a Touch of TNT (An Everly Gray Adventure) (20 page)

“Is that okay? Can you pick and choose assignments without repercussions?”

He pulled me into the curve of his arm. “No. There’ll be repercussions. Quite honestly, I don’t know what to expect.”

I rested my head on his chest, the lub-dub of his heart steady and strong against my cheek. “I don’t think I’m okay with your decision. I don’t want to come between you and—” I blew out a sigh— “your work. What you do is important, critical to…I don’t know, the well-being of the country.”

“I’m not the only photographer cleared for security work.”

“But you’re the best.”

Laughter shook his chest, and I turned to see his face but was sidetracked by his lips finding mine, testing them. Oh, yes, this man was important in my life. No doubt about it. Too important for me to sabotage his career. I squashed all thought and dropped into the kiss. Later. I could think later. After I’d explored all the nuances of sex without images.

When I opened my eyes the living room was dark, except for the wash of streetlights coming through the window. I was comfortably pressed full-length along Mitch, skin to skin. Nice way to wake up. The room shimmered with the scent of sex and unresolved issues. But I wasn’t ready to go there. Not yet.

I ran my fingertips along his belly, over his chest and back down again. His muscles hardened under my fingertips, and I followed the same path with my tongue. Then reached for a condom.

The next time I opened
my eyes it was to sunshine spilling onto the sheets and the sound of the shower. Time for a reality check? Umm, nope. I padded into the bathroom and joined him in the shower. Slippery. Good. By the time we’d had excellent sex and washed, the water had turned cold and I was seriously ready for some food.

“Gypsy’s for breakfast?” I asked.

He ran his hand along the side of my body from breast to thigh, back up and circled his fingers around my waist. “You are so beautiful. And, yeah, Gypsy’s is fine.”

We pulled on jeans and t-shirts, added some flip-flops and were ready to go. I gathered my wet hair back in a braid and hoped when it dried there would be waves instead of the usual unruly mass of wild curls. I was experimenting with a more controlled look. Maybe it would creep into the rest of my life. Keep me out of trouble.

We got a booth right away, someone had ponied up a quarter for Peppermint Twist on the jukebox. I shimmied into the booth to the tune of the music. Gypsy’s was comfortable, safe. A good place for us to continue yesterday’s conversation.

Mitch must have thought so too. “Last night and this morning…no images?”

“No images. Some tingling and shadows, but no clearly defined pictures. It’s getting better though. At least I think it is.”

“The time we just had? It was…unexpected. I thought it would be a while before we could touch. Had my mind set to put some distance between us, at least until I could get the job situation worked out.” He gave me the dimple. “I have no complaints about the change in plans. Don’t get me wrong, I want your touch thing to function normally again, but awesome sex is something I’m damn well not going to turn down.”

I wrapped my fingers around the quarter I’d slipped out of my handbag, held it tight enough to leave marks on the palm of my hand. Who was it that said something about intentions and a slippery slope? I felt like I was at the top of a slalom run, and the snowy powder had just turned to ice. I dropped the quarter into the slot on the tabletop jukebox and pushed the selection for
Overload.
It matched my mood.

I took Mitch’s hand, held it between mine, but kept my fingertips away from his skin. “This isn’t something I can control. It could come back when I’m touching you. Whatever I’m not supposed to know about your work, could be right there in my head. Without warning. We took a chance last night and this morning. One I don’t think the government would be happy about.”

He sat back in the booth, laced his fingers behind his head. The melted chocolate in his eyes had turned to shards of iced coffee. “Probably not.”

“I don’t think it’s a chance we should take again. Having the FBI, NSA, whoever, showing up on my doorstep isn’t okay with me. Even with Annie and Pierce working in my favor, I don’t want to be in anyone’s custody while they figure out if I’m a threat or not. Been there, done that…ohmygosh, where did that come from?”

I sat straight up in the booth and clutched the seat with both hands, focused on Mitch. “I’ve never been in custody.”

The waitress appeared at our table, and I swallowed my panic. Hunger. Food. Order breakfast. I could do this.

We ordered the Blue Plate Special, then Mitch put both of his hands on the table, palms up. “Give me your hands.”

I rested my palms just above his, not touching, raised my gaze to meet his. He nodded, and I let our fingers intertwine. Suddenly I was assaulted with the scents of the diner, coffee, hot oil, eggs, and burnt toast. I shook my head trying to clear the overload. “The smell of the food…you know, I didn’t notice it when we walked in. I always do, but today, no. Maybe more than my fingers are malfunctioning.”

The smells moved to the background as I focused on Mitch, the warmth of his touch. Clearly I’d lost any semblance of control over, well, just about everything.

His gaze was steady as he gently moved his fingers against my palms. “I’m going away after breakfast. Home. Until I can get the job situation worked out. I have to get this last batch of reports in, maybe hand-deliver them to Washington. I don’t know how this will play out. They may keep me—”

“No. Mitch, I don’t think this is a good idea. Don’t say anything to them until I’m functioning at full capacity again.” I took my hands away, curled them into fists under the table. “Let’s just…keep away from each other and think about this.” I propped my hands up on the table and focused on my fingertips. Noticed that my cheeks were wet and grabbed a napkin to mop up. “Guess I’m more emotional than I realized. Can we just take some time with this decision?”

The food arrived and we dug in, both of us too hungry to let emotions get in the way of eating. After a few bites, I put my fork down, sat back in the booth and looked over at him. He’d stopped eating too. Shook his head. “Does this mean we’re breaking up?”

“Yes. No.”

“You’re gonna have to do better than that since I came here prepared to…what the hell. What exactly is going on here?”

“I can’t see you without touching you. I don’t think you should make any major job changes until my fingers are back in working order.”

