Dark & Dangerous: A Collection of Paranormal Treats

by Julie Kenner

  Bonnie sat up and swung her legs over the side of the lounge chair. She peered at him over her shades, her voice serious.

  “You’ll break through soon. We needn’t rush.”

  “Time might be of the essence.”

  “We don’t know that.”

  But he couldn’t take that chance. If she could touch him and help him remember, he had to let her—even if he cried out from the pain, even if she never again looked at him in the same way. He couldn’t put his own selfish pride ahead of what could happen if the information remained locked in his head. He might soon end his affiliation with the Shey Group, but he would complete his last mission and do it to the best of his ability. While he doubted her method would work, he was desperate to retrieve the missing memories. Trembling, he stuck out his arm, offered her his hand. “Do it. Touch me.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  BONNIE’S HEART WENT OUT to him as she shook her head. “Forcing a mind…might cause a setback.”

  John had to be skeptical about her gift, but he’d still been willing to give her a chance. His attitude was unusual. Most people laughed outright or considered her one step away from a mental institution. Others placed her in the same category as fortune-tellers and magicians. Most of her life, she’d known she was different. Only a few close friends had accepted her. Cate was one of them. Could John be another? At his open-mindedness, her respect for him rose several degrees.

  John kept his arm out and wiggled his fingers. “I’ll risk it.”

  “I won’t.”

  She gently refused him, careful to keep her concern from her eyes. The man’s bravery was not in doubt. Neither was his willingness to sacrifice for his country. And if those traits alone weren’t enough to win her compassion, she found his urgent resolve to overcome his block admirable, but reckless.

  She’d gone into medicine to help people, studied psychiatry because the complexities of the mind fascinated her. Positive that her gift shouldn’t be wasted, she’d often found herself caught between the scientific method that required proof and her gift which had to be taken on faith. But no matter how unorthodox her methods, she’d taken the Hippocratic oath. Her first duty to her patient was to do no harm.

  John dropped his arm to his side, but determination carried through his tone. “You don’t understand. The group that I infiltrated were fanatics. They hate our country. They hate our way of life. They don’t care how many innocent people they kill to make a point, and I have a feeling that time is running out.”

  “I understand better than you think. Both my parents served in the military.” She didn’t like his premonition, suspecting it came from a deep recess in his mind that might be factual.

  He stuck his arm out again with a bravery that amazed her. “Then you understand that my welfare cannot be put before others. You need to try your power of touch on me before people die.”

  He’d been open-minded and perhaps she needed to do the same. Perhaps he was right. While she was accustomed to putting the needs of her patient above everything else, his case was extraordinary, the information in his mind vital to national security. “Are you sure, John?”

  “Worst thing that could happen is I’ll feel the same kind of shock I did during the torture.”

  His courage made her heartbeat stutter. He might withstand the agony, but the pain might also reinforce his mental block.

  But just maybe, her special ability would allow him to break through to the critical memory. Certainly his willingness to experiment could speed the process along.

  “All right.” She took a deep breath, released the air from her lungs. “Let’s do it.”

  She touched his hand with the tip of her finger.

  As if turning on a switch, her touch linked into his emotions. And she found herself on a rocky black shore lit by blazing flames at her back. At her feet, a sea of molten tar bubbled and seethed, rising up like a hellish tidal wave with flaming tentacles of angry red. Incredible heat ignited her flesh.

  Burning.

  Agony.

  She screamed. He jerked his hand back, breaking their connection.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, his eyes full of concern.

  She stared at her feet, trying to rid her mind of the notion that her toes were seared, to grasp that the stench of burned flesh, the torment of burning alive had all been in her mind. Never had she encountered anything like John’s turmoil. And even through the vestiges of her receding pain, she realized that he had suffered, too—yet despite his own agony, his concern had been for her. “What happened?” she managed to ask.

  “I felt a shock.”

