Bodyguards Boxed Set

by Julianne MacLean

  “I tried that,” she said. “When I became psychic the second time, my ex-husband tried to have me committed again. I insisted all I needed was a dose of electroshock, but that was hopeless. None of the shrinks I talked to took my ESP story seriously. They looked up my past record and decided I was experiencing a recurrence of psychotic depression. If I hadn’t divorced Perry, I have no doubt I’d be rotting away in some institution today.”

  She shrugged. “As it is, I’ve just had to learn to live with things the way they are. Actually, it’s not the telepathy per se that bothers me so much. It’s not being able to touch people. I can’t hold a baby, shake hands, get a kiss on the cheek...”

  “Make love,” he murmured.

  She looked away and shook her head. They sat in charged silence for a few long moments. She rubbed Phoenix behind his ears; he growled with pleasure.

  “Wait a minute,” Jamie said. “You get psychic readings from animals, right? From cats?”

  “Of course.”

  “Yet you’ve been sitting here petting Phoenix this whole time, with no problem. And you handle cats all day in your practice. How come you can touch them, and not people?”

  “I couldn’t, at first,” she said, lightly running her hands over the cat’s silken fur. “It drove me crazy. Really threw a wrench into my practice. Finally I had no choice but to force myself to handle them and deal with it as best I could. After a while, I realized I could consciously train myself to—I don’t know—turn off the TV, if you will. Now it’s really not a problem. For the most part, I don’t pick up their thoughts at all, although every once in a while I still get ambushed, like when I first held Phoenix. Sometimes I deliberately tap in, like if I know a cat is in pain, but I don’t know where it hurts.”

  “So when it comes to cats, you can turn your powers on and off at will,” Jamie said excitedly. “Why couldn’t you train yourself to do the same with people?”

  She shook her head adamantly. “Impossible. The only reason I was able to do it with cats was because... well, because they let me. They had no choice. This didn’t happen overnight, Jamie. It took time, and I had to handle a lot of cats before it got better. How would I possibly reproduce that process with people? Also, people’s thoughts are more complex, more intense, than those of cats. I wouldn’t really know how to go about it.”

  “How did you do it with cats? When you say you learned to ‘turn off the TV,’ what exactly does that mean?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know...” She gazed with unfocused eyes at Phoenix. “I guess I kind of concentrate on... on being inside myself, if that makes any sense. I force myself to feel only what I’m feeling—the softness of the cat’s fur against my skin, that kind of thing—and that seems to block the cat’s thoughts from entering my mind. The more relaxed I am, the better it seems to work.”

  “That’s just desensitization therapy,” Jamie said confidently. “The substitution of relaxation for fear. A form of behavioral modification.”

  India’s eyebrows shot up. “You sound like a shrink.”

  “I double-majored in psychology and criminal justice at Rutgers.” He chuckled at her look of surprise. “You thought I was just some Irish cop from central casting.”

  “No. No, I—”

  “Got a couple of master’s degrees, too. Impressed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t be. I just got them to help me make captain. Although I did learn a thing or two along the way. I think I learned enough to help you overcome this fear of being touched. Seeing as how you refuse to go for therapy, maybe we ought to give it a shot.”

  She stared at him. “I don’t understand.”

  “I want to work with you,” he said. “You and I may disagree about what made you so fearful of being touched, but we both know that’s your primary problem. What I propose is that you let me help you solve that problem. We won’t even talk about how you got this way. We’ll just work with the symptoms, and if we’re successful, maybe the underlying problem—whatever it is—will be easier to deal with.”

  “I don’t know, Jamie. I don’t think you understand what’s involved.”

  “Touching.” He smiled. “I have no real problem with letting you touch me.”

  Suspicion flared in her eyes. “Uh-huh...”

  “No,” he said shortly. “It’s not what you’re thinking. I know you don’t know me real well, but I’m... I’m a nice guy. This isn’t some elaborate scheme to get into your knickers, I promise.”

