Memories of Us (6 page)

“She’s a psychic who gives readings and runs a new-age shop. Around here, that translates to ‘witch’. Please don’t touch that.”

He jerked his hand back and whirled, a flush heating his face. “Sorry. I shouldn’t—”

“No, I didn’t mean to snap. It’s been a long couple of days and I shouldn’t take that out on you.” She hugged the folder to her chest, an array of expressions chasing over her features. For a slow moment, he sensed she struggled with a silent decision then she relaxed. “It was my mother’s. I’m a little protective of it.”

He glanced back at the globe, remembering the Tarot deck, then looked at her once more. “Do you…ah…I mean, are you…”

“Able to see into the future? Discern what the stars might hold?” A wicked smile lit her face and she laughed, the genuine sound relaxing him all over again. She had a beautiful laugh, one he didn’t hear around the office all that often. “No. Why? Did Cis make you nervous?”

A puff of laughter escaped him. “A little.”

“She has that effect on people sometimes. I think it’s the eyes. She has this way of—”

“Looking inside you.” He’d seen Celia do the same thing with suspects, though, reading them, reading the situation.

“Exactly.” She shook her head, her grin turning conspiratorial. “And by the way, she’s not a witch. So no worries that she cursed you with her tea or anything.”

He edged a finger along the wrought-iron table. He should take the file and go, not continue standing here, looking at her, feeling relieved that the tension between them had diminished, wanting this conversation to go on and on. Not delve into her mysteries the way he craved. What he should do was keep everything on a professional footing before he got himself into major trouble.

His impulses refused to listen to his rational brain. “You’re very close, aren’t you?”

She caressed the edge of the folder, a winsome expression on her face. “We are. Can’t imagine my life without her.”

He nodded. “It’s good that you have someone like that.”

Her hand drifted up to fiddle with the chain about her neck. He followed the movement with his eyes, wondering again what hid between her breasts at the end of the delicate links. She tilted her head to the side, hair shifting over her bare shoulder. “What about you? Any siblings?”

“No, I’m an only child.” This was getting too personal, too much like first-date-getting-to-know-you talk. Time to make an exit. He moved forward and extended his hand. “I should be going. I’ve taken enough of your evening.”

“Of course.” Her expression closed, her eyes going cool again. She held out the folder. “This is what you came for.”

“Thanks.” He took it, fingers brushing hers in the process, a prickling warmth spreading up his arm. Yep. Definitely obsessive. Definitely time to go. Swallowing, he saluted her with the folder. “See you in the morning.”

He strode to the door, intent on showing himself out.

“McMillian.” Her voice, soft and a little strangled, stopped him.

He glanced back. She leaned against the plush armchair’s back. Silver glinted at him again along her narrow waist. “Yes?”

She pushed her hair behind her ear again. “Have you eaten?”

“No, not yet.”

“Would you like to stay for dinner?”

Dinner followed by breakfast tomorrow morning. He passed a hand over his hair. “Celia, it’s not a good idea for us to—”

“Do you take the high road in everything you do?” Her chin tilted in clear challenge.

No. He possessed gray areas even he didn’t want to admit to. “We work together. Any kind of involvement would be…difficult.”

“It’s a simple dinner invitation, not a lifelong commitment. And working with you now is beyond difficult,” she muttered.

He frowned. “What does that mean?”

Her knuckles whitened where she gripped the edge of the chair back. “It means…” Her eyes slid closed and opened, something he’d never before seen in her gaze burning in the blue depths when she looked at him. “
I want you
.”

The words slammed into him, a punch to the gut, and he tried to process what she was saying. “Celia…”

“I want you and it’s driving me crazy.” She blew out a long breath and ran her hands through her hair, mussing it. “Obviously. God, I can’t believe I’m saying this.”

