Seized By Seduction

When Stonewall walked off, Quasar returned his full attention to Dr. Randi Fuller. Randi. He liked that name and thought it was different. Tired of standing, he decided to crouch down a minute, and when he did so, as if the movement carried a sound that floated through the air, Dr. Fuller turned and looked over at him.

The moment their gazes connected, desire with an intensity he’d never felt before twisted Quasar’s gut, and primitive male awareness filled his every pore. A throbbing need suddenly consumed his senses, and there was an unmistakable pounding in his crotch. Crackles of sexual energy passed between them, hot, raw and relentlessly carnal. Even across the distance, he swore he could hear the intimate sound of her breathing, the fast pounding of her heart. He was convinced he could even smell her. It was an arousing scent of jasmine and some other entrancing fragrance.

Shit. What the hell was happening? With him? Between them?

She must have been trying to figure out that very same thing, because she suddenly broke eye contact with him. He used that time to suck in a deep breath and to force his aroused state under control. The strange connection they’d just shared was a jolt of sexual energy that rocked him to the bone. Nothing like that had ever happened to him before.

Moments later, when she glanced back his way and their gazes reconnected, his mind conjured up a number of erotic images. Like him burying his face in the hollow of her throat, undressing her, making hard-ass love to her while those long legs wrapped tight around his waist. His penis throbbed at the thought of pounding into her. Hammering hard. Then harder.

When Detective Ingram said something to get her attention, she looked away from him again. But he continued to stare at her, to will her to glance back. Although maybe it was a good thing she didn’t. He was so damn aroused he could probably come just from all this sexual chemistry surging between them. Explosive. Fiery as hell. The I-need-to-get-fucked kind.

“We need to talk to Striker,” Stonewall said, returning, interrupting Quasar’s heated thoughts.

Annoyed, he glanced up at Stonewall. “Why?”

“He’s about to make some crazy decisions about Margo Connelly.”

Frustrated, Quasar ran his fingers through his hair. “And you know this, how?”

“Because I do. He’s crazy about her and is fighting it.”

“Not my business, and neither is it yours,” Quasar said, standing back up and pulling his shirt down past his pants zipper.

“It will be our business if we’re the ones who have to put up with his crappy-ass mood.”

Well, hell, Quasar figured Stonewall was right about that. “Okay, so, what’s the game plan?”

As Stonewall began talking, Quasar glanced over to where Randi Fuller had been standing. Dammit, she was gone. He anxiously glanced around the crime scene but didn’t see her anywhere.

He sucked in a deep breath of disappointment and as he drew the oxygen through his lungs, he wondered if, somehow, someway, he would ever see the beautiful psychic investigator again.

CHAPTER ONE (#u7210caa9-9a38-576b-be8c-b97a090d9292)

Three months later

WHY IS THE NIGHT I saw Dr. Randi Fuller still so vividly clear in my mind?

That irritating question nagged the hell out of Quasar while at his home in Charlottesville, Virginia. Getting more annoyed with himself every passing minute, he grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator and a slice of leftover pizza from the microwave. The very idea that any woman could linger on his mind for this long was preposterous. Especially when it was a woman he’d seen only one time.

But damn, she’d been beautiful, and he would admit to being awestruck and mesmerized. So much, in fact, he hadn’t been able to stop looking at her that night. She’d caught him staring and had boldly stared back. He’d seen the same interest mirrored in her eyes he was certain shone in his. A part of him wondered if she’d read his thoughts. After all, she was a psychic.

Deep down he knew that her paranormal abilities had nothing to do with why she’d been stuck in his mind for three solid months. For a reason he couldn’t explain, he’d felt this strange connection between them. One that had him still thinking of her three months later. As far as he was concerned, nothing about his obsession with Dr. Fuller made sense. He dated women. He bedded women. What he didn’t do was get fixated on one.

His phone rang and he recognized the tone. It was a call from his father. Normally he’d have let it go, but he decided to answer it. Maybe if his mind was full of anger at someone, it would keep his thoughts of Dr. Randi Fuller at bay. He’d never known a time when a phone conversation with Louis Patterson didn’t end in shouting.

He looked at the clock. Usually his father didn’t call past dinnertime. There was only one way to find out the reason for this abnormality. “Is there a reason for your call, Louis?” He had stopped referring to his father as Dad years ago. As far as Quasar was concerned, the man didn’t deserve the title when he’d unashamedly picked one son over the other countless times. And unsurprisingly, his father hadn’t made a fuss about the change.

“Yes, I wouldn’t be contacting you if there wasn’t. Doyle has decided to run for public office.”