  She giggled. “Knickers?”

  He grinned self-consciously. “Although, from what I saw, you’ve got lovely taste in them. I’m partial to silk.”

  “Is this kind of talk supposed to reassure me of your honorable intentions?”

  “I’m not going to lie and say you’re not an attractive woman, and if things were different... But they’re not. You’ve got a problem, and I’d be a real rotter to take advantage of you.”

  She laughed again. “Rotter?”

  “I probably shouldn’t say this, but when you laugh, you just... you light up from inside. It’s a beautiful thing to see. I wish you laughed more often.”

  She sobered. “There’s not a lot to laugh about in my life.”

  “Then let me help. Let me make up for being such an ass.”

  She seemed to think it over. “What would be involved?”

  “I think the thing to do would be to apply what you learned with the cats to people—to me. You just concentrate on what you’re feeling, just as you did with the cats. We’ll start very gradually, maybe just touching fingertips.”

  She bit her lip. “I can’t do that. You don’t understand. You don’t know what it’s like. The energy, it’s so strong...”

  “India—”

  “It’s not going to work, Jamie. People aren’t like cats.”

  “India, just try—”

  “No. I’m sorry, Jamie. I know you’re just trying to help, but—”

  “What if we didn’t actually touch each other at first? What if we just touched the same object? Maybe that would filter the energy enough so you could handle it.”

  “Psychic energy generally doesn’t pass through an inanimate object that way,” she said.

  He looked at her hand curled over Phoenix’s back, “What about an animate object? Would that work?”

  “Yeah, probably, but...” She noticed the direction of his gaze, and her mouth fell open. “You mean Phoenix?” He nodded. “You’d actually be willing to touch him? You’re afraid of cats. I mean, you don’t like—”

  “No, I’m afraid of them,” he confessed miserably.

  “Why?”

  “I have no idea. It’s just a phobia I’ve always had.” A bad one. He’d rather stick pins in his eyes than touch a cat.

  “Forget it, then,” she said. “It was a good idea, but—”

  “No,” he said, steeling himself. “I’ll do it.”

  She blinked. “You don’t have to. Trust me, I know about phobias. I’ve got one about fire. It’d be asking too much to expect you to—”

  “I said I’ll do it.” His stomach tightened, and his heart began to beat erratically.

  “Jamie—”

  He held his breath and reached across her, his hand poised above the cat. Through an effort of will he kept it from trembling—too much. It’s just overactivity of the autonomic nervous system. You can control it.

  She lifted her hand from the cat. “I can’t put you through this. Forget it, Jamie.”

  “I can take it if you can.”

  “Look at you,” she said. “You’re sweating. Let’s not do this.”

  Slowly he lowered his hand, pausing when he felt the fur tickle his palm. His stomach clenched, and he inhaled deeply, commanding his muscles to relax. “Come on,” he said. “I dare you.”

  Chapter Six

  * * *

  INDIA GLANCED TOWARD Jamie, his gaze intent, his face pale in the dancing half light from the silent television.


  He smiled; it looked forced. “If I can do it, you can.” An anxious strain in his voice belied the bravado of his words.

  India took a deep breath and extended her hand over Phoenix’s head.

  “Just feel what you’re feeling,” Jamie said softly. “Nothing more. And try to relax. You said that helps.”

  She closed her eyes and slowly lowered her hand until she felt the first soft suggestion of fur against her palm... and something else. A vibration, a kind of hum. At first she thought it was Phoenix purring, but then she realized this was different, like the muffled drone from a power line.

  This had nothing to do with Phoenix. This was Jamie’s energy. He was supercharged. Of all the people to try this with...!

  “You can do it,” he coaxed as she hesitated. “Rest your hand on him. Feel his fur. Just that.”

  She frowned, her eyes still tightly shut, and closed her hand gently over the back of Phoenix’s head. Summoning all her mental strength, she tried to concentrate on the purely tactile pleasure of warm fur beneath her hand—but she couldn’t. The droning was still there, making her palm tingle. It thrummed up her arm and spread throughout her body, which tensed in response. Her stomach lurched, her heart raced.

