by Various
With trembling fingers, she reached for her water glass and took a gulp.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“I’m fine.” What had she wanted to say before she’d had that disturbing flash?
Something about the grant…oh, right. About his reason for this meeting. “If you’ve already made up your mind, Mr. McIntyre, I’m surprised that you wanted to meet with me.”
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“Call me Jake.”
After that heated fantasy of his, he probably thought they should be on a first-name basis. Maybe the informality would help them have an open discussion about her project. “Fine.”
The waiter appeared with their drinks and his delicious-looking chocolate torte.
Raspberry sauce was drizzled artistically over the plate in a crisscross pattern.
He took a bite and swallowed before answering her. “I just wanted an excuse to drive up to the city from Monterey. We don’t have a restaurant equal to The Four Seasons down there.”
Her mouth dropped open. Was that a joke?
He laughed—a husky, warm rumble that had her smiling back at him against her will. “I’m kidding. Seriously, I thought it was only fair to give you a chance to try to convince me.”
He didn’t look like the type to be easily convinced. Too driven. Too self-assured.
One of those infuriating, inflexible men who never changed his mind. But she had to try. “This study could make a huge difference in the lives of a lot of intuitive kids.
They’re isolated. They don’t know anyone else like them. My study would give them a chance to bond with each other.” They don’t have to grow up thinking they’re crazy…like I did.
He looked mildly interested, but said nothing.
“And since this is a long-term study, we’d learn if having a peer support group helps children develop and enhance their abilities over time.”
“Sounds good in theory. There’s just one problem. I don’t believe that psychic abilities exist. Intuitive abilities, that is.”
An all-too familiar attitude. She’d learned not to fight it. “If you’re determined not to believe something exists, there’s no way I can change your mind. You’ll dismiss any evidence I give you.”
His lips curved in a mocking little half smile. What a lush mouth. Too bad he used it for sneering. “If you can tell me something about myself that no one—and I mean no one—could know, I’ll believe you. Something specific.”
And he could easily dismiss that, too. Call it coincidence, or say it was too vague to be specific. She’d heard it all before. “You expect me to prove that I’m an intuitive?”
He nodded. “Why not? Let’s do it now.” He put his fork down and looked at her steadily. “Tell me what I’m thinking.”
She opened her mouth to say she wasn’t prepared, that she’d have to meditate for at least an hour, that he had to be willing to be read. Before she got a word out, another image burst into her vision. His hands tugging her bra down even further, the straps imprisoning her arms…his strong arm around her, bending her backwards…his mouth suckling on her breast, the hardened nipple straining against the roof of his mouth. She felt it all, the way he must be feeling it. Felt his hunger. His need.
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God, he was getting to her. Knowing how much he wanted to suck and tease her breasts, how much he wanted to press his stiff cock against her stomach, made heat course through her body and settle right between her thighs. Her hips wriggled on the chair, pressing deep against the upholstery, trying to assuage the ache.
The image faded as she focused on the solid seat of the chair.
He looked condescending. “Not up to the challenge? Is psychic ability something I have to accept on faith?”
As if faith and science were incompatible. Typical skeptic. “Your ego won’t permit you to have a little faith?”
“A little faith?” He smiled…a heated, sexy smile this time. Much better than the sneer. “I’d like to have a lot of you, Faith.”
Her cheeks burned. And she saw that image again—herself in his arms, her shirt and bra pulled down, her breasts cupped in his hands. He liked seeing her arms trapped in the tangle of shirtsleeves and bra straps. He liked having her almost helpless.
She could feel it.
“You’re thinking about sex,” she said, before she had a chance to stop herself. And you like to dominate a woman in bed. Just a little.
He raised an eyebrow. “That could be a lucky guess. I’m a man, after all. A man sitting across from a beautiful woman. And besides, I just told you I’d like to have a lot of you.”
She wouldn’t argue. Not yet. She let him think he’d won his point, let him eat more of his dessert. It tasted as good as it looked. She felt everything he felt, every sensation, in a way she’d never experienced before. And she had no desire to stop the connection between them. She’d never felt anything like it. So intimate. So exciting.
“It’s white,” she said at last.
“What?”
“My bra. It’s white, not beige.”
He coughed, nearly choking, and covered his mouth with his napkin. When his gaze finally met hers, he looked astonished. “How did you do that?”
She shrugged, determined to play it cool. “It’s what we intuitives do.”
He masked his shock with cynicism. Oh, he was easy to read. And he didn’t even know it.
“Let’s try again,” he said. “I’ll think of something different. Something more obscure.”
She let her mind drift, her gaze unfocused, waiting…waiting…suddenly the image was there. She lay nearly naked on a bed, her breasts bare, her skirt pushed up around her waist…with his dark head between her thighs. She felt it all from his perspective, as if she somehow was inside his body. She felt her hips under his strong hands, holding her still…felt her soft thighs cushioning his head…felt her wet, hot skin under his mouth. She felt the deliberate way he moved his lips and tongue, sucking on the nub of 136
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her clit, then licking, then sucking again. He loved her taste. Loved her scent. And oh, how he wanted her to come against his mouth. Wanted it more than his own orgasm.
