Illicit Intuitions: Sensory Ops, Book 3

by Nikki Duncan

  Ava wrung out the last towel and draped it over the side of a nearby hamper where she’d placed the others. Turning back, she moved too quickly. Dizziness swept over her and silvery splinters serrated her vision.

  Images and memories flashed through her mind like jumbled clips of an unedited movie.

  Images and memories alien to her.

  Images and memories innately H.

  Her knees buckled and slammed into the tile floor with jarring force echoing through her skull.

  Channing handed him the contacts.

  His hair had been shaved and electrodes were stuck to his head. Dana curled against his side.

  Him putting the contacts in a safe.

  “What did you do, Dana?” H’s usually steady, now shaky voice pulled Ava from the images. He sounded exhausted. “Where’s Ava?”

  “What did I do?” The dominant snap was back in Dana’s tone coated with a healthy dose of abhorrence. “I didn’t do anything to your hussy girlfriend. What did she do to you?”

  “Stop it.” He sounded a little stronger as the bed creaked beneath his weight. “She didn’t do anything. Where is she?”

  “Are you kidding? You didn’t see you.”

  “It had to be done.”

  What had to be done? What had he done? Why did it feel like he was more in her head than before?

  “Not alone. Never alone.”

  “This was different, Dana.” He sounded stronger by the second. The controlled man from the day before was back. “Where is she?”

  “Over there. What’s she doing here and why is she in my suit?”

  Ava imagined Dana was glaring hate-filled holes through the wall. The woman certainly seemed to detest her.

  “She didn’t have her own.” He left the first question unanswered. Why?

  Dana mumbled something Ava couldn’t make out. He spoke back, again too quietly for her to hear, and a minute later the door opened and closed. As soon as Dana left the room a little of the pressure in Ava’s head eased.

  Weird.

  “Ava. Are you okay?”

  When had he taken to calling her Ava? When he’d done whatever he’d done to put his memories in her head? No, that wasn’t possible. She was imagining things.

  “I’m here.” She pushed off the floor, careful not to move too quickly again. “I’m fine.” Maybe.

  “Come here.”

  Yeah, the bossy man in charge of the study was back in control. She moved forward on shaky legs. One trembling foot in front of the other, she walked around the wall to the futon.

  He was sitting up. More color was in his cheeks, but the aura of vibrancy—of power—that had surrounded him had been damaged. A single gunshot outside and a tumble to the ground couldn’t have been so disastrous.

  “How’s the head?”

  Her hand fluttered up and brushed the knot. She winced. She needed to remember not to attempt touching it. “Hurts like maybe Pudge used it for batting practice.”

  His head popped back. “You know baseball?”

  “A little.” A lot. She shrugged. “I know Carlton Fisk through some family connections.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought it of you.”

  “Proof that appearances aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. Besides, it’s not uncommon for athletes from different sports to migrate to one another.” She’d actually been at the party to celebrate Carlton’s Baseball Hall of Fame induction. A super cool night.

  “No. They’re not.” His gaze locked with hers, as if he had a new and profound insight. He flattened his hand on the cushion beside him. “Come here.”

  Warning! Hazardous danger ahead. Maybe sex. She sat beside him, accepting the gauntlet.

  His thigh brushed hers. His hair tickled her sandy skin and awakened her senses. Chills coursed across her skin, leaving bumps in their wake. Aware. Aroused.

  She couldn’t think about that. She needed intel. She needed him away from her before she called in her team.

  “What happened to me? To you?”

  “What do you remember?”

  Aside from shit I shouldn’t have in my head? And memories of what feels like a wicked orgasm? “A gunshot and then you pulling me to the ground.”

  He ducked his head in an apologetic shrug. “Sorry about the head.”

  “It’ll heal.” Her dad had always said it was made of granite anyway. “What did I hit? A titanium boulder?”

  “Sorry to say just a regular rock. I took us down hard and fast.”

