Mind Tricks (15 page)

When she sank down into the deep
couch, he sat beside her instead of on one of the two chairs. Good sign. And he
wasn’t sitting at the opposite end.

He shifted his position, and the
whole couch seemed to shove her a few inches closer to him. See? The universe
was conspiring to get them together. He should just accept it. She had.

Taking a deep breath, she
deliberately twisted sideways so that she was facing him—her body open, one arm
stretched across the back of the couch, her fingertips only a centimeter from
his shoulder.

“I missed seeing you today,” she
said. Leaving herself open emotionally, too. “You’re apparently very
habit-forming.” Two days—that’s all she’d known him. And now her hours felt
hollow without him.

He stroked his fingers across the
back of her hand. A light touch, but it slammed into her soul. Desire, concern,
giddiness—
how could I give this up?
—a
stomach-swooping magic, a dash of loneliness eclipsed by a storm swell of
I’m so damn lucky
—

She shoved his thoughts away. Too
much. One brush of his finger, one accidental spill of thoughts, and she was
panting for him with skin and heart.

“I almost called you a million
times,” he admitted. “But it took me a while to figure out that this”—he turned
her hand over and curled his fingers into hers—“would be a crime to ignore.”

She was toast. His touch, his
thoughts, his words…

In her chest, she felt her heart
open, breathe its first full breath since her teenage realization that her gift
would isolate her. With Jake, she was safe. Wanted. She didn’t have to jimmy
into his mind to know that was true.

Pulling her hand to his mouth, he
kissed it, then grazed his teeth across her knuckles.

Her body went liquid, silky. Hot.
Gliding like a cat, she closed the distance between them, twining her arms
around his neck. Damn it, she was never going to let this man go. “Let’s try
that again,” she said, and pulled his mouth down to hers.

Somehow, after only one kiss, the
taste of him had already become a narcotic—and she was totally hooked. He
sucked her bottom lip into his mouth, and veins flash-flooded with lust. His or
hers? Her mental barriers were crumbling so fast, she wasn’t entirely certain.

Whoa. She had to pull back, regain
some control.

Emma seized on to her sense of self
and held it tight. One kiss, and he was drowning her with his own reactions.
What would happen when—

His hands slipped under the hem of
her shirt and curled around her waist, and he blasted through the remnants of
her mental walls like they were meringue. Surprise flip-flopped against her
breastbone, and then a gale of desire howled through her, scattering thoughts
like confetti. She clung to him, somehow wiggling into his lap at the same time
and twisting one leg around his hip.

Maybe all this self-control was
overrated. Because, by God, she’d never felt this good before. So cherished and
wild at the same time.

His fingertips whispered under her
shirt, tracing across her stomach as if he were reading love poems set there in
Braille. “Do you need this?” he asked, tugging at her shirt hem.

“No. Let’s get rid of it.” Her
fingers suddenly as awkward as rolls of coins, she began to unbutton the shirt,
starting at the top. Smiling, Jake started at the bottom button, moving up
until his fingers tangled with hers, and then he peeled her shirt back from her
shoulders.

If anything, she felt warmer with
her shirt gone, but she was going to blame that on his hot palms skimming
across her collarbone and down her ribs, and then brushing up her spine. The
skin in the wake of his touch goosebumped, but she could feel heat on her
cheeks, her throat, and between her thighs.

She seized his hair in both hands
and tugged him toward her. His eyes widened at the attack, then narrowed with
sudden laughter, and then she couldn’t see anything because the friction of his
mouth against hers tore her sight away.

Someone’s shirt came off, and it
must’ve been his, because hers was already on the floor—but she could feel the
cotton release from her shoulders as if she were wearing it. She was getting
herself and Jake confused, feeling her own fingernails as she dragged them
along his back and tasting herself with his tongue.

Pants and shorts gone. Condom on.
And then she wasn’t sure if she was on top or on bottom, but she could feel the
salt on his neck tingle against her tongue as she licked him, feel how silky
her hair was as he speared his hands through it while he moaned against her
lips.