  That had to be the understatement of the century. She hid her fear of failure, hid her surprise, hid the fact that she hadn’t a clue how to deal with the kind of mental anguish he carried around in his head. “Yeah, me, too.”

  And they’d talked enough. She didn’t like the tense set of his mouth or the hard look in his gaze that told her his mind had snapped his mental barriers firmly back into place or that he, too, was worried about his mission. She needed time to think, and he needed a diversion, then lunch and maybe a boat ride where talking would be difficult.

  When John suddenly stood, his gaze focused, his muscles tensed, his wrists cocked, he looked like a soldier expecting attack. She turned to follow his gaze and saw a man approaching. However, John must have recognized him because he relaxed.

  One of the Shey Group’s security men approached, moving with the silent grace of a jungle cat, but with legs like tree trunks. John’s eyes narrowed on the package the other man carried. “What’s up, Web?”

  “A package just arrived for Dr. Anders. Did I hear a scream?”

  “Just part of the therapy,” Bonnie responded automatically, still stunned by what had just happened and excited that the item had finally arrived. She hadn’t made any headway alone, had never encountered a block so strong it caused her pain, but perhaps the talisman might tip fate in their favor.

  Web held out the box to her, the ridges on his hands a testament to his prowess in hand-to-hand combat. “Ma’am, we opened the package to make sure it was safe.” Web’s gaze settled on Bonnie and her attire or lack of it seemed to affect his vocal cords. “And Kincaid said it might…be important….”

  “Thanks.” Bonnie forced a smile, realizing that not only was Web distracted by her lack of clothing, but John was bristling. And as the aftereffects of touching John faded, her fingers itched to explore the object Cate had sent her.

  John glared at Web, apparently not the least bit intimidated by the other man’s mass, or the fact that he was heavily armed. “Go find your own woman to stare at.”

  Web shrugged. “I can’t find one as good to look at as—”

  John jerked his thumb back toward the front gate. “Go.”

  Web gave Bonnie one more long, slow look, almost as if he enjoyed John’s irritation, then swaggered back the way he’d come.

  “You weren’t very nice to him,” she admonished John as she pulled back the already open cardboard box. However, she was pleased that John had implied that she was his. More forward progress. He wouldn’t have had a twinge of jealousy if she hadn’t aroused his emotions as well as his sexuality. And on the non-doctor level, she was pleased because she liked John. She liked him a lot, admired him more than she’d thought possible. But that he’d let her touch him, had kept an open mind about her gift, then hadn’t blamed her for the failure left her stunned.

  “Web will get over it.” John peered over her shoulder. “Why did Kincaid send you—”

  “I asked him to forward the package. It’s from a childhood friend of mine from New Orleans.” She plucked out a note and read aloud, “Hi, Bonnie. Here is the perfume bottle. Be careful, but I really do think it’s right up your alley. Love, Cate.” She placed the note to one side. “When I told Kincaid the perfume bottle might help you, he arranged to forward it here.”

  John chuckled, shaking off his own pain as if it were nothing. “First
feathers. Now a perfume bottle is going to help me?”

  After their painful touch, she couldn’t blame him for his skepticism. “This is no ordinary perfume bottle.”

  “Right.”

  “Cate said that it has a gypsy inscription and it’s somehow tied to magic, though I’m not exactly sure how. She claimed the perfume bottle had a strange effect on her, freaked her out, so she contacted an expert who says the bottle enhances paranormal powers.” She spoke enthusiastically, trying to gauge his reaction. “Cate was sure that I’d adore it.”

  “She knows you well, all right.”

  Carefully, Bonnie removed the bottle from a heavy wooden casket that was probably as old as the glass. Crystal facets sparkled in the sunlight and the silver formed an intricate lace pattern around the glass, making the perfume bottle look old, rare, expensive. “It’s gorgeous.”

  “If it freaked her out, why do you want it?”

  “Don’t you?” She tried to unplug the stopper, but it wouldn’t budge. “I’m hoping this bottle will enhance my gift.”

