by Julie Kenner
His physical arousal caused her smug delight. And as his face became more animated, his smoky eyes flashing lightning bolts of interest, she would continue to up the stakes. Bonnie hadn’t allowed herself a fling in way too long. And this setup couldn’t have been more perfect. While military men attracted her with their dedication, sense of purpose and strong codes of honor, they tended to understand only the concrete world of what they could see, hear and prove. Men like John had difficulty with her peculiar gift. And she had no interest in falling for a partner who couldn’t believe in her special abilities.
But a fling would not only serve her country and help her mission, it fit into her personal plans perfectly right now. Since she more than liked John Cameron, flirting with him was a no-brainer, especially when it helped to ease the tension blocking his memories. She adored the hard lines and muscled planes of his body. The washboard abs, the powerful shoulders and his sexy chest hair. But most of all she admired his mental strength. Many men would have broken under similar circumstances. Others would have survived, but withdrawn. John Cameron could still flirt and play. Wounded but healing, he was well on the way to recovery on his own. But time was of the essence. The Shey Group couldn’t afford the luxury of waiting for his memories to trickle back on their own.
The terrorists could carry out their attack at any time. If she could help John retrieve the forgotten information she would be doing him, the Shey Group and her country a huge service. That she could enjoy the process jazzed her.
She liked the way John made her feel when she was with him—free to say whatever she wanted. Free to act out any insane idea. Free to be herself. Free to use her power of touch that so many people found abnormal. Women often considered her a freak. Men usually avoided her, fearing she could read their minds, or they remained skeptical that she could open blocked pathways. While she hoped her ability by itself would be enough to help John, she suspected that his mental block might be stronger than any she’d previously encountered. She’d take advantage of additional help, pleased that the object that would enhance her powers would arrive soon. Meanwhile, she’d make do with her natural talents.
Their swim in the pool yesterday had helped to ease the normal mental and physical distance between strangers. Their chats had established a measure of trust. And their dynamic attraction to one another served as yet another catalyst to fuel spontaneous combustion.
His feather play over her breasts had her hot as a smoking Fourth of July firecracker. And her nipples seemed to have gotten stuck in the aroused position due to the netting that tugged on them every time she breathed. The lovely feeling only served to make her more eager to touch him.
Damn, he looked hot in baggy boxers. And his erection tenting the navy cotton indicated quite clearly that very soon he’d be ready for her touch. Conventional therapy hadn’t worked on John, so Kincaid had given her permission to do whatever it took to cure her patient, and if her methods went outside the bounds of accepted medical practice, so be it. She was authorized to do whatever it took.
But was John ready to cope with a simple touching of flesh? With the strong tide of need surging through her, she couldn’t be sure she was thinking analytically. Because as much as she wanted to forget all her training, as much as she’d like to be first and foremost a woman, she wouldn’t forget what she’d come here to do. Too much was at stake. John was doing as she’d asked, trusting her, and she was determined to help him—but before she could work on retrieving his memories, he had to accept her touch.
If she enjoyed herself, that was a side benefit. If her heartbeat tripped madly over the thought of touching him, she had to take extra care. Because she didn’t want just to touch him, she craved that first touch like a skydiver lusted for freefall.
Touch was her natural element, like an artist relied on his eyes to mix a palette and paint a seascape, like a musician relied on hearing to pick up a cadence. She wouldn’t feel complete until she held John’s hand, until she merged with the flow of his essence, beheld the vividness of his color, savored the flavor of his soul and discovered his well-hidden secret.
“Come on, doctor darling,” John dared her, gesturing to her shorts. “You’ve teased me for long enough. Take them off.”
“Okay.” She unfastened the top snap. Watched his nostrils flare. Undid another snap. Took pleasure in his ardent stare. Taking her time, she ever so slowly unsnapped, until the fly parted just enough to reveal the tiniest sliver of yellow.
Hooking her thumbs into her belt loops at the sides, she cocked her hip and tugged down the white shorts an inch. She kept her tone light, suggestive. “Maybe I ate too many donuts. They seem to be stuck.”
“Uh-uh.” He shook a finger at her in mock irritation. “That excuse won’t work. Your tummy is as flat as that table.”
She cocked her hip to the other side, tugged the shorts down another inch. “They really don’t want to come off.”
John picked up the feather and twirled it over her nipples, recreating a direct line of heat between her breasts and her legs. “You’re going slowly on purpose to tease me.”
“Am not,” she lied, thinking that if she didn’t touch him soon she was going to melt into a puddle.
When she finally stepped out of the shorts, wearing the tiniest thong bottom she could find in the International Mall, she held her breath in anticipation of his reaction.
She’d intended to sunbathe in the lingerie in the privacy of her condo balcony. However, after she’d glimpsed John’s erection standing at attention, she was glad she’d brought it with her.
His eyebrows rose. “Wow.”
“You like it?”
His voice deepened to a huskier baritone. “You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen. Turn around and let me see the other side.”
“There is no back.” She saw confusion in his eyes and turned. “It’s a thong.”
“Nice. Real nice. But are you sure you aren’t trying to give me a heart attack?”