Pressure between her legs,
stretching her. The shock pulled her out of the sensual maelstrom long enough
for her mind to separate from his and focus.

The sofa pressed against her bare
back and legs, its nubby material rough on her skin, and the light on the
ceiling arrowed into her eyes until Jake shifted and his shoulder eclipsed the
light.

“All right?” he asked, his voice
low. “Do you need a minute or—”

Their brains were disengaged, so
the desire making her feel somnolent and vigorous at the same time was coming
all from her. No way was she going to wait, or even stop. Closing her eyes, she
tightened her legs around his waist, bringing him into her.

The brief wall between their
thoughts collapsed into rubble, leaving her holding on to herself by a thread
as he withdrew and then sank deeper. For a half second, panic built—
I’m going to lose myself, not ever make it
back
—but she gave the thread an experimental yank. It held, strong as
steel. She was still herself, even though she was sunk so deeply into Jake’s
reactions.

This was different. This was going
to be different.

Her hips flexed. She could feel
herself being filled even as she reeled at the sensation of plunging into
another body. “Deeper,” she breathed against his shoulder, and both her bodies
bucked in response, taking her deeper, feeling her deeper.

arch/thrust,
arch/thrust, arch/thrust…
An exquisite tightening until she sobbed against
his neck.

Then release swelled through her,
magnified and then redoubled as Jake’s orgasm echoed through every cell, making
her come again almost instantly. She whimpered and bit him, and he flinched and
then laughed.

“God,” he managed a handful of
seconds later, flopping down beside her. His mouth moved on her shoulder—he was
smiling. “But let’s try slower next time, huh?”

Grinning, she curled into his body.
He began to stroke the backs of his fingers up and down her arm.

Wow. Had she, in the years when she
hadn’t been sleeping with anyone, somehow matured into her gift? Before, during
sex, she’d felt herself spiraling into diffuseness, her personality flickering,
escaping. It hadn’t been enjoyable. It had been terrifying.

Tonight, she’d felt herself burning
like a diamond in her mind, riding the waves and being tossed among them, but
able to withstand and even embrace the storm of Jake’s thoughts and sensations.

Or was the difference Jake? Was
there something about him that made her feel safe?

“Thanks,” she murmured, even though
he’d have no idea what she was talking about.

“Mmm, anytime.” The stroking got
slower. Perhaps he was falling asleep, as per the instructions in the men’s sex
handbook.

Instead of falling asleep, she felt
like dancing.
She could enjoy sex.
And enjoy sex with a great guy, too. Her sister Jennie was going to be so happy
for her.

And so pissed off at the same time.

Emma stared at her shorts on the
floor halfway across the room. Jake couldn’t be involved in Ginny’s murder. He
couldn’t.

Why
can’t you take a quick peek inside his skull to find out if he’s innocent or
guilty?
her sister whispered in her memory.

Okay, fine. She’d try again, if
it’d make Jennie happier to know for sure….

As Emma spread her palm open over
his heart, she stretched her mind open and
pulled
.

And saw blood.

One minute Emma was curled softly
in his arms; the next she went taut as a garroting wire. When she shoved hard
against him with the hand she’d affectionately splayed against his chest, he
forced himself to let go.

“What’s up?” he asked, rolling up
onto his elbow. A woman jumping away five seconds after sex—after even
thanking
him for sex—was a bad sign. A
really bad sign.

Fighting against the embrace of the
couch, she stumbled to her feet and wrapped her arms around herself. The action
didn’t do much to cover her, but from the way she was standing, facing him full
on, he guessed that wasn’t her intention. “Nothing,” she said. “I got cold.”
But she didn’t reach for her shirt dangling on the chair behind her, and she
kept her eyes on him at all times like a hiker who’d stumbled upon a
rattlesnake.

Something was definitely off.

“Okay…” He glanced around, saw a
blanket draped over the back of the couch, and tossed it to her. She swathed
the blanket around her body, still not removing her gaze from him.

All this attention was starting to
make him feel a little exposed. And a little spooked.

After a few more seconds of being
Emma’s undivided focus, he grabbed his slacks and boxers off the floor and
stepped into them.

