THE AFFAIR (45 page)

Blaine lifted the glasses a tiny bit from his face to swipe at the sweat that had beaded between his brows. He didn’t want to take the glasses off because for the past week he’d taken quite a bit of ribbing, some of it good-natured, some of it mean spirited. Mostly people questioned if he were a true psychic, why didn’t he know his apartment was going to catch on fire?

In all honesty he’d answered, ‘I’m not God.’ Now he was tired of the questions, tired of all the answers. He just wanted to go home undisturbed. If he didn’t wear the glasses, strangers would be pestering him with requests for readings. He accepted that as a price for his fame.

On most occasions he handled those requests with a modicum of dignity and humor offering the person asking his card. He couldn’t chance it now; he was in too weak of a state psychically. The fumes from the smoke had wrecked havoc in his body. He needed time to heal.

Right now he could ill afford strangers pulling at his energy field. It was all that he could do to keep the barrier of energy surrounding his body, keeping out the thoughts of his fellow passengers.

Sleep was pulling at him when Blaine sat up with a start. He rubbed at his temple feeling the beginning of what promised to be one doozy of a headache. He closed his eyes in order to better focus his powers, to see who was having such an effect on him. Not since the first time he met Michelle had he felt such a dramatic reaction. Blaine wanted to know who it was and what was happening.

As he focused his energy the feeling became stronger until at last he was on his feet, standing, moving forward without wanting to, yet drawn to someone’s pain. His hand moved unobtrusively through the air. Since finding his mother he was discovering new powers he’d never known he possessed.

He smiled to himself, the thought that he had only to put out his hand and connect with someone else’s energy surprising. After a lifetime of dealing with the unexplained, Blaine was comfortable with his gifts of clairaudience. He didn’t have a name for this newest emerging gift.

The best way he could explain it was mining for energy. He used his hands much the same as he used his mind when speaking to those who had departed this life and were waiting. He focused.

Blaine stopped, his eyes landing on a woman of petite stature. Even from a sitting position he could tell she was short. He stood over the woman perusing her body in a quick perfunctory manner. She was slender also. His gaze fell on the woman’s curly, dark brown hair and a lump formed in his throat.

Blaine stepped back as an irresistible urge to reach out and touch her clutched at his throat. It took all his psychic energy to resist the pull. A tightening began in his groin. Good Lord, not now. He panicked and moved backwards down the aisle. No woman had ever affected him so quickly.

“What is it that you want?”

Blaine stopped his backwards descent and looked down into the biggest pair of chocolate brown eyes he’d ever seen. For a moment he thought his heart would stop. Despite the woman’s cold stare he felt drawn to her.

The sadness that had emanated from her to bring him to her now washed over him in waves. He clicked his tongue against his teeth trying to feel the woman’s energy.

Damn. That had never happened before. She’d placed a block to keep him out.

“I’m sorry,” he stammered. “My name’s Blaine MaDia.”

He smiled at the woman while his skin began a slow crawl of awareness. It wasn’t so much her looks as her aura. In looks she was beautiful true enough, but he’d met more than his share of beautiful women. The exception to this woman was her eyes. Staring at her for a moment something pulled at him more than her physical appearance. It was the woman’s spirit that held an intense fascination for Blaine.

“I’m sorry, Mr. MaDia. Am I supposed to know you?”

Blaine tried again to probe gently at the woman’s thoughts. When that didn’t work he tried more aggressively, but still she held out against him blocking any entrance. This stirred his curiosity making Blaine wonder what it was the woman was hiding so possessively that she’d thrown up a shield against a stranger.

“Mr. MaDia, did you want something?”

Now he was standing there feeling like a fool, his own psyche open for probing, his defenses weakened. He knew better than to continue with his questions, yet he felt compelled to press on. Never in all the years since Blaine became a professional psychic had he ever used that gift to seek out females, or to impress. He was now embarrassed and could feel the flush of that embarrassment with the next words he uttered.

“I’m Blaine MaDia, the psychic on television.”

He gulped. The woman appeared unimpressed. “I was just walking, I didn’t want anything.” Blaine continued.

Still nothing. The woman simply stared at him, her deep-set chocolate eyes turning to liquid cocoa. Now besides wanting to touch her, Blaine wanted to stand there and take a long drink from her eyes.

“I don’t know you, Mr. MaDia and I don’t mean to appear rude, but I’m very tired. I paid for two first class seats so that I wouldn’t be disturbed.” She tilted her head slightly letting Blaine know she wanted him to leave.

“Sorry I bothered you,” he murmured and turned to walk back to his seat. He paused and stuck out his hand toward the woman. “Nice to meet you Miss…Miss…”

He waited for an acknowledgment and a name, but the woman looked at him with mere curiosity, ignored his outstretched hand and cast her gaze back on the book in her hand.

Surely the woman had to be a psychic, Blaine thought. At the very least, she was familiar with psychic gifts because she was using them so effectively to keep him out. And he wanted in.

Author’s Information:

Dyanne Davis is an award winning author. She lives in a Chicago suburb with her husband Bill, and their son Bill Jr. An avid reader her love of the written word turned into a desire to write. She retired from nursing more than a decade ago to pursue her lifelong dream.

Dyanne has been a presenter of numerous workshops. She has a local cable show, The Art of Writing in her hometown to give writing tips to aspiring writers.

When not writing you can find her with a book in her hands, her greatest passion next to spending time with her husband Bill and son Bill Jr. Whenever possible she loves getting together with friends and family

A member of Romance writers of American she served in many capacities for her local chapter, Windy City, including two terms as president.

Dyanne Davis loves to hear from her readers. You can reach her at
[email protected]

You can write to her at

P.O. Box 1218 Bolingbrook IL. 60440