“There’s nothing wrong with your heart. Only your head.” Facing and approaching him, she gestured to his hand and the feather, narrowing the distance between them until she could feel the heat radiating off of him. “I thought you were going to put that to good use.”
“Oh, I intend to, sweetheart.” They stood mere inches apart, so close that if he leaned forward onto the balls of his feet, his chest would brush against hers. She ached for him to close the last centimeter. He didn’t. Instead he flashed her one of those charming grins. “Same rules? Anywhere I want?”
Excited by the exhilaration and anticipation on his face, she nodded, her mouth dry. “Same rules. But it’s my turn next.”
She expected him to tease her through the netting as he’d done before, but hoped he’d make a breakthrough and touch her, skin to skin, despite the boundary she’d set earlier. Wondering what he was thinking, wondering if giving up control to him had been the right thing to do, she waited. Torture victims felt a loss of control and by turning over to him the place and method of their first touch, she hoped to make him feel secure.
He stayed close enough for his breath to fan her cheek. Taking care not to so much as whisk against her belly with a knuckle, he slid the feather into the front of her panties.
Inch by inch, he pushed the feather downward until the tip nestled between her curls. “How does that feel?”
“Wicked.”
“Look at me,” he demanded.
“Why?” She tipped her head back, enjoying the pulse of heat between her thighs.
“I want to watch your face. I want to watch your eyes dilate. And your cheeks flush.”
She ached so badly for a real touch from his flesh that she wanted to stomp her foot in exasperation. But he was playing her game, abiding by her rules, so she had no right to complain. Except that he felt too good. She held his gaze, expecting him to pull the feather out slowly again.
But he wriggled the feather from side to side and it was all she could do not to squirm
as she longed for more. Longed for him to touch the flesh that he’d teased into a fury of need. Her mouth parted and she yearned for his lips to angle down on hers, for him to forget the rules, for him to lose control and take what she offered.
By the time he finally extracted the feather, her hands were shaking. Her belly quivered and her knees had turned to putty. It took every atom of restraint for her to take the feather from him calmly. “My turn.”
He jerked the feather out of her reach with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I’m not done yet. Unless you’re calling it quits.”
“I don’t quit.”
Frazzled, rattled by the desire simmering through her veins like hot brandy, she breathed in through her nose and out of her mouth. She reminded herself that the longer the foreplay, the better for him. He needed time to rewire, for his brain to reconnect with his body, so that he reached out to touch without thinking, like a forgotten reflex. That’s what the psychiatrist in her said. The womanly part of her wanted to tackle him onto the lounge chair, kiss him senseless and jump his bones.
He tickled the feather between her knees. “Darling, I could use a little working room.”
She parted her legs, wishing he’d toss the damn feather away. But she had to leave that critical decision to him. Only he would know when she’d pushed him into breaking through. Until then she had to give him rules to make him feel safe enough to play this sexual game with her. Only he would know when he was ready to touch.
On the surface, he seemed eager. He exhibited no reluctance, no struggle. But she knew better, and from the mixture of desire and despair in his gaze, so did he. Clearly, he ached to touch her, yet he didn’t try and that told her the shields he’d erected were close to impenetrable. She’d expected the barrier he’d raised to have broken down by now—it hadn’t. She’d failed.
And damn. Every cell in her body called out to her to reach up and tug down his head so she could kiss him. Every part of her soul yearned to touch him so she could know him. But for his sake, she waited. Waited and hoped that while he again stroked her nipples, her belly and her mons with the feather he’d find her so irresistible he’d reach for her. Touch her.
He teased the insides of her thighs and then for a moment she thought he was going to take her into his arms, but he simply reached around her. Featherlight caresses over her back and bare bottom created delicious circles of swirling need. But even through her desire, disappointment surged through her that she hadn’t incited him to a state where he would let down his guard and do what they both wanted.
And when she couldn’t stand another second, she plucked the feather from his fingers. “My turn.”
“But I was having so much fun.” He sounded so charmingly innocent.
“You can still have fun.” She slid the feather up the leg of his boxers, hoping he was ready.
He didn’t retreat. He didn’t move. He didn’t utter a sound.
“You okay?”
“I’m not sure.” His voice was tight, his eyes narrowed, his struggle clear.
Damn. Had she let her own hunger push him too fast?
He gestured downward. “If you keep on doing that I might not be able to hold back.”
If he was worried about ejaculation that meant what she was doing felt good to him. Okay, she might not have driven him to the brink, but she was closer. She laughed, wanting to share her pleasure with him over how far he’d recovered in such a short time. “Who said you had to hold back?”
She stroked the feather, grateful for the wide boxers that gave her access to him. While she couldn’t see exactly where the feather was arousing him, she didn’t care. He was feeling pleasure, not pain. Not shock. And the more pleasure she could give him, the easier he’d recognize touch as something to be welcomed and relished.