  “I guess you get points for having good reflexes.” She tried to recall more details. It only made her head ache worse. “Any idea who shot at us?”

  He hesitated. Not long, but it grabbed her attention. “I dragged you into the bushes and hauled ass back here, but they took more than the one shot.”

  Another evasion. “Did you call the cops?”

  “I was more concerned with…your first aid.”

  She appreciated the sentiment, and almost argued with his logic considering the very real possibility one or both of them could’ve been killed. She couldn’t risk breaking her cover. Instead, she would go to Breck with the snippets of what she’d seen in her mind. He would decide where to go next.

  She was thinking the time had come to tell H what they knew. Maybe then he would accept help.

  “What kind of first aid did you perform?”

  “The kind involving mopping up copious amounts of blood from your head.” He cocked his head and studied her head. “We should get some ice on you.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Been dizzy?”

  “Some.”

  “And you were unconscious for almost fifteen minutes.” He grabbed her shoulders and shifted, pushing her to the mattress beside him. “Lay down.”

  Why waste words when he’d already forced her down?

  He grabbed one of the ice-filled towels she’d brought in and moved it toward her head.

  She moved away, raising a hand to block him. The steady pulse in her temple combined with the pressure of the mattress against the back of her head shot fire-hot agony lancing through her skull. Her hair, even her teeth, wept.

  “No. Please no.” She would not be able to stand his touch or the pressure of the ice.

  “The swelling needs to come down.” He moved the ice closer.

  “No.” She’d wanted to kill him when he’d dumped her shot. If he touched her…

  “You probably have a concussion, so I’m giving you two options.”

  He leaned over her and had her wondering when he’d turned around to face her. Shit. If she was losing time again so soon, she had more than a concussion. “What?”

  “Play this my way, or go to the hospital and have them poke and prod.” His gaze bored into hers hypnotically. “Trust me, my way is easier. And less agonizing.”

  She should resist. She wasn’t sure she could resist. Or that she wanted to resist.

  H leaned closer and brushed his lips against hers. Firm and warm and enticingly he kissed her. Aroused her desires.

  Tender.

  Empathetic.

  The silvery web from before slipped down and cocooned Ava. Lacking the strength to struggle, she sighed and sank deeper into the cushion.

  He shifted and stretched out beside her. He traced invisible patterns over her body, his fingers rubbing against her skin as soft as an evening breeze. Too numb to move her limbs, she returned his kiss.

  H’s body moving over her, hard and solid, lulled her. Filled her with bliss.

  They didn’t hurry. He didn’t grab at her or attempt to move to the next level of intimacy. She was content with his touch. His caress.

  The heat in her head cooled.

  Her pain eased to a mild discomfort.

  Whatever magic this man possessed, she wanted more despite professional, and personal, hazards.

  He used their attraction, the intensity of the chemistry he’d discovered during their swim, to sidetrack her mind. Little by little he soothed her
pain, drew the worst of it into himself.

  She beckoned him like a murderous siren. The smell of the sea on her gardenia- and eucalyptus-scented skin teased him. Reminded him of the oasis he sought on the nearby beach. He’d gone farther than he’d intended and the intrusion had ended in a virtual mind rape. He could only hope this moment, this genuine and physical connection could ease the sting of any memories lurking in her brain.

  He wasn’t sure it would help him.

  It didn’t make sense and it wasn’t entirely welcome, but he cared for her. She intrigued him. Tugged at him. Awakened something within him.

  He moved his mouth over hers and sent a mental salve to her wound. He invited her to open for him. To trust him, even if she only offered the gift subconsciously. As she relaxed into the mattress, releasing her body to his, he eased the ice to the bump on her head.

  He was enjoying the feel of her moving against him, as much as he’d thrived on the feel of her in his mind. The illicit connection was profoundly erotic.

  Ava Sebastian had secrets he wanted to discover. Secrets she secured in vaults only she could open. Vaults she might open if she learned to trust him.