  “Extrasensory tactile perception. Right.”

  She gave up trying to convince him with a shrug. According to Cate, she didn’t need to open the bottle to use the power. “I’m hoping it’ll work for us.”

  John leaned over, peered at the bottle, then shook his head, unimpressed. “I don’t believe in fairy tales. I’m not sure I believe in extrasensory touch awareness, either.”

  “That’s okay.” But it wasn’t. She wanted him to believe. She wanted him to trust her. She set the perfume bottle in the middle of the patio table, admiring the crystal facets, the rainbow reflections and the exotic stopper. “In the Middle Ages, most scientists didn’t believe in germs. That didn’t mean they weren’t there.”

  His full lips mocked her, although he kept his voice steady. “So I don’t have to believe in your power of touch for it to work?”

  “Not at all.” However, he did have to welcome her touch. Or both of them would suffer horrible pain. At the memory of that searing tar, she barely repressed a shudder. The bottle had better work its magic or she might not be able to help John or the people depending on him.

  She glanced at him, caught the tangle of pain, confusion and doubt in his eyes. “Don’t worry so much. I know what I’m doing.”

  JOHN’S FRUSTRATION LEVEL ROSE every time he thought about his shrink. He’d looked forward to discovering the texture of her flesh, the taste of her mouth, the heat of those pouty lips. But one touch of her finger to his palm had caused agony. Clearly, she didn’t want to discuss what had happened but neither of them had been prepared. When she’d touched him, he’d braced for the usual shock that set his nerves on fire. What he hadn’t been prepared for was that she’d seemed to feel his pain, and he couldn’t account for that. Her shout had rocked him to his core. That she hadn’t given up on him right then and there attested to her determination and courage.

  While the thought of touching her after he’d caused her such pain made his guts churn, he still wanted her. Earlier, during their boat ride, he’d virtually forgotten their first painful touch and he’d almost leaned over and kissed her.

  Keeping his hands to himself had been difficult, too, especially after she insisted on again dousing herself in lotion that made her tanned skin glisten like a sparkling gift he couldn’t unwrap. And then, as if she hadn’t shouted out in pain when they’d touched, she’d taken every opportunity to tease him, until his dick might as well have been a yo-yo that she controlled on a string.

  He’d never been so sexually frustrated in his life. After they’d returned to the dock, he’d excused himself to head to the shower and take matters into his own hands. His blood pounded through his veins, his skin so tight that he had to have release. He ran up the stairs three at a time, stripped off his clothes and dropped them on the floor on a direct route to the shower and blessed privacy.

  The walk-in glass block shower of the master bedroom had six showerheads, its own garden filled with split-leafed green plants and enough room for four people. He turned on the stereo system, choosing the smoky jazz of Norah Jones, and then adjusted the spray’s temperature to soothing warmth.

  Closing his eyes, he let the water sluice the tangy salt spray from his skin. However, nothing could eliminate the images of Bonnie from his mind. Her powerful scent of coffee, perfume and suntan lotion seemed to linger with him. So did her impish smile. And the careful distance she put between them whenever she spoke about her “gift.” But it was his memory of her nipples peeking through the yellow netting of that itty-bitty scrap of lingerie that had all his blood heading south, again. He’d soon be suffering from blue balls if he didn’t take care of—

  “Mind if I join you?”

  His eyes popped open and then widened at the sight of Bonnie in the shower area with him, naked as Eve in the Garden of Eden—and twice as tempting. All that bare skin made his mouth go dry. He couldn’t speak, just stared in amazement, fascination and awe. She possessed flawless golden skin, and wonderful proportions; with her ample breasts, slender waist and rounded hips, she could have modeled lingerie or swimsuits. Under normal circumstances he would have considered himself one lucky man.

  But these weren’t normal circumstances. He couldn’t touch her without causing them pain. And he was beginning to care about her in ways he hadn’t expected, which made his sexual yearnings even worse. But he could only look, and as easy as she was on the eyes, looking didn’t solve his problem, but exaggerated it.

