Touch and Go. Michelle Rowen
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