He wasn’t the sort to screw and
run—never had been—but he was getting a massive vibe from Emma that she no
longer wanted him there. It wasn’t an uncomfortable, morning-after,
what-was-I-thinking?
vibe, but a
get-the-hell-out-of-here-now
vibe.

“Emma.” He stretched out his hand
to her, but she danced back.

What the hell? He stared, but she
avoided his eyes even as she still kept her attention on him.

Fine. Jake bent down to find his
shirt. This was a good reason for avoiding casual sex. You never knew who the
person you were naked and sweaty with one minute would become five minutes
afterward. But he’d thought that he and Emma had something bigger going on than
wild hormones.

He shoved his arms into his shirt
and began buttoning up the front, swearing under his breath as he realized he
was off a button. Emma made no sound or gesture to encourage him to stop.

Just what was her problem? She’d
made her fair share of moves on him—sitting on the couch, touching him, kissing
him. She’d said she’d
missed
him, for
Christ’s sake. So why was she now eager for him to leave?

And why the hell was she watching
him so warily?

Anger spiked through his throat.
Maybe
she
was the kind to screw and
run. Maybe he didn’t know her as well as he thought he did.

He jammed his feet into his shoes
as he continued to look at her. They’d just had sex on her couch. What was the
procedure here? Should he give her a kiss? A hug? Briskly shake her hand? He
took a single step toward her.

And she backed up, putting the
chair between them.

The answer was D—none of the above.

Jesus, he must be living under some
kind of curse. First he was implicated in Ginny’s murder, and then he got ten
minutes of fantastic if rushed lovemaking with a woman he had really liked but
who was now making no bones about the fact that she wanted him gone.

Well, he could accommodate that
wish.

He strode to the front door, and
Emma followed, the blanket trailing behind her like a bride’s train.

He reached for the knob. If he’d
known how his evening would end, he wasn’t sure he would’ve stopped by before
visiting Mickey—

Crap. He still needed to give
Mickey the backup disks. And he didn’t want to go to Mickey’s house now with
his shirt and pants looking like they’d been ripped off his body and tossed on
the floor—which they had been.

“I have a quick favor to ask you,”
he said. “I meant to drop off my company’s backup disks with Mickey tonight,
but it slipped my mind.” Had been ripped out of his mind with her soft touch,
her hot mouth. He shook his head to erase the memory, but his skin tightened,
reluctant to let it go so easily. He forced himself to continue: “Can I leave
the disks with you? They’re in my car.”

“I suppose.”

Gee, her enthusiasm was overwhelming.
“Great,” he said dryly.

He jogged to the car, grabbed the DVDs
off the front seat, and then ran back to the house. She stood square in the
doorway, her eyes big and dark in her white face.

Apparently she didn’t even want him
crossing her threshold again. What the hell was going through her screwy mind?

He shoved the disks labeled
“Woodhaven” into her hands. “I’ll ask Mickey to stop by tomorrow to get them.
Or—” Oh, he was setting himself up for rejection. He could already see it in
her eyes. “Or I could come by myself and run them over to Mickey’s.”

“You don’t have to go out of your
way like that,” she said quickly. “I’ll bring them to Mickey myself tomorrow.”

And that was effectively
auf Wiedersehen
,
au revoir
, good-bye.

She closed the door, not even
waiting for him to turn away.

Disbelieving, he stomped to his
car, slammed the door shut, and ground the key in the ignition. Barely checking
to make sure the way was clear, he wheeled out into the road.

To drown out the thoughts
ping-ponging through his head, he flicked on the radio and turned the volume
up. But his thoughts wouldn’t be squashed so easily, so he finally turned the
radio off again and let the rumble of the car engine be his brain’s background
music.

Jesus, he’d just been snowed, big
time. And it was his own damn fault.

He shouldn’t have ignored what
Emma’s shady business insinuated about her character. She claimed to be a pet
psychic—no, excuse me, sensitive to animals. That should have warned him off
immediately. It had warned him off, actually; his hormones had overwhelmed the
warnings.