Stella Cameron - Out of Mind

“Bulletproof?” She frowned and all traces of the blush disappeared. Her hand touched her neck again.

“Just an example,” he said. An unfortunate one, given that she was so jumpy lately. “Do you have a rash?” he asked suddenly.

Willow’s lips parted and her eyes grew bigger and an even brighter green. “What kind of question is that?” She checked her arms and legs.

“That was clumsy,” he said. “It was your neck I had in mind. You rub it as if you think there’s something there.”

Instantly, her right hand slid beneath her hair and she backed away.

“What is it?” he said, getting up. “What’s going on, Willow? Sykes knows there’s something happening. They all do and now I do. Would you fill me in, please? Sykes only touched on what he suspected.”

She shuddered and Ben caught hold of her shoulders.

Her hands came up, but she didn’t try to push him away.

Nothing had changed. He closed his eyes and dug his fingers into her flesh. Never before, and not since Willow, had he felt the searing jolt of pain and pleasure that immobilized him when they first touched.

“When I left I actually hoped I’d forget this,” he whispered. “What a fool I was.”

“I’ll never forget it,” she said. “We shouldn’t—”

“Don’t say it. It may be true, but don’t say it. I can’t stand hearing you send me away again.”

“I had to.”

“Why?” He pulled her closer. “You never told me why.”

“We aren’t meant for each other.”

“My God,” he said, shaking with the effort of not taking her into his arms. “How can you say that?”

“Everyone said…” She turned her face away again, but slowly looked back at him.

“ Everyone said what?”

“Nothing. I’m not what you need. Leave it at that.”

There was no decision; he just brought his mouth down on hers, hard and demanding. And she held still, her fingers resting on his chest. The web of raw sensation spun around them. He had never understood it. Only the Millets had this mystical Bonding element—he could vouch for that with certainty.

Her mouth grew warmer and softened under his. Gasping, she stood on tiptoe and slid her hands up to his shoulders.

Their lips parted, and their tongues entwined. He vaguely heard her moans and his own ragged breathing.

The slide of her fingers up his neck to rest on his jaw left a trail of heat. Her body bent into his and Ben’s pelvis jerked against her, hard. He felt the pulsing, the throbbing in his groin. Willow had to feel his erection.

“Willow,” he said. “I’m breaking apart.”

Her breath came in sobs and she shook so hard he clutched her to him, smoothed her back, rocked them together. He smoothed his hands up to the sides of her breasts.

“We can’t,” she said brokenly. “We can’t let this happen, Ben. You know it.”

They grew still but hung on to each other.

“I had to do that,” Ben said. “I had to find out if anything had changed. It hasn’t. Are you still going to say you’re not what I need?”

When Willow didn’t answer, he sat down again and rested his face in his hands.

“Don’t,” she said.

“Don’t what?”

“I don’t know. Feel bad, I guess. You’ll meet the right woman, just give it time.”

He didn’t understand what point she was trying to make, unless… “Tell me you don’t feel anything for me and I’ll help with any business that needs taking care of here and get out of New Orleans again.”

“Don’t ask me questions like that,” she said. “Look, we haven’t seen each other in a long time. It’s a shock. We’re reacting to that.”

“That was some hello, Willow.” Parts of him kept right on reacting to her. “Do you still say there’s nothing out of the ordinary—or not normal, as you call it—about you?”

“Yes,” she said emphatically. “I’ve started to admit that the rest of you have some sort of weird traits, but I don’t have them.”

“You,” he said, “are either a liar or you’re in denial. Down there in the shop, when you didn’t expect me to contact you, you responded. You’re telepathic—at the very least.”

At first he didn’t think she’d answer him at all. Then she took a deep breath and said, “Whatever you say. Do you still want to eat?”

He swallowed the “no” that wanted to snap out and said, “You bet.”

“Fine. Come and help then. I’ve still got a job to do tonight.”

“Tonight?” He looked pointedly at her dress. “Dressed like that? And at night?”

“Yes, like this. I’m going to help a customer host a party. His wife can’t be there until later. It’s a casual party—pool party.” She patted her hip. “I’ve got my swimsuit on already.”

Willow and Ben didn’t share gumbo that night.

After she’d told him to go and find someone who wanted him to run her life, he had left. Now she felt irritable and disappointed.

But she couldn’t let him march back in and take over.

Could she?

She couldn’t get over that kiss, that he had started it and she had let him. And enjoyed it.

That’s probably all we could ever have in common—amazing sexual attraction . Willow sighed.

“What’s your problem?” Pascal said when she went into the shop again, new helmet in place, to let them know she was on her way to a job. “And Ben? What did you do to him? He hardly said a word when he came through on his way out.”

“I’ve got to get to that job,” she said, avoiding his questions. “I’m helping out at a party.”

“You’re angry, too,” Pascal said.

“No,” Willow said. “I’m not. And I’m only letting you know I’m leaving because everyone’s so upset at the moment.”

“But you’re not upset?”

“No. Bye.”

“Where are you going?”

She wanted to say she didn’t owe him a schedule. Instead, she said, “Uptown. Right off St. Charles Avenue. Near Bordeaux Street. The people’s name is Brandt, Val and Cleo. They’re very well-known in New Orleans—socialites.”

“I never heard of them,” Pascal said.

Willow planted a kiss on his cheek. “You only hang out with old money, Uncle. The Brandts don’t even have one important generation behind them, so they aren’t your kind.” She gave a mock shudder.

He shook his head. “Probably vulgar. And you shouldn’t be waiting on them, either.”

She laughed. “I run a housekeeping and all things domestic business. I should be picky about who I work for? ‘We are Mean ’n Green—you need it, we get it, or do it or fix it.’”

“Of course you can’t be calling me a snob—nothing could be further from the truth.” He shook his head. “So why is Ben mad at you?”

“He doesn’t have any right to be mad at me,” she snapped. “I’m nothing to him.”

“Is that a fact?” Pascal looked at the stairs to see his trainer, Anthony, coming down with a tall, green drink in a frosted glass.

“I can hear you getting excited from three stories up,” Anthony said. No one looked better in a muscle shirt, than blond, tanned Anthony. “You know how bad it is for your blood pressure, Pascal. Sit down and drink this. It’ll settle your nerves.”

Pascal grimaced and Willow took advantage of the moment to slip back into the courtyard and make her way through to the storeroom where she kept her scooter and trailer. Her office was in the Warehouse District, and the other vehicles were parked there, but she couldn’t see herself wasting money on something frivolous to drive to and fro—or wasting an opportunity to advertise Mean ’n Green on the trailer at all times.

Ben hovered nearby, trying to feel guilty. He failed. If Willow wouldn’t look after herself, he’d just have to do it for her. That was what Sykes wanted him in New Orleans for anyway. The only puzzle was why Sykes didn’t do the job himself.