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Touch and Go
Michelle Rowen
Oh, the Bahamas. What a perfect place for a fling! Or is it? Carrie Stanfield is there on assignment with the hottest guy ever! The chemistry between them is more volatile than the tropical storm that strands them on a deserted island. So why the heck won't Patrick McKay touch her already? Patrick would love to get his hands all over Carrie's sweet body.Unfortunately, he's been fooling around with a charm that makes touching another person very hard. But not touching Carrie is making him even harder…. It's not looking very good for these two. Then again, when you mess around with magic, the most seductive things can happen….
Praise for Michelle Rowen’s
HOT SPELL…
“Michelle Rowen’s stories are always sassy and exhilarating. This tale of an ‘unwanted’ love will have readers begging for more…. This is a romance that will last for all of eternity…literally and on the pages. The author takes us to new heights as readers. The scenes are very epic and thrilling.”
—Fresh Fiction
“I couldn’t put this book down and stayed up late reading it because I couldn’t wait to see what would happen next…. (A) sexy, romantic and a fun light read that I highly recommend to romance readers.”
—Enchanted by Books
“I loved this story from the very beginning… I would definitely recommend this book to other readers.”
—Night Owl Romance
“Enjoyable paranormal…interesting plot and sensual scenes.”
—RT Book Reviews
Dear Reader,
The idea for Touch and Go came from an image in my head of a woman whose inner storm manifests itself in the real world. This would only be a metaphor in a contemporary book, but when dealing with psychic characters, heck, I can make it a real storm!
So my heroine Carrie was born, a woman who desperately wants to control her erratic psychic powers. She works for a paranormal investigation agency with the one man she believes can help teach her control. However, her growing attraction to him is difficult to hide when every time he triggers her desire it turns into in an accident—broken glass, moving furniture…a tropical storm, perhaps?
Patrick McKay, who also appeared in my previous Harlequin Blaze title, Hot Spell, takes the stage as the hero in this book and he’s definitely a great match for Carrie. He has a few tempests of his own to deal with that he keeps hidden from his sexy and inquisitive new partner. At least, he tries his best.
All of this is set in the Bahamas because…where better for a little uncertain weather and a whole lot of blazing heat than there?
Happy reading!
Michelle Rowen
Michelle Rowen
Touch and Go
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
National bestselling author Michelle Rowen writes all sorts of paranormal romance—light and dark, sexy and sweet, and has won an RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice award and a Holt Medallion for her work. A voracious but picky reader, TV viewer and movie watcher, she prefers all her entertainment to include a happily ever after…or else! Michelle lives in southern Ontario and is the 2010 president of Toronto Romance Writers.
To the Toronto Romance Writers
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
1
Two years ago
SHE’D NEVER BELIEVED in love at first sight. Lust was another matter. Her current object of lust was about six-two, with dark blond hair, broad shoulders, a navy blue suit and a killer smile.
And he was walking right toward her.
He approached her table at a small bistro called Amelia’s. It was one of her favorite restaurants and as good a place as any for an interview such as this.
“Carrie Stanfield?” the man asked, smiling in a way that made her knees go weak. Luckily she was sitting down. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I’m Patrick McKay.”
His voice was the same as over the phone—deep and mellow, with an edge of friendly amusement to it. She’d liked his voice the two times they’d spoken about setting up this meeting. She had no idea that the rest of him could possibly compete with it. In fact, she’d been expecting an old, short guy with a bald spot and thick glasses.
She composed herself quickly and held out her hand. “It’s great to meet you in person, Patrick.”
“You, too.” His skin was warm as his fingers curled around hers. His eyes were a vivid emerald green. The color reminded her of the ocean—clear, invigorating, bottomless.
She was not usually this distracted by a hot-looking guy, especially one she had to interview. She’d been sent here to write an article for the Mystic Medallion—the magazine she hoped was just a stepping-stone to the New Yorker or The New York Times. A tiny stepping-stone.
Patrick McKay was the branch manager of a local business in Mystic Ridge, New York, called the Paranormal Assessment and Recovery Agency. They investigated supernatural phenomena, and every agent who worked there was allegedly psychic.
Carrie didn’t believe in psychics or paranormal phenomena. But she believed in a good story when she heard it.
“You don’t believe in psychics,” Patrick said. He was still holding her hand.
Her eyes snapped to his handsome face. “Pardon me?”
“Do you think being a skeptic is going to negatively color your story about me?”
She felt as if she’d been cornered, but he was still looking at her with friendly curiosity in his clear green eyes. He had yet to let go of her hand, though. And she had yet to pull away.