Oh, Lord. Could anything be more seductive than knowing a man loved going down on a woman? On her?
I could eat your sweet pussy for hours.
She heard herself moan in his fantasy, and her breath hitched. She blinked and gripped the arm of her chair, trying to ground herself. The image faded, and she saw him across the table again.
Another blush heated her face. “You’re thinking about sex again.”
He raised an eyebrow. “No, I wasn’t. Guess again.”
What a liar. She glanced around. The nearest customers were two tables away. No one would hear her over the tinkling piano music that filled the air. She leaned across the table until she felt the heat of the candle flame on her chin. “Oral sex,” she whispered.
That rocked him, and she didn’t have to be psychic to see it. He cleared his throat.
“Okay. Let’s assume you’re right. How do you get the information? Is it as if someone’s talking to you? Is it a picture? Or just a sense you have?”
She took a gulp of her coffee. “A picture.” And I feel what you feel. And your thoughts, God, I’m hearing your erotic thoughts.
He still looked unconvinced. “So tell me, then…how accurate is my imagination?”
Now that was a loaded question. He didn’t have to know that one of her breasts was bigger than the other, or that her hips were fuller. Her pubic hair was twice as soft and furry as he’d imagined, and several shades darker than the blonde hair on her head.
His blue eyes grew wide. “My God,” he said. “How the hell did you do that?”
She frowned. “Do what?”
And then she saw it—his fantasy image of her had been changed, corrected, to look exactly like her. Somehow he’d picked up the image from he
r own head. “I don’t know,” she answered. “I thought it, and you…read it.”
He shook his head. “Impossible.”
“Then what’s your explanation?”
“That I’m horny as hell,” he growled, frowning. For you, she read in his thoughts, but he didn’t say it. “And I have a vivid imagination.”
Stubborn man. She still felt the connection to his thoughts, his fantasies. And unlike him, she knew how to use it.
She pictured him naked, pictured a strong, lightly haired chest, powerful legs. A thick, circumcised cock, fully erect, red and pulsing with heat. She wrapped a hand around it and pumped.
And then she sent the fantasy out into the void, knowing he’d see it.
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His eyes widened.
“How close am I to reality?” she asked. Her voice shook, but she didn’t care.
“I’m—”
“Don’t tell me,” she interrupted. “Show me.”
“How?”
“Imagine it. Picture it in your head.” She stared at him without blinking, concentrating.
He shook his head, looking dazed. But she saw it anyway.
His cock was longer. And he wanted her to pump him harder. Faster. Then he pulled her hand away and rolled her onto her back, holding her hands over her head in a bruising grip. He spread her legs with his powerful thighs and thrust inside her. She felt his savage pleasure.
Feeling what a man felt during sex…she’d never let herself experience it before.
She’d always respected the boundaries of personal privacy, knowing that she wouldn’t want someone reading her own thoughts in such an intimate situation. But the sensation was extraordinary.
Sticky moisture seeped from between her legs. And not just in this fantasy of his. Of theirs.
She drew a deep, shuddering breath. “Stop it,” she whispered.
“You’re the one invading my head,” he said hoarsely. “You stop it.”
“I can’t.” And she didn’t really want to. She wanted to keep this image, this fantasy image of him fucking her…fucking her hard and fast with her hands held down tight.
She’d never imagined being restrained, never wanted to give up control, but now…now she wanted to play along with his fantasy. She’d mold it. Shape it. Help convince him that this psychic bond was real.
And drive him wild at the same time.
She pictured herself struggling to pull her hands away from his grip. Pictured him growling. Resisting. Holding her tighter…fucking her harder. He bit her neck. Don’t fight it, baby. Come for me.
Harder.
Yes. Take it. Take it all.
She moaned and pushed her hips up against him, struggling to climb higher…higher… His head dipped, and his teeth nipped her breast. She cried out at the stab of pleasure.
She hoped she hadn’t cried out aloud.
Time to turn the tables. She rolled over, taking him with her, and pinned his hands to the bed. She looked down at him as she rode him, her breasts bouncing with each thrust.
He groaned. “You’re killing me.”
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She blinked and saw him sitting across from her, candlelight flickering over the sharp planes of his face, reflecting in his intense blue eyes. His mouth was open, his chest moving with deep breaths. “I don’t really care how you’re doing this,” he said. “I just want you to come upstairs with me. Now. ”
“Upstairs?” she repeated, stupidly.
“I have a suite in this hotel,” he said, his voice dark, urgent. “Spend the night with me, Faith.”
Oh, she was tempted. But to jump into bed with a man she’d just met…
“I don’t do things like this either,” he said, as if he’d read her mind. Maybe he had.
And she sensed the truth of his answer. “But I know you’re not seeing anyone,” he added. “I don’t know how I know that, but I do.”
No, she wasn’t seeing anyone. And she could read that he wasn’t attached, either.