He couldn’t either, but damn if he was going to blow this. Holding her gaze, he advanced on her to stop inches away. He dropped the folder on a side table and it slid to the floor, papers spilling across the polished wood. He wrapped his hands over hers and leaned in, close enough to see her pupils dilate. She smelled clean and uniquely female—no perfume, simply a mingling of her soap with the pure scent of her skin.

Desire pulsed through him, a buzzing ache starting in his groin and beating out along his veins. “I’m glad you did.”

She stared at him for a long heartbeat before lifting her chin once more, fitting her mouth to his. Sensation exploded in him, awareness of the warm suppleness of her lips, the fine bones of her hands beneath his, the incredible heat of her form along his. She kissed him, a soft brush of lips, followed by a firmer caress. He held her hands tighter and kissed her back, teasing the line of her mouth, coaxing her to open to him.

With a soft exhale, she did, the tip of her tongue slipping along his mouth. He pushed closer, hips fitted into hers, trying to assuage the throbbing below his belt. He groaned. “God, I can’t believe the way you taste.”

She arched into him, her fingers flexing below his. “Kiss me again.”

He did, dipping his tongue into her sweet depths, pressing her against the chair. His growing erection strained along his zipper, a literal ache coursing through him. The only thing that was going to soothe that was being inside her, thrusting into her wetness, feeling her close about him.

Maybe being with her would help him forget the memories haunting him—the ones aroused by Kathleen’s pregnancy and dealing with this case.

A fantasy flared to life in his brain while her tongue tangled with his—opening his fly, sliding those tight jeans of hers down just enough to bare that beautiful ass, bending her over the plush chair, driving himself inside her.

Her hands fluttered beneath his palms and she pulled her mouth free, her head falling back. “God, yes,” she moaned. “I want that too.”

Too? He blinked, some of the desire-laden fog clearing from his brain. “What do you mean?”

She smiled, eyes closed, absolute abandon on her face. “Over the chair.”

How did she
know
that? He released her hands and stepped back, his gaze darting to the crystal ball by the window. The matter-of-fact way she’d announced her sister was a psychic beat in his head. Unease slithered through him. “I’m sorry.”

Her lids snapped up. “For kissing me?”

He took another backwards step, his desire extinguished. A familiar chill gripped him, raising gooseflesh on his arms. “This was a bad idea. We can’t do this.”

“McMillian—”

“I’ll see you in the morning.” He needed to get out of here. He bent to gather the file and its myriad reports scattered on the floor.

“Are you even going to tell me what went wrong?” Uncertainty hovered in her voice.

He didn’t look up. “It’s just not a good idea.”

With a snap, he tapped the papers against the floor and shoved them into the folder. He glanced at her as he rose and wished he hadn’t. She worried her swollen bottom lip with her teeth, watching him, her eyes soft and bruised. He tucked the file beneath his arm and nodded. “I’ll show myself out.”

The door closed behind him. Celia dug her fingers into the thick upholstery and swallowed against a wave of hurt and disappointment. What had she done wrong? He’d been as into that kiss as she’d been. She’d felt every inch of his erection pressed into her, had restrained herself from rubbing against him to ease the desire flowing through her. There’d been such a strong connection between them. Hadn’t she seen what he wanted to do to her—

Seen?

She froze. No, it couldn’t be. She didn’t…she wasn’t…

No. Absolutely not. She hadn’t been seeing his fantasy. It had to have been her own, where she wanted that kiss to go. Lord only knew what she’d done to scare him off. Come on too strong. Or maybe…oh hell.

That wasn’t her fantasy. She’d clearly seen it from his perspective, not her own. Maybe she was just going crazy. The sexual frustration, the wanting him, had finally pushed her over the edge.

She’d propositioned her boss.

Her lungs stopped working. She’d risked everything—her position, her professional reputation—with that stupid
I want you
. What the hell had she been thinking?

She hadn’t been.

That was the problem. She’d been feeling, lost in the absolute incredibleness of actually touching him, kissing him, arching against him.

She had to face him in a staff meeting tomorrow morning.

