Stella Cameron: Out of Mind

Apparently, the founder responsible for the concept had not taken into account that irresistible stimulation could become addictive.

There would be a test between Ben and Willow, but he had no doubt the compulsion would be as strong as ever.

He hadn’t seen her in two years since she told him they weren’t meant for each other. After that she wouldn’t see or speak to him.

Ben had left New Orleans, and ran the family business—a very successful club, Fortunes, and other enterprises around the city—from his retreat on the island of Kauai.

“You can see inside closed packages?” Willow said to Pascal.

“That surprises you?”

She muttered something, but she wasn’t concentrating on her uncle. Instead Ben could see her struggle not to turn around. Her shoulder blades pressed together, then released, as if she were trying to relax.

Well, if the way he reacted simply to the sight of her was any indication of things to follow, he’d better not miss any vitamins.

“Hey, Willow, remember me?” he asked her through channels he attempted to open between their minds.

He’d lost his marbles, not that she had ever responded to his mind contacts in the past. That would have put the lie to her insistence that she had no paranormal powers.

“What are you doing here?” she responded, gripping the counter with both hands.

His turn to stiffen. The muscles in his back and thighs turned rock hard. Damn, this was great, she’d forgotten to cover up.

“What do you think? You and I have unfinished business. It’s been unfinished for too long. And you need me now—you need all of us.”

“Sykes got you here, didn’t he? He could have talked to me about it first. You two have always shut me out.”

“You decided to shut us out, Willow. You and I could always be as close as you wanted to be. The decisions on that were yours, remember?”

“I didn’t ask you to come. I—Oh, darn it.”

He felt her cut him off. It was gratifying to know he could cause her to break rules she’d made for herself in her teens when Willow had decided she would be “normal.”

“You’re upset and trying not to need anyone. Don’t shut me out.” It was worth another try to establish an intimate connection with her.

Willow didn’t respond, but she did give in and look over her shoulder. And now his knees snapped into locked position. Those fabulous, brilliant green Millet eyes searched for him. The curly hair was as outrageously red as ever, the skin as pale and freckled, the features as unexpectedly sophisticated and irresistible. Then there was the small, totally sexy body….

Their eyes met.

Hers grew wider and took on a bright sheen. Ben knew it meant she was fighting tears. Willow prided herself on being in control. For her to lose it showed him just how much he’d shocked her.

She faced him and crossed her arms under her breasts. At least the familiar white shirt with its ugly Mean ’n Green insignia was made to fit her these days, rather than falling from her shoulders to the knees of her white jeans, like an oversize painter’s smock.

What had he hoped? That after all this time she wouldn’t have the same power to reach out and grab him in places he’d as soon control? Thank you, Sykes, for dragging me here to suffer some more. I hope Willow knows what a concerned brother she’s got.

“Willow, let’s finish here,” Uncle Pascal said.

She felt his tap on her shoulder but ignored it. Ben was here and she’d already done the unthinkable, responded to his poking at her mind. She could pretend she hadn’t done it, but what good would that do? He’d only wonder how much more she was trying to hide about herself.

“Hi, Ben,” she said, relieved her voice sounded steady. “What brings you to New Orleans? I thought you were an island-dweller now.”

“I am an island-dweller. I’m also a native of New Orleans and I love the place.” He seemed about to say more but settled his lips together.

There was no sight that could do to her what Ben could, just standing there, weight on one long leg, black hair pulled back into a tail at his nape, dark blue eyes deceptively sleepy-looking…. She was staring at him.

“You okay?” Ben asked. “You seem unsettled.”

He had always been the king of smart comments. “Surprised to see you is all,” she said. His dark shirt fitted tight over his wide chest and toned belly, and disappeared beneath the waist of jeans washed enough times to hold a shadow pattern that accentuated the slim and the not-so slim bits of him.

Willow had known Ben all her life. He was seven years older than she, and as they grew up he had treated her like a kid sister. She thought about how all that had changed. Kind of coincided with him “noticing” her. Willow had watched him grow tall, fill out and become a big, hard man with more psi powers than was healthy. But then she had realized he was watching her leave girlhood behind and, evidently, something about her pleased him—a lot.

The misery she had felt knowing she wasn’t what he needed in a Bonded partner started an ache she had hoped never to feel again once it lost its sharp edge. But she was experiencing that longing now. He was too much for her, too strong, too skilled, too flamboyant, too much of a free spirit. Her suspicion that this was true had been confirmed by his sister, Poppy, who was very close to Ben. Poppy had been upset, tearful, but she had made herself warn Willow of the dangers in becoming Ben’s permanent mate.

At least she’d had the sense to end things between them before they put a seal on their fate and she shriveled up, bit by bit, while she watched him become bored with her. He would still have been stuck with the agreement—but even if he tried to hide it, Willow would have felt his dissatisfaction.

“Why are you here?” she said sharply.

“I already told you,” he said, without glancing at Pascal, who would quickly figure out that there had been a silent communication between Willow and Ben.

“You didn’t say what you’ve been told about me,” she said to Ben. Her gaze shifted sideways for an instant as she analyzed whether she’d made another reference to their personal communication.

Ben didn’t want to trick her into anything. “Sykes said he’s been worried about you. When I got here, Pascal told me the same thing, and I’m thinking the rest of the family will have similar stories.”

She spread her hands. “Worried? Why?”

“Because you’re worried.” He needn’t kid himself that she’d be easy to break down. “To quote someone near and dear to you, you’re even more fractured than usual. You’ve been very quiet and you never go anywhere other than work.”

She frowned, but her eyes were brighter than ever. “And that’s different from what I usually do? I work hard and when I get home, I’m tired.”

“And you sent for a crash helmet with two rearview mirrors,” Pascal put in. The man had done a good job of fading into the background behind the counter where he sat on a high stool.

Willow shook her head. “I’m safety minded. I’m going to have all my staff wear similar gear—just as soon as I’ve made sure it works well.”

“Most people who ride motorcycles or scooters, or whatever, rely on handlebar mirrors. Cyclists have a mirror on one side on a helmet and it’s about a quarter the size of those.”

“Most cyclists don’t need to see anything but oncoming traffic and what’s around when they want to make a turn,” she snapped back, and turned red.

Ben saw her moisten her lips and his belly contracted. He would have to contain himself. “Whereas you think you have to see all around, traffic, pedestrians and anything else that might be a hazard?”