In fact, he felt rather…lonely. But still. “I’m not going to sleep with you just so you’ll withdraw your objections to my grant.”
“And I’m not going to withdraw my objections just because you sleep with me.” He gave her that slow, sexy smile again. The smile that said, let me take you. “Well, I might if you’re really good. As good as I’ve been imagining.”
A bold streak took over her. “I’m better.”
His eyes glittered. “Then come upstairs with me.” His voice dropped to a deep, needy rumble. “Now. Please.”
This wasn’t a man who begged for sex. She knew it intuitively.
He reached across the table and laid his hand over hers. His skin was hot, soft, and oh, so masculine. He stroked her fingers. “I wanted you from the first moment I saw you, Faith.”
She knew that was the truth. He wanted her desperately, wanted to eat her until she came against his mouth, wanted to fuck her until she clawed his back and came again.
She sensed it as clearly as if he’d said the words aloud.
And God, she wanted him, too.
“You don’t have to sleep with me tonight,” he went on. “But I warn you, I’m not giving up until you do.”
But she barely knew him. Or did she? Hell, with this rampant connection between them, she probably knew him better than most of the men she’d slept with. She knew he wanted her. She knew he wasn’t a psycho. She knew he didn’t think she was an easy lay.
And she knew he was just kinky enough to guarantee that she’d have an outrageously good time.
She couldn’t think of a single reason to say no. And oh, how she wanted to say yes.
Her gaze fell to his hand, covering hers with such warmth. Waiting so patiently. As desperately as he wanted her after all those feverish, shared visions, he’d let her make the decision. She knew it wasn’t in his nature, this patient waiting game. He’d much 139
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rather toss her over his shoulder and carry her off. But he wanted the decision to be hers.
And once she’d decided, once he had her upstairs, he’d take charge. He’d eat her until she begged him to stop. He’d hold her down…he’d fuck her while she struggled.
And she’d love every second of it.
She turned her hand over and laced her fingers through his. “All right.”
His fingers tightened on hers, but he said nothing. He reached behind his chair with his free hand, fumbled with the jacket of his suit, and came back with his wallet. He managed to get a bill out and toss it onto the table without releasing her hand. As if she’d change her mind if he let go.
He stood, came to her side, and tugged her gently to her feet. His arm slipped around her waist, pulling her closer. The warmth of his tall, strong body made her shiver.
“Cold?”
Before she could answer, he draped his suit jacket over her shoulders. The subtle scent of him, musky and masculine, made her mouth water just a little.
And then she saw a vision that froze her cold. Jake draping this same jacket over a small brunette woman’s shoulders…Jake smiling down at the woman, all seductive heat and sexual promise.
God, no. She looked up at him and felt burning tears sting her eyes.
“Faith?” His voice sounded like it came from the end of a deep tunnel.
She couldn’t form words. She could barely shake her head. Then she pushed the jacket off and ran.
* * * * *
She wanted out, just out.
Faith followed an exit sign and found herself stopped at the end of a long hallway.
Escape was on the other side of a door marked with the words “Alarm Will Sound”.
Great. The last thing she needed was to set off an alarm to match the psychic one already reverberating in her head.
She leaned against the cold glass of the door, watching her breath fog the surface.
Her reflection stared back at her, so s
he closed her eyes. Hiding from herself. Giving herself some time to calm down. She took slow, deep breaths, a beginner’s meditation trick to empty the mind. A worthless trick. She kept seeing Jake and that other woman, over and over again, like a movie on an endless loop.
Jake.
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The man must have moved like a cat, soundless on the plush carpeting. But she sensed his presence an instant before his hands touched her shoulders. It took all her willpower not to jerk away from him. He didn’t deserve that kind of rejection.
“What happened back there?” His voice was quiet, but she could feel the anger in him.
“Nothing.”
“Don’t be stupid.”
She couldn’t even get angry. He was right, she was being stupid.
The contrast between the heat of his body behind her and the coldness of the door against her front made her shiver. His hands left her arms, and she felt that dreaded suit jacket settle over her shoulders again.
She flinched, but no visions came. Just a wave of quiet concern from him, overlaid with anger and desire. He still wanted her…and he wasn’t giving up without a fight.
He turned her to face him. She complied, but couldn’t look him in the eye. She kept her gaze on his chin instead.
“Why did you run?” Still in that calm, quiet voice.
She couldn’t put her fear into words. With him so close, radiating warmth and compassion, she just wanted to weep against his solid chest. She said nothing.
He touched her chin gently, and she looked up. His expression was serious. “Talk to me, Faith.” A sliver of a smile touched his lips. “I can’t read your mind, you know.”
But she could read his. And she’d hear every callous thought, every lie, every cutting remark, even if he never spoke the words aloud. It was bad enough with other men. Considering her lack of control with Jake, she’d never be able to protect herself from his thoughts.
How could she tell him she was frightened of a future that might never happen?
That she was jealous of every woman she’d see in his past? But she owed him an explanation. Faith Hartley was no cock tease.