With a groan, she covered her eyes with trembling fingers. Damn. This was worse than the freaking sex-toy debacle, than having him think she was involved with Cook. She needed a drink. A strong one. Maybe more than one. Pushing away from the chair, she walked through to Cicely’s side of the house.

She found her sister sitting at the counter, closing out the shop’s paperwork for the day. Celia folded her arms on the counter edge and sighed. “Hey.”

Cicely slid her an inquisitive glance. “Your guy hightailed it out of here like the hounds of hell were after him.”

Oh, that made her feel better. “He’s not my guy.”

“Need to talk?” Cicely made a neat stack of ones and began counting.

“Not right now.” Celia levered away from the counter and walked along the wall, perusing the books. She knew she’d seen a volume on it here somewhere. A red leather cover, faded gilt lettering. “Maybe later. You want to go get a drink when you’re finished?”

“Sure.”

Celia floated her fingertips over the spines. She frowned. It wasn’t here.

“Cee?” Cicely’s soft voice drew her attention and she glanced over her shoulder. “What are you looking for?”

Celia shrugged as a spurt of foolishness filled her. “You had a book on the Gift.”

“Sold it two days ago. It’s out of print and I’m watching eBay for a replacement.” Cicely wrapped a rubber band around the bills. “Why are you looking for that, anyway?”

Celia smiled, feeling sheepish. “The weirdest thing just happened.”

“With McMillian?”

“Yes.” She rubbed the links of her necklace between her thumb and forefinger. “I kissed him, and I thought, well, I thought he was as involved as I was. I swear I could see what he was thinking about us.” She laughed. “I was thinking about you and Mama, wondering if maybe I picked up a little of the Gift after all.”

“It’s not you.”

“What?” Celia frowned. Not her?

“It’s him.”

Celia laughed. “Come on, Cis, be serious—”

“I am.” Cicely shrugged and stacked the money in her bank bag. “I felt it when he walked in.”

“But then how could I see—”

“He projects.” Cicely locked the bag away in the safe. “He’s got a strong aura too. A dark one. Lots of stuff he’s still carrying around with him. Be careful of that one, Cee.”

Celia stared at her sister. It couldn’t be. It simply couldn’t. McMillian was the most logical, practical man she knew.

Not to mention, the most intuitive. The possibilities boggled the mind. However, nothing changed the fact that he’d pulled back and walked away. So he’d had a taste and he wasn’t interested in anything further. She straightened her shoulders. She could deal with that.

After a couple of Summer Solstices, heavy on the vodka, and maybe one of her sister’s vanishing spells.

Tom slammed the driver into the ball, the satisfying
thwack
vibrating up his arm. The ball veered in a wild arc to the right, hitting a marker four golfers down, and he bit back a curse. The other men scowled his way and every muscle between his shoulders tightened.

He couldn’t hit for shit tonight.

Kissing her had been a bad idea. What he should have done was walk away when she asked him to dinner. Hanging around to hear her say she wanted him? Massive mistake. Because now the words pounded in his head, turning his drive to crap.

He had a strange feeling he’d be listening to them for days, probably turning his performance in the courtroom to crap too.

The memory of her mouth under his invaded his mind again. His gut tightened. He whacked another ball.

It cut to the left. He was screwed.

No, but you could have been.

Yeah. Literally. All he needed was a sexual-harassment lawsuit and the resulting publicity. He shrugged that off. Celia wasn’t the type to set him up. She’d proved to be unfailingly honest.

But he’d never figured her for the type to blow a guy’s mind with a simple “I want you”.

He shouldn’t have kissed her.

Hey, pal, she came on to you, remember?

And like an idiot, he’d walked away.

How the hell had she known what was in his head? Coincidence. They were just thinking along the same lines. That’s all, with her back pressed into that chair and the absolute fire of that kiss between them. She’d said she wanted him. Why wouldn’t she be picturing the possibilities?