“A relationship without touching isn’t going to work for me.” He picked up his fork and started in on his ham and cheese omelet, the tines hitting the plate with enough force to scrape the china.

After a few bites he tossed his fork back on the plate, shook his head again, and finally met my eyes. “El you’re going to have to decide if you want me in your life or not. And right about now, I’m not sure I’m willing to wait around for you to make up your mind.”

“Can’t we just table this discussion until things settle down? I love it that you came here willing to change your career for me, but it…makes me uncomfortable that we have to go to that extreme to be together. Something isn’t right about this.” I looked up, caught the pain behind his eyes.

“I don’t mean about us. Something else isn’t right and I don’t know why, but the twitchies are getting worse.”

He tore off a piece of toast and stuffed it in his mouth. I took that as a good sign, although it could be that hunger was getting the better of his temper. I picked up my fork and realized I was shaking, so scraped up some eggs and sandwiched them between two pieces of toast. A sandwich was less lethal than a shaky fork—and damn it all, I was hungry.

Mitch sat back, watching me chomp down on my sandwich. It took a minute, but he couldn’t hold it in and cracked a big smile. “I can’t stay pissed off at you. Especially when you’re probably right. Walking away from my job has major repercussions, and it would be smart to find out exactly what happens if I decide to leave.”

The tension drained from my body. “Okay. Then I guess we have to…I don’t know, figure out how to live without sex.”

“Bad plan. And not one I’m in favor of.”

“It’s difficult to have sex without touching.”

His smile turned into a grin. “Phone sex is better than no sex.”

“Phone sex?” Well. I chewed the last bite of my sandwich and thought about
that
idea.

“You have a better plan?”

“Umm, no…but. Okay, this is probably silly, but what if I can’t do it?”

“Wanna go home and practice? We could try it from different rooms in the house and then if things don’t work out on the phone we can work them out in person.”

He ran his tongue along his lower lip, truly enjoying my discomfort.

I pulled an ice cube out of my water glass and tossed it at him. “I know exactly how that would end up. I’d be so tongue-tied with you in the next room nothing sexy would come out of my mouth and then…there you’d be…and I’d lose control of my fingers…again.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

I looked down at our empty plates, snatched up the bill and headed to the register with Mitch right behind me. He laid money on the counter before I could get my wallet open, held the door open and motioned me thorough.

“Come here.” He tucked me into his side as we walked to the car. “Great idea—” he leaned me against the passenger side, crowding my body with his— “how ’bout we have sex with me doing all the touching?”

“Yeesh. I can’t believe you said that. I wouldn’t be able to control my hands. You know I wouldn’t be able to control—”

His grin spread, and I wondered what he was up to as I slid into the car.

I didn’t have to wait long.

He climbed into the driver side, started the car and slid me a look. “It’ll work if we tie your hands to the bed posts. So you can’t touch.”

I was so not prepared for the direction of this conversation.

“Earth to El.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m listening. Tie me up?”

“I think it’s actually a fairly common arousal technique,” he said as he pulled out of the parking lot.

“Not in my life it isn’t…at least not until…now.”

“So you’re saying we should give my brilliant plan a test drive soon as we get home?” He must have been serious because I could swear the car suddenly picked up speed.

“Unh.”

His cell rang as we pulled into my driveway. Saved by the bell. Literally. We got out of the car, and he huddled over the phone.

My thoughts clung to the bondage idea. He wanted to tie me up? Tie up my hands. Keep my fingers from touching, exploring, getting into things? Oh, boy. My mind spun into a series of amazing images that had nothing to do with my fingers.

“El?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” I glanced down and saw he was still holding his phone.

“I have to go to work.”

“They’re sending you out again? You just got back.”

He shook his head and tucked his phone into the front pocket of his jeans. “No. But I have to go to Washington and deliver my report in person. It happens sometimes when the case is politically sensitive.”

“Does that mean we have to table the bondage idea until later?”

“Um-hmm. Give you time to adjust.” His grin was infectious. “It could work well for us.”

“Uh-huh. Okay.” Heat crept into my cheeks. Good thing he couldn’t see my fantasies.

He pulled me into his arms for a quick kiss. “Gotta run. We’ll work on this when I get back from DC.”

And with that he was gone. Hopped in the rental car and drove off. Kapoof. Disappeared.

Phone sex and bondage.

Hell of a plan.

FIFTEEN

Compelling topics, phone sex and bondage.
Images flittered through my mind, settled in, and left no doubt that I wanted to explore these fantasies with Mitch. But it’d be a few days before he got back, so I stripped the sheets off the bed and tossed them in the laundry along with the pile of damp towels from our morning shower. Housework is a great reality check.

And work. I needed to work, but didn’t have anyone scheduled. Time to phone Terri McGraw to set up an appointment. What the heck? I needed to keep busy, and much as I disliked working with infidelity issues, Terri looked a whole lot better than the empty calendar sitting in front of me.

I’d barely hung up before my cell beeped. Adam. Chills skittered over my skin, and my belly did a flip-flop. The phone beeped again. I rubbed my thumbs over my fingertips. Could I do it? Put my fingers to the test in front of Adam? It took two stabs before I managed to hit Talk.

“I’m ten minutes out. That fit with your schedule?” No hesitancy in his voice. No ‘You up for this?’ or ‘How’re your fingers today?’

I dragged in a breath, whooshed it out. “Yeah. Ready.” I hated that my voice sounded wobbly.

We clicked off, and I had just enough time to stop by the bathroom, grab a bottle of water from the kitchen and stuff it in my handbag. It wasn’t until Adam pulled into my driveway that I realized I
was
ready to work. It would distract me from Mitch issues and keep my curiosity in check.