not to feel guilty about this. “Please, don’t take this personally, Carrie. It has nothing to do with you.” Her distractingly full lips thinned slightly. “No, you’re right. It has to do with you, doesn’t it?” “I’ve been with PARA long enough to know whether or not a partnership like this is going to work out or not. I don’t need months to make that determination.” “Right.” “I’ll make sure you’re placed with someone who can help you just as well as I could have.” “Fine.” Patrick found that when a woman looked perfectly calm but started using one-word answers, it meant she was mad as hell. “What about the Erzulie amulet?” she asked. Good. A change of subject was very welcome. He willed himself to relax and crossed his legs, trying to ignore his erection. Even though the view was lovely, he really wished Carrie had chosen more appropriate business wear. She made it nearly impossible for him to concentrate. “We’ll assess it, like Will wants us to. But I honestly think he’s wrong about an angry Caribbean love goddess being responsible for his troubles. There are dozens of other possible reasons why this resort isn’t popular right now and why his newly married guests might be prone to argue with each other.” “If you say so.” “We’ll get the boat and retrieve the amulet tomorrow morning. If you want to do your own thing until then, I won’t stop you.” She bit her bottom lip. “Does this mean you’re not going to help me practice right now?” He wished he could make her understand. Apart from telling her everything, he couldn’t think of a way to do that. “We can still practice, of course. We have time.” “Then let’s do it.” The heat between them had noticeably dropped a few degrees. She wasn’t happy. He didn’t blame her. If he wasn’t convinced he was doing the right thing, he might give in to the guilty feeling stalking him. He wasn’t abandoning her—this was for the best. For both of them. He realized he’d been a fool to think this could work out. Everyone knew he preferred to keep to himself. So now all of a sudden he was going to take on a newbie partner who needed one-on-one training? A newbie partner who was able to stir desire in him with a mere look in his direction? A woman he’d wanted to make love to for two years? He’d been seriously kidding himself. “You’ve done the reading I gave you,” he said after a moment. “All three thousand pages of it.” “That’s a bit of an exaggeration.” He had a glass of ice water sitting on the table in front of him. “The most important thing to keep in mind is not to be afraid of your powers.” “I’m not afraid.” She was lying. He didn’t have to be empathic to see that. Carrie was someone who felt the need to appear in control at all times. “That’s good to hear. Why don’t you focus on this glass and try to push it a couple of inches toward my hand. If you work this particular exercise every day, then you’ll get stronger and stronger and soon it’ll become second nature to you. It might not seem as if you’re progressing, but small steps add up over time.” She eyed the glass. “That sounds great, but I can’t do it.” “You’re not even trying.” Her jaw tensed. “I am trying.” “Then you’re not concentrating properly. With time, practice and patience, you’ll be able to thread a needle just by thinking about it.” He looked down at the glass, his hand resting only a few inches to the left of it. “Now concentrate and push it.” Her forehead creased. “I’m trying.” “Try harder.” The next moment, the glass shattered and ice-cold water soaked his lap. He jumped back and looked at her sharply. “That was a bit too much.” She had her hand over her mouth. “I didn’t mean to do that. Seriously.” The water was very cold. However, it did help to douse his arousal—a little. Kind of like an involuntary cold shower. He realized that Carrie was laughing. That’s why she was covering her mouth. He tried not to smile, but it was a struggle. “You meant to break the glass. It just shows me you have more control than you think you do.” “I know you seem to believe that practice makes perfect, but I just don’t feel it. This is something that has a mind of its own and wants to do its own thing.” “So it was the telekinesis that dumped a cold glass of water on me for pushing you outside of your comfort zone. Not you.” She jutted her chin out. “Exactly.” He’d been called a strict teacher before. Once upon a time, he’d considered teaching high school biology—he loved science and wanted to share his enthusiasm with his students. That was before he’d discovered the depth of his empathic ability and been recruited into PARA right out of college. Since then, he’d worked with many psychics in all categories—clairvoyants, empaths, TKs. Not all took to his teaching methods perfectly. Especially those who were resistant to learning in the first place. Some students, like Carrie, were less cooperative than others. “If you think of it as a separate entity, there’s no way you’ll ever be able to control it.” He grabbed a napkin and blotted his