Quasar’s stomach clenched at the thought of his older brother. Doyle was and always had been his father’s golden child. “Any reason you thought I needed to know?”

“Forever the smart-ass, aren’t you, Quasar?”

Quasar managed a tight smile while thinking, Yes, if it riles you, then it’s worth it. “Why do you think I need to know Doyle has decided to get his hands dirty in politics?” He figured his old man didn’t like that question, especially the reference to dirty hands.

His father ignored the comment altogether. “The media knows about you. They might want to talk to you. Get an interview.”

Quasar chuckled. “Oh, I get it. And you’re afraid I’ll tell them something. Like the truth.”

Once again there was silence on the other end of the call. Quasar liked it whenever he could render the great, all-powerful Louis Patterson speechless. It was always this way between them. He was determined never to be controlled again, and his father was intent on controlling him like old times.

The old man finally recovered and said, “When are you going to forget about that and let it go, Quasar? You know I couldn’t let Doyle go to jail.”

But you could let me go and waste three years of my life behind bars for a crime I didn’t commit. Quasar knew there was no reason to get into an argument with his father about it. The man had wanted to protect Doyle, and Quasar had been the sacrificial lamb.

As far as Quasar was concerned, the only good thing that had come out of those three years in prison was meeting a man who’d proved that not all fathers were assholes. That there were some who loved their sons...no matter how many they had. That man was Sheppard Granger. Like Quasar, Sheppard had been jailed for a crime he hadn’t committed.

Shep, as the other inmates called him, was a lot older than most of the prisoners and served time for murdering his wife. It didn’t take long for anyone who hung around Shep to know he was a natural-born leader—a positive one. He gained the respect of many and was highly admired.

Before being sent to prison, Shep was the CEO of a major corporation, Granger Aeronautics. While in prison he became a father figure to the younger inmates, their mentor, confidant and role model. Instead of acting resentful for being locked up for a crime he didn’t commit, Shep used his time in prison to implement Toastmasters, Leaders of Tomorrow, GED exams and college programs. Shep was the reason Quasar had walked out of prison a different man. A man who would no longer allow his father to intimidate him. While growing up, nothing he did pleased his father. Louis always made him feel inadequate, as if he would never measure up...like that time he’d become captain of the swim team and the team came in second place in its first competition. Instead of giving him accolades for even making it to the finals, Louis had verbally lashed out at him for not winning.

Prison had also introduced several other men into Quasar’s life. Some who were better brothers than Doyle had ever been. The first two who immediately came to mind were Striker and Stonewall.

“Quasar?” His father’s voice annoyingly intruded on his thoughts.

“I heard you. Doyle is getting into politics.”

“You gonna keep your mouth shut and not bring shame on the family’s name?”

“Don’t count on it.” Not giving his father time to respond, he clicked off the phone.

He laughed, imagining the look on his father’s face. Not too many people would have the courage to hang up on Louis Patterson and laugh about it. Oh, well.

Quasar was about to settle down in front of the television with his beer and pizza and see what was happening on the sports channel when his cell phone rang again. It wasn’t his father calling back but Roland Summers, his boss at Summers Security Firm.

Not long after being released from prison, he, Stonewall and Striker had signed on to work for Roland’s security firm. Since the three of them hadn’t known a thing about security work, Roland, an ex-con himself, understood the importance of them having steady and productive employment and had gotten them into one of the top tactical training schools in the country. In addition, Roland had hooked them up for a full year with a former Secret Service agent by the name of Grayson Prescoli. Grayson had a reputation as being one of the best in the business while serving under three presidents.

After Striker was credited with taking down the assassin who’d been terrorizing Charlottesville, Summers Security received national attention and was hailed as one of the top-notch security firms in the country. Since then, the security firm had received numerous requests from around the country for their services. That had prompted Roland to hire additional trained bodyguards to protect celebrities, politicians, and members of wealthy families and handle security details during special events. As of last month, the security firm had gone global, and international requests were rolling in. Stonewall was currently in Paris, acting as bodyguard to some billionaire playboy.

Quasar clicked on the phone. “What’s up, Roland?”

“I took a chance in reaching you. It’s your weekend off, and I’m surprised you’re not out on a date or something.”

Quasar chuckled. Roland was not only his boss but also a good friend who knew how much he enjoyed the opposite sex. “I thought I’d hang around home this weekend.”

“Oh, I see.”

He figured Roland really did see and was fully aware that at times, Quasar slipped into pensive moods. It was during those times he preferred being by himself. “So what do you need, Roland?”