  Fear.

  Her eyes flew open, but still the harrowing picture lingered in her mind—the grainy black-and-white image of a cat, teeth bared, claws unsheathed, snarling. A jolt of terror seized her. Gasping, she drew back and wrapped her arms around her updrawn knees. The startled cat leapt from the bed and dashed across the room, disappearing through the open door.

  Jamie moved closer, but didn’t touch her. “India? What happened?”

  “Th-the cat,” she managed. “You are afraid. Really afraid.”

  After a moment, he nodded. “Was it that obvious how bad it was? I thought I was being pretty cool.”

  “You were,” she said, impressed. “But I could tell. Why did you put yourself through that?”

  He shrugged. “It was the only way to get you to try. I had to make you try.”

  His selflessness moved her. “Thank you.” She shrugged. “But I tried, and it didn’t work. So that’s the end of that.”

  His expression said, Is that so? “The only reason I suggested using Phoenix was to ease you into the idea of being touched. We don’t have to use him if he just gets in the way. Let’s try my original idea—just touching fingertips.”

  She ran a hand through her hair. “Jamie, it’s not that I don’t appreciate what you’re doing. You handled Phoenix, and I know that took a lot. But this just isn’t working.”

  “Because you weren’t relaxed. Neither was I. We’ve both got to chill out.”

  “Jamie—”

  “Lie down and close your eyes.”

  India laughed nervously. “Jamie, no. Look, why don’t you just admit defeat and go downstairs and—”

  “I’m not very good at admitting defeat. Lie down and—”

  “Why?”

  “I’m going to try some relaxation techniques on you.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Stuff you learned in your psychology courses?”

  “Yep.”

  “Forget it. I hate that kind of stuff. I hate shrinks and all their mumbo jumbo.”

  “I’m not a shrink. I’m not even pretending to be one. Just a friend trying to help you with a problem.” She shook her head resolutely. “I’m not going downstairs till you do it.”

  “Well, then, it’s going to be a long night, isn’t it?”

  “I guess so.” Jamie untied his sneakers and yanked them off.

  “What are you doing?”

  “ Getting comfortable.” He reclined on his side next to her, resting his weight on one elbow.

  “Get out of here!” She backed up, grabbed a pillow, and hurled it at him.

  He saw it coming and caught it easily, then studied her for a moment. There was a glimmer of distress in her eyes, competing with the anger. “Are you afraid of me?”

  She lifted her chin. “Of course not.”

  “I mean, I’d understand it if you were, given your background.”

  She groaned. “For the last time, I was not abused!”

  “No? Then how come you’re afraid of me?”

  “I’m not afraid of you! I told you!”

  “You just don’t like me.”

  “No, I—” again she raked her fingers through her hair “—I guess I like you all right, I just—”

  “You just don’t trust me.”

  “I do trust you!”

  He sat up. “If you like me, and you trust me, and you’re not afraid of me, then prove it. Lie down and close your eyes.” She stared at him, her thoughts unreadable. “I promise you,” he added with a smile, “I’m not leaving this bed until you do.”

  She looked away from him for a long moment, and then grudgingly scooted down on the bed and stretched out, albeit rather stiffly. He picked up the pillow she’d thrown at him and fluffed it. “Lift your head.” She did, and he tucked the pillow in place, noting a bit of white fluff peeking from a seam. He slid it out and found it to be a dainty little pinfeather, about an inch long.

  “Do I have to close my eyes?” she asked.

  He held the feather by its shaft, twirling it. “Yes. I want you completely relaxed, and I want your attention focused on what you’re feeling, not what you’re seeing.”

  She closed her eyes. “I don’t feel anything.”

  “Sure you do.” He moved closer and looked down on her, rigidly supine, her hands clenched at her sides. “You can feel the room around you, the bed underneath you.”