lap. “You already have that control inside of you—I know you do. You just don’t believe it.” “I can do lots of things when I put my mind to it. This is not one of them.” “Then you’re defeated before you even begin.” “Which is why you don’t want to work with me.” Her bottom lip quivered and it nearly undid him. He didn’t want to upset her any more than he already had. He sighed. “Carrie, like I already told you, it’s not you, it’s me.” “Where have I heard that line before?” she asked dryly. “Oh, wait a minute. I think it was in high school from somebody who couldn’t think of a real excuse.” She didn’t seem to have a problem speaking her mind. He raked a hand through his hair. “You’ll be fine with somebody else, I promise you will.” “Have you even had any partners other than me? Or are you the only solo agent with PARA at the moment?” More questions. “I’ve had a couple. But I’ve only been a field agent again for a few months.” “So is this what you tell your partners? It’s not them, it’s you? Have any of them even lasted a week with you before?” Her sharp tone betrayed her hurt feelings. This was beginning to feel like a tug-of-war. She was angling for information and he was reluctant to give her any, and yet he wanted her to understand his decision to place her with a new partner. “One lasted two whole weeks.” “Those walls you’ve built up around yourself are pretty thick. Since I’m not an empath, I can’t quite see through them, but I see enough. I’m very observant.” He leaned back in the deck chair. “There’s no need to talk about this, Carrie.” “Patrick Liam McKay. Thirty-six years old. Recruited by the Paranormal Assessment and Recovery Agency thirteen years ago at Yale University. Field agent for four years, then headed the Mystic Ridge branch as agency manager for nearly nine years before his accident.” He stared at her with surprise. “Are you writing up my bio?” “I did that research for the Medallion article. But you’d probably be surprised what’s available from a simple Google search.” “This isn’t a magazine article. And you’re not a journalist anymore.” “No, I’m a paranormal investigator now. But you said yourself my natural curiosity is going to be an asset to this job.” He wanted to keep his guard up but her flushed cheeks only made her more beautiful. He was dismayed by how much he wanted her, even now. And he was the one who talked about professionalism. “I’m sure it will.” “Do you do that with everyone?” “What?” “Be so diplomatic. Makes people who don’t know you that well think you’re a nice guy, doesn’t it? But maybe you’re not so nice.” Despite his attraction to Carrie, he was feeling increasingly uncomfortable and it wasn’t simply because his crotch was soaking wet. He flicked a rapidly melting ice cube off his right thigh. “I never claimed to be nice.” “I think I’m starting to figure you out.” “Is that so?” He stroked a finger over his BlackBerry as it began to vibrate on the table. He glanced at the screen to see an email had arrived from the office—the file he’d requested about the goddess Erzulie. He’d read it later. “You don’t like it when people get too close,” Carrie said. “Not just physically, either. You like to keep everyone at a safe distance since your accident. Or rather, since you got better from that accident.” His shoulders stiffened. “People change.” She shook her head. “Something changed you. You’re an empath, but now you don’t touch people, which leads me to believe that it has to do with your psychic ability.” “You’re welcome to have any theories you like about me. It’s a free country.” He really wished he had a pair of sunglasses to hide his own eyes. She was studying him like a sample under a microscope. He looked down at his BlackBerry again. “You refused to touch people right when you started walking again, which means you can’t really use your empathic ability anymore.” His gaze flicked from the smart phone’s screen to her. She was far too insightful for her own good. He had to stop this before it got out of control. He struggled to keep his face expressionless. “I don’t refuse to touch people,” he said. “I’ll touch you right now to prove it.” She extended her hand without hesitating. A challenge. “Okay. Touch me. Tell me how I’m feeling.” He eyed her closely. “Did someone put you up to this? Was it Amanda?” Of course it was Amanda, he thought. Who else? “She’s concerned about you,” she confirmed. “You’re like a big brother to her. A big brother with lots of secrets.” He frowned. “Amanda needs to mind her own business.” “You’re not touching me yet.” She raised an eyebrow. “Something stopping you?” He reached forward and entwined his fingers with hers. Just like the time at the restaurant when they’d first met, the intense pleasure from the skin-to-skin contact sank deep into him. “See? No problem.” Carrie watched him carefully. “What am I feeling?” Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/michelle-rowen/touch-and-go/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.