Touch and Go Page 4

  “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?”

  He fought back against the first wave of pain. “You’re feeling some anger toward me. And some confusion.”

  “So far so good.”

  “You’re feeling something else, too. Something you can’t control whenever you’re this close to me.”