“I—uh, how did you know that?”
He placed his other hand on top of hers. The warmth of his touch slid up her arm. “I’m empathic.”
She blinked. “That’s the type of psychic that can read other people’s emotions.”
“You’ve done some homework.” He finally released her and she had to say she was sorry about that. “You take your job very seriously.”
Carrie gave a nervous laugh. “I try. So, what else did you sense from me? That’s what this is, right? You’re trying to give me a psychic reading now to break the ice?”
His smile widened. “But you didn’t call my 1-800 number. And I don’t have your Visa card on file.”
She couldn’t help but grin. “Funny guy.”
“I try.”
The waiter came over to the table, but Patrick asked him to give them a few minutes. There were no other customers. It was midafternoon, between the lunch and dinner crowds. The bistro felt like a private dining room for just the two of them—much more intimate than she’d anticipated.
Patrick studied her, his gaze moving over her face to her throat and down to the neckline of her white blouse, which she’d unbuttoned at the top. He politely didn’t go farther, but returned his attention to her face. “I read that you’re curious, you’re practical, and you like to be in control at all times. I read that you’re a skeptic, that you don’t believe in PARA being a legitimate business and that you’re just doing this article so you can flesh out your résumé and get a better job elsewhere, preferably far away from this dull little town.”
She felt the color draining from her face with every word he spoke. Maybe he was the real deal after all. “That sounds pretty specific for an empathic reading. Aren’t you just supposed to read emotions?”
“I’m very good at what I do. And the skin-to-skin contact helps to make things that much clearer for me.” He glanced down at her hand. Her nails were short but well manicured, thanks to a visit to the salon yesterday.
He was tanned, which meant he spent a lot of time outside or he’d recently been on vacation. It made his teeth seem that much whiter when he smiled at her shocked expression.
“So…did you see anything else?” she asked after a moment.
His smile faded and his expression tensed a little as if he were concentrating. “You’re in a relationship right now, but you know he’s not the right man for you. Another man hurt you a long time ago and you’re hesitant to give your heart away to just anyone. But you know there’s someone better out there. Someone who feels right from the first moment you meet.”
She moved away from him. It felt intimate—too intimate—sitting here with him and having him tell her things she already knew about herself, including that man in her past who’d made her untrusting toward others. It was equal parts scary and exciting—as if Patrick knew her inside and out after only a couple of minutes. She felt off balance. One thing Patrick said rang completely true—she liked to be in control of a situation. At the moment, she wasn’t.
“We should probably order something.” She reached for the menu at the same time he did and their fingers brushed against each other. Her heart began to pound faster.
“Carrie…I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low. “I didn’t do that just now to scare you. I simply wanted to prove that psychics are real. That I’m real.”
“You didn’t scare me.” She sounded breathless.
He looked uncertain. “You’re sure about that?”
“Yes, I’m sure. I mean, you didn’t tell me anything I don’t already know.”
“I felt something else, but it wasn’t completely clear…” He looked down at her hand. “Do you mind?”
She licked her lips, eyeing her empty glass of wine and wishing for another one. This interview wasn’t going according to plan. She’d wanted to come here, chat with Patrick for an hour or so about PARA, go back to her desk at the magazine’s office and write up a couple thousand words to appeal to readers who soaked up all things mystical in Mystic Ridge.
Instead, she was getting a psychic reading from the sexiest man she’d ever met. A reading that involved touching.
Now that she thought about it, there really wasn’t much of a downside to that.
She extended her hand, facing up, on the table. “Fine. Go ahead.”
He slid his fingers over her skin until their palms touched. Desire curled low in her body, enough to make a blush crawl over her cheeks at the thought of touching more than just his hand.
If he could read her as well as he claimed, he’d be able to tell that she really wanted to—
“You’re psychic, too,” he said.
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
He looked into her eyes, his brow furrowing. “I thought I felt it before, but I wasn’t sure. He glanced up at the light above their heads, which had been flickering for a couple of minutes as if the lightbulb needed changing. “You’re doing that, you know.”
She glanced up. “I’m making the light flicker?”
He nodded. “You’re a telekinetic. Unlike other psychics, a lot of TKs don’t fully develop their abilities until they’re well into their twenties.”
Her eyes widened. Telekinetic. From the general research she’d done, she knew that term referred to psychics who could move things with their mind. They were also extremely rare. “What?”
“Your abilities haven’t completely surfaced yet, but they’re there. It won’t be long before they become more evident.”
That was the most ridiculous thing she’d heard in a very long time. “You’re wrong.”
His smile returned. “I’m not. But there’s no reason to be afraid.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“I can help you.”