  “Yeah, well—”

  “You can feel the clothes on your body. Cotton and fleece...” He smiled. “And silk?”

  “Uh...”

  “Shh.” He touched the feather to her lips. “No talking.” She flinched, her eyes opening wide. “It’s just a feather,” he said, showing it to her. “Close your eyes.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, she did.

  “Breathe in deeply and then let it out slowly.” He saw her chest rise and fall as she complied. “And again... and again. Let go of your tension. Let your muscles relax. Let your body float.”

  He continued his soothing litany for some time, keeping his voice low. Finally he saw her hands partially unclench. Ah. Progress.

  He brought the feather to his own mouth and swept it lightly across his lips, leaving a whispery trail of sensation. Smiling to himself, he reached down and did the same to India. Her lips parted slightly.

  “Just feel the feather, and nothing else.” He trailed the downy tuft in slow paths over her face... along her nose, up the delicate line of her jaw, and over a finely carved cheekbone. Her skin was flawless, like white marble, and so translucent that he could make out a lacy network of violet veins beneath each eyelid as he stroked than with the feather. God, even with those amazing eyes closed, she was beautiful. Phenomenally beautiful.

  “Don’t think about anything,” he murmured. “Just feel.” He stroked the feather around the rosy edge of one ear and down her throat.

  With languorous detachment he watched his hand guide the feather in circles over the exposed skin of her chest, then slowly trace the low V neck of her T-shirt. She didn’t move a muscle, but he saw her nipples stiffen beneath the crisp white cotton. Arousal flashed through him. He froze, stunned that such a simple thing should affect him so intensely. Easy, Keegan. You told her you were a nice guy.

  Her eyelids fluttered open. “What...”

  “Shh...” He touched the feather once to each eyelid. She sighed and closed her eyes.

  He took a deep, steadying breath, then reached across her, drawing the feather down the silken underside of her left arm from shoulder to wrist, and then up again. Her breathing quickened; his followed suit. Was there no part of this woman’s body that wasn’t an erogenous zone?

  India was in a state of dreamy shock. For the most part, no one had touched her—other than to bump into her or brush against he
r—in years. And no one had ever touched her like this. Granted, it wasn’t a human touch; it wasn’t skin against skin. But it was the next best thing, tender and sensual, soothing and thrilling. If James Keegan could do all this with a feather, she wondered, what could he do with his hands, his mouth...?

  She felt the airy brush of the feather against her palm, and sighed, her fingers opening of their own accord.

  “Just feel,” Jamie whispered.

  “Mmm.” She didn’t have to be told. He’d mesmerized her, reduced her to pure feeling, pure pleasure.

  The feather caressed her fingers, up and down, from the tips to the palm and back again. Gradually the caress intensified, leaving trails of ticklish warmth in its wake. A kind of rough smoothness replaced the insubstantial softness of the feather, and she felt not one point of sensation, but two, then three, then four...

  “Oh, my God,” she breathed when she realized he’d substituted his fingertips for the feather!

  “Just feel,” Jamie implored.

  “Oh, my God.”

  She lay perfectly still, suspended in a realm of unreality, feeling nothing but the warm, electric touch of his fingers—his flesh against hers!—and the riotous pounding of her heart.

  Just feel just feel just feel.. . she chanted inwardly, reveling in the moment, this magic, delicious, spellbound moment. He was touching her, and that was all she felt—his heat, the pleasing roughness of his calloused fingertips... no jittery TV images, no alien thoughts and feelings.

  “This can’t be,” she whispered as hot tears slid from the outer corners of her closed eyes.

  “Sure it can.” She sensed movement and opened her eyes to find him reaching toward her face. She stiffened automatically as his fingers brushed the tears from her cheek.

  “No!” she gasped. She rolled away from him, but it was too late. Her mind exploded with shifting images—her eyes, her tears, her fingers, her breasts... She felt his desire, his confusion, but most of all his compassion, before the unwanted feelings subsided, leaving her breathless.