Touch and Go

“Carrie is my business partner only,” Patrick said, not acknowledging the most recent telekinetic accident. “We’ll require separate rooms. In fact, I’d like our rooms on separate floors, if possible.”

“If you insist. This place has four full floors to play with.” He sighed. “The Loa Loa has twenty-five.”

Carrie eyed Patrick with surprise. Separate floors? She knew he didn’t want to touch anyone, her included, but that was a bit excessive.

Then again, maybe he was just scared he’d get hit by an unidentified flying object if he were too close. She couldn’t say she blamed him.

Damned breakable coffee mugs.

She remembered her mother switching to plastic travel mugs for her coffee since regular ones had a mysterious habit of breaking. Carrie was dismayed to realize that probably had been her fault.

Will went to see that their bags were taken to their rooms. Patrick’s arms were still tightly crossed as Carrie got up from her chair. She studied his body language, her gaze moving over him and ending at his green eyes.

“What is it?” he asked, watching her carefully.

“I’m just trying to figure you out, that’s all.”

He was quiet for a moment. “There’s nothing to figure out. With me, what you see is what you get.”

“Sure it is.”

His poker face gave her no clues about what his problem might be. “Settle in, freshen up, and meet me by the pool in an hour. We may as well use the extra time we’ve been given to do some telekinetic exercises.” He raised an eyebrow, and she had a momentary glimpse of the warm humor she remembered once seeing in his eyes. He drew closer to her, so close that for half a second she actually thought he’d brush up against her. “So there are no more accidents involving glassware.”

Her face flushed at that and she chose not to comment. Instead her attention moved over his face to his throat. He’d undone the first couple of buttons on his black shirt, showing off a tantalizing glimpse of his toned upper chest. “What’s that?”

“What?”

“That.” She pointed at the small, crudely engraved tarnished silver disk that he wore on a thin black leather strip. “Doesn’t really suit you.”

He brushed his fingertips over it. “That’s why I wear it under my clothes.”

“What is it?”

“Just something I picked up.”

“It looks Egyptian. Are those hieroglyphics?” At his raised eyebrow, she added, “I took Egyptology as an elective in college.”

He covered the pendant with his hand, then did up a button so it was hidden again. “Like I said, meet me by the pool in an hour if you want to practice. If not, I’ll catch up with you later.”

It looked as if she’d hit a sore spot by questioning him about that pendant. Interesting. “No, I’ll be there. Practice makes perfect, after all.”

“We’ll get the amulet first thing tomorrow. If it really is a danger, I’ll destroy it here. Otherwise, I’ll take it back to PARA to go into the vault. We can be back in Mystic Ridge in forty-eight hours or less.”

“Barely enough time to get a good tan before we’re trudging through snow again.”

“Try to remember that this is a business trip, not a pleasure trip.” He blinked. “Why are you smiling at me?”

“You sound like a boss.”

“I’m not.”

“You used to be.”

He exhaled. “I used to be a lot of things.”

“I noticed you didn’t shake Will’s hand.”

He was silent for a moment. “What’s your point?”

“Just a bit strange, is all,” she said. He fisted both hands at his sides. “Why don’t you touch anyone anymore?”

“Because I choose not to.”

He was close enough that she could feel the heat from his body. If she wanted to touch him, all she’d have to do was reach forward and slide her hands over his chest. But she didn’t.

“Ever?” she asked.

“Rarely.”

“You touched me when I started last week. Am I special?”

He began to look vaguely amused by her onslaught of questions. “It was only a brief handshake. Don’t get too excited.”

Again her cheeks flushed. Patrick McKay was the first man capable of making her blush in years. “But you didn’t shake Will’s hand, and he’s a client. I’d think you’d make an exception for him, too.” She cocked her head as she studied his tense expression.

“What?” he asked warily.

“What would you do if I touched you right now? Right here?”

He held her gaze for a long moment. “Nothing. But I’d probably consider it very unprofessional behavior that you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself, Ms. Stanfield.”

She’d take his rebuff as a slap on the wrist if she didn’t see the heated look in his eyes. “Yes, sir.”

His jaw tensed. “Pool. One hour.”

“Okay.” As she turned and walked away, she realized she was smiling. After all, she did love a mystery.

And Patrick McKay was a tall, blond, handsome mystery she was determined to solve. Whether he liked it or not.

5

WHEN HE FIRST MET Carrie, he’d read her as someone who was curious to learn more, someone who liked to find out the truth. He’d taken it as an indication that she’d be a good PARA agent—one who wanted to investigate mysteries and get to the bottom of them.

Patrick hadn’t figured he’d be one of the mysteries she’d set her mind on solving.

The thought was as disturbing as it was fascinating. He liked that he was right about her, but he’d prefer she cast her interest elsewhere. He’d rather keep his secrets entirely to himself. While the thought of letting the beautiful woman get closer to him wasn’t a bad one, he knew it couldn’t happen.

Touching her was tempting, but it would be torture.