  A first for him, he wanted to rush into those vaults to discover how much she knew about the contacts and his work with Channing. Had she been the one to bring attention his way? Attention he’d avoided since his release. Or thought he had.

  Rushing and pushing himself back into her mind wasn’t safe. Their now shared brain traumas weakened them.

  He hadn’t fully replenished his strength from the earlier drain. Ava had too many blocks in place and her wounds were too severe for another exploratory intrusion. And Dana, who was no doubt lying on the couch in her dark office trying to replenish her energies, would filet him if he attempted another connection with Ava so soon after being pulled back from the ledge.

  When he finally sensed he’d done all he could, including reducing the swelling on her head, he eased back.

  She blinked up at him, dazed. As if she was moving through water, her hand sort of floated to her head. After a brief hesitation, she touched the knot. Her brows furrowed.

  “What did you do to me?”

  “I distracted you long enough to minimize that lump.” He sat up and dropped the mostly melted ice pack to the floor. “You’re still going to have a headache, and I don’t think you should be alone when you go to sleep tonight.”

  She slowly straightened and edged away. “So, what are you diagnosing me with, Dr. H?”

  “I’m not that kind of doctor, Ms. Sebastian.” She wanted distance from what had just happened. Fine. He couldn’t deny the logic. “But you sustained a nasty hit to the head. One you yourself compared to the equivalent of at least one hit from Pudge at bat.”

  “Your point?” She pulled her knees to her chest.

  He’d watched her in that suit and felt her body against his. He’d lie beside her without claiming her for his own. He’d shoved his desires into the darkest caverns of his being in an effort to help her. Her knees drawn up wouldn’t block the heat racing through his body now that the necessity to heal had passed. “Do you have someone to spend the night with you?”

  “No.”

  “You do now.” He stood and headed toward the door before she could argue. “I’ll leave you to get dressed and will see you tonight.”

  “Excuse me?” She got to her feet.

  The rigid set of her spine was a blatant broadcast she did not like taking orders. This could get fun.

  “It’s been a rough morning. Take the day off. I will be by tonight to keep an eye on you.” He scanned her scarcely covered body one last time before meeting her gaze again.

  Rage flamed in her eyes and the flirty smile he’d come to enjoy was nowhere in sight. Her temper burned as hot as the fire required to wipe out the mythical bird on her leg, but she battled it back with her delicate jaw violently clenched and a rapidly thrumming pulse beating the satiny skin of her throat.

  “I will be just fine on my own.” Her voice whipped harshly through thinned lips.

  “No napping until I get there. Understood?”

  “My job here does not extend to you inviting yourself to my home.”

  “Then call a girlfriend and make arrangements for her to sleep over.” He angled his chin forward, knowing her type well enough to know she would recognize the challenge. “I want to speak with her beforehand.”

  She advanced on him, looking more murderous than when he’d dumped her shot. That had been comical. This wasn’t. Allowing her to win this argument could endanger her health and even if she was in his life with ulterior motives he couldn’t let that go.

  “I will do no such thing simply to satisfy your God complex.”

  “You have a headache. You’ve lost consciousness.”

  “You knocked me to the ground.”

  “Have you felt confused? Had trouble walking?”

  “You’re a pain in the ass, Dr. H.”

  “And you are not answering my questions, Ms. Sebastian. I will take the evasion as a yes to all of the above and will see you this evening.” He stepped out and closed the door behind him before she could formulate another rebuttal.

  Now all he needed to do was find a magical elixir to deaden him from the waist down. No way could he spend the night watching over her and it not lead down detrimental paths. Hell, he’d already traveled those paths in her mind.

  She may think he’d been an un-moveable ass, but the hardest hits he’d saved for himself. He’d wanted to unravel the mystery of her, but had instead taken advantage like a low-level ass.