At the same time as her mind was in psychiatrist mode, she was marveling at the attraction between them. They hadn’t as much as shaken hands, never mind kissed, but she couldn’t ever remember wanting a man like she wanted him. And he wanted her, but that he’d held back proved to her that without giving him enough time to heal, she might not succeed. What she needed was to incite him to the point he had to touch her because he couldn’t stop himself, because it came naturally, like a starving man who couldn’t resist a hot meal.
However, if she pushed too hard, too fast, he might never recover his memories—but time was of the essence. With the urgency of the situation in her mind, she only held back a little. After withdrawing the feather from his shorts, she skimmed the cords of his neck, his wide chest and rugged back before gliding the feather up his other leg and once again under his shorts. From his groan of pleasure, she must be hitting a sensitive spot.
He sucked in a hiss of air. Sweat broke out on his brow and his body quivered. “I can’t take much more.”
That he was telling her, instead of reaching for what he wanted dismayed her. Bonnie wasn’t accustomed to failure. “You want me to stop?”
“I…want…you.”
The words were too tight. Forced. Despite his arousal, he still hadn’t reached for her. While her efforts might have softened his resistance a little, she hadn’t done enough.
“I’m not ready,” she lied, knowing that she’d never been more ready in her life. But she didn’t want him disappointed in himself. She didn’t want him to know that she’d expected him to go further than he had. “Why don’t we cool off with a swim?”
“HOW COME YOU HAVEN’T asked me about my mission like all the other shrinks?” John asked after they’d swum in the pool and were lying out on the lanai to dry. The sexual tension between them simmered, but unlike people who knew exactly where they were going and enjoyed the journey to get there, he had no such luxury of time. Every minute that he wasted might be critical.
While she didn’t pressure him to perform, he’d glimpsed disappointment in her gaze when he hadn’t moved on to the next level. While she’d tried to get him to relax and follow his natural inclinations, which were bubbling up at a frenzied pace, every time he considered touching her, he held back. If touching her elicited painful shocks, he didn’t want to see her desire turn to disgust, or worse, pity.
Bonnie was different from his other doctors in more ways than he could count. But most importantly, he cared what she thought. He didn’t want her to see him as weak. He didn’t want her to see him cringe from the pain caused by touch. He didn’t want her to think of him as anything but a healthy, desirable male who found her irresistibly attractive.
While he’d pretended to buy her lie that she wasn’t ready, he knew why she’d pulled back for him. Her generosity made her all the more precious in his mind. He was lucky to have her, and although he still feared touching or being touched, too many lives were at stake for him to play it safe.
Bonnie was lying on her stomach, letting the sun caress her lovely bottom. The round, lean flesh tempted him, almost enough to stroke. She turned her head and gazed at him with a lazy gluttony that reminded him of a cat eyeing a dish of sweet cream. “I do my best work while I’m touching.”
He rubbed lotion over his chest, recalling the pleasant graze of the feather there and the way her eyes had darkened in pleasure when his nipples had tightened. “You sure that’s just not an excuse to have your way with me?” he teased, expecting her to laugh, but she went shrink serious.
She also turned onto her back and her breasts distracted him. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of extrasensory tactile awareness?”
He frowned. “Extrasensory tactile awareness? Sounds like a disease.”
She did laugh, this time. “While I was in med school, some of the doctors acted as if I was contagious. But I try to think of what I have as a gift.”
“Tell me about your gift.” His curiosity burned. Despite her careful tone, he hadn’t missed how the skeptical comments from doctors at medical school had hurt her. She was such an unusual mix of science and sensuality that right from the get-go she’d intrigued him, enticed him, enc
hanted him. And he found himself wishing he could protect her from people who dismissed her abilities and caused her anguish.
“Ever since I can remember, when I touch people, I sense where they hurt.” At her outrageous claim, he schooled his features not to reveal his skepticism. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. “Over the years my skill has evolved. Recently I’ve had some success combining touch therapy with the elimination of mental blocks. Since my ability cannot be measured, or seen or smelled, others have doubts, but when I touch, I visualize the blocks.”
He kept his tone even, repressing his disbelief. “You can read minds?”
She put on her sunglasses, seemingly not the least bothered by his question. “Mostly these emotions come to me in streaming colors. When I touch people as they speak, I can help ease them through a block that I sometimes feel or see as a wall, or rushing water or thick mud. It’s difficult to put into words.”
“If you touch me…when you touch me,” he corrected himself, “what would I feel?” He wanted to hear some shred of proof to validate her claim. Because he wanted to believe her.
“Some patients have told me that my touch makes them stronger. Others say they don’t feel so alone. And occasionally a patient catches a reflection of what I’m feeling. But mostly, patients don’t notice anything at all.”
So there was no proof that she could offer. “What kind of success rate do you have?”
“That depends on how you define success. Some patients need to recover the memories so they can deal with the pain and move on with their lives. Others don’t want to remember at all.”
“What do you do for them?”
“I never force a patient.”
Somehow, he’d already known that. While he suspected she would be a ferociously passionate lover, she had a gentleness about her that suggested she always put the patient first.
“Suppose forcing is what I want?” John asked, knowing that whatever he’d blocked might be critical to saving many innocent lives, willing to give anything a try—at least once.