  She appeared so innocent as she stood there before him. But he knew better and scowled, while she ignored his expression.

  “I would have knocked, but this shower doesn’t have a door.”

  “You should leave.”

  “No. We have the perfume bottle now.” Carefully she set it down in a corner of the shower. “Let it do its thing.” She moved under the spray opposite him, lifted her hair off her neck and tilted back her head, exposing her graceful neck. Water cascaded down her perfect breasts and, perfume bottle or not, he was sure those coral tips would give him erotic dreams for weeks. He’d been aroused before, but at the sight of her, he swelled another centimeter.

  Finally, he found his voice. “This house must have at least eight other bathrooms.”

  “But those bathrooms are empty, and it’s so hard to get the water temperature just right.” She grinned at his sex. “Besides, I like the view in here.”

  She was impossible. He didn’t know whether to be annoyed or amused. He couldn’t decide how one woman could be both so naughty and nice at the same time. A tangle of conflicting feelings ran through him, and he didn’t stand a prayer of sorting them out. Not with her lathering her hair and the soapy suds caressing her golden skin. Not with her tan lines emphasizing the minuscule triangle of pale skin and tawny golden curls between her legs.

  “Don’t mind me,” she murmured. “Just go on doing what you were doing.”

  He ground his teeth in frustration. No way was he going to jack off in front of her. And apparently she had no intention of leaving. Of course, nothing was stopping him from making an exit—except she was soaping her breasts with a loofah pad and his pulse had skyrocketed. He found himself holding his breath in anticipation of what crazy stunt she’d pull next. She’d been teasing him all day, and now she stood in front of him all wet and soapy, that loofah pad caressing what he wanted to caress, stroking what he wanted to stroke.

  She didn’t look at him as she carefully washed. His blood surging, he watched the show, knowing that staying only made his condition worse, but unable to resist. No man could have. Maybe the perfume bottle would work. He was only human, with human needs. And that need was quickly upping the steamy heat in the shower several more degrees.

  She soaped her tummy, her mons, her legs, and then when she turned around to rinse, he plucked the loofah from her hand. “Let me get your back.”

  “Thanks.”

  He slid his fingers into the strap of the pad and
rubbed more soap on it. He might not be touching her skin, but he could feel her shoulder shiver right through the sponge. He took his time, skimming the delicious curves of her shoulder blades and the elegant arc of her neck as she raised her hair for him. He washed her back, his jaw tight in anticipation of running the loofah over her round, firm bottom, so tempting that he had to force himself to slow down.

  And all the while he could have kicked himself for not taking the sponge sooner, for losing the opportunity to wash her beautiful breasts. He lingered over the curve of her derriere, enjoyed her soft moan as he teased the soap suds over the insides of the back of her thighs.

  He barely controlled the overpowering need to turn her around, slant his mouth over hers and seize the treasure he hungered for. He ached to find out if she felt as good as she looked, if the passion sparking between them would fizzle or escalate or melt them down into a puddle.

  Yet, she’d given so much of herself and her time that he didn’t want to risk hurting her. He tried to console himself with the thought that showering with her would be enough. However, certain parts of his anatomy disagreed and ached for so much more.

  Gently, carefully, John slipped the loofah between the gap of her thighs. He couldn’t quite reach the desired spot, and yet, when her legs trembled and she braced her hands against the shower wall, he suspected that she was almost as aroused as he was.

  “You’d better stop,” she told him, her voice raw.

  “Why?”

  “Because I might attack you, that’s why.” She spun around and took the loofah from him, the coral tips of her breasts puckered and perky. “My turn.”

  Excitement leapt through him. His need was obvious and perhaps she’d use the loofah to…hot…damn. The woman had read his mind. She rolled the loofah around his sex and pumped it up and down, heating him up hotter than a firecracker on a short fuse. His breath came in quick gulping gasps. His fingers clenched and his legs strained.