  He’d screwed up and as soon as she stopped to think she would no doubt figure out what he was and what he’d done.

  Chapter Six

  He’d expected a former Olympic hopeful to come from a moneyed background. He’d expected her to live in an urban loft meticulously decorated to suit whatever mood the designer had been in, or a quaint little townhouse off a lushly landscaped courtyard. He’d expected anything other than the modest home in a conservative suburb, a few minutes walk from the water, with minivans and base-model SUVs parked in the driveways. But the audacious burgundy trim and front door—proud and prominent among the varying shades of blue and yellow decorating the other homes—suited her to perfection.

  She may have removed herself from the hustle of society, but conformity wasn’t in her nature.

  H found himself wondering if she’d chosen the house using logic, or if she’d been called to it, to the water nearby, like he had when he’d chosen the land for his lab. He’d been able to heal her because, on a level she wasn’t aware of, she’d connected back with him. A non-empath, while able to understand the feelings of others or even able to bond with another, could never forge a two-way link with someone.

  He rang the doorbell and waited. Nothing. Two minutes later, he rang again. He’d told her to stay awake. She could have passed out.

  Shit.

  He shouldn’t have thought so highly of his abilities. He should have insisted she go to the hospital for a head CT. If she’d started bleeding into the brain again…

  Ava opened the door, diverting his thoughts to a new track. Well, not new so much as less climactic.

  Standing before him in a T-shirt and tight exercise shorts, with her hair damp from a recent shower, she looked well. Her color was normal. No dilation or unevenness in her pupils. Positive signs.

  The knot had gone down a little more, and aside from the blackish-purple bruise covering her temple, part of her forehead and the outer edges of her eye, she looked good. Too good.

  Tempting.

  His remaining survey stalled at her shirt. Her perky boobs and pointy nipples were unbound beneath the garish gold T-shirt with Hermes, messenger of the gods, soaring across her chest. His proclamation—The Titans are Coming!—curved along the bottom of the graphic over her tight, nicely ripped belly.

  H narrowed his eyes. That morning she’d worn a lapel pin depicting Hermes on her
business suit. What was it about this woman and her fascination with the Greek god? Maybe it was a shared kinship. Her name was Greek, but what was it with the Hermes stuff?

  If she was trying to prove something, he didn’t appreciate her method of delivery. It was a bit humorous, but if she was taunting him he would set her straight. The implication of her knowing what no one should be able to know was bad.

  “Hello, H. Do you come with good news or bad?”

  Was his imagination infusing her voice with suggestions when she said his name? If she knew his name… If she was one of General Scott’s plants, she would regret coming into his lab.

  “You look well enough and seem lucid, so clearly the news is good.”

  “Excellent.” She moved to close the door. “You can be on your way.”

  He blocked the door with his foot and leaned in. His gaze locked with her unwavering camel tan one. “Did you go to the hospital for tests?”

  “No.” She held her ground, refusing to open the door farther. Her face remained impassive, but her eyes swirled with questions. “I’m fine.”

  “Do you have a friend or a neighbor here for the night?”

  “No.” Her teeth grinded. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

  “You’re not a baby. Anything but.” He skimmed her body and brushed his lips with his tongue remembering the taste of the sea on her. He pushed the door wider, unwilling to struggle more than necessary with her. “I’m staying the night.”

  She huffed out an exasperated breath and stepped back. “The couch is lumpy.”

  He stepped into the foyer of her open floor plan. “Better than a concrete floor in a windowless room with no lights.”

  Her head jerked back in surprise but she didn’t ask if he’d been serious. “I don’t cook.”

  “I’ve become well versed in local delivery.”

  “I’m not making you coffee.”

  “I don’t drink it. If I did, I know where the nearest coffee shop is.”

  She frowned and closed and locked the door behind him. “Does anything bother you? Faze you?”

  “Plenty.” He sat the book he’d brought on the table behind her clearly-not-lumpy sofa.