Twisted in Tulips (11 page)

“So this is a break, rather than work?”

“Sure.”

“I don’t work that way.”

A perk of his job was calling the shots and enjoying his work. “You do if you work with me.”

His entire life had been tests and work and demands. One misery after another. One reminder of who was in charge followed immediately by another. They’d misstepped and allowed valuable information to seep into his mind.

When he’d put the scrambled bits of information together in his mind, the power had shifted. Finally, he’d had what he waited twenty-five years for and after a little planning and research, he’d made his demands for freedom. The demands had been met without question or hesitation.

When the funds and his release had been secured, he’d chosen his spot and designed his lab. The first time he’d stepped onto this stretch of sandy land he’d known he was home.

Like every other day, he kicked off his flip-flops as he walked straight to the wet sand. The first wave rushed over his feet. He dug his toes into the shifting sand and lowered the remaining shields around his inner eye. The fears and worries and dark emotions he’d absorbed in the last twenty-four hours flew through a blinding vortex to the forefront of his mind.

The world misted.

As closely connected as a man could get with the earth and the cleansing properties of the sea, he envisioned the darkness swirling in his mental vision being carried away. He compressed the destructive powers of the negativity and fears he inadvertently absorbed during a day until they were no larger than particles of sand.

With his face lifted to the sky, he channeled his breathing down restorative paths. Using his mind, he expelled the gritty emotions from his body like sweat through his pores.

Ms. Sebastian had been chatty the day before, almost too much so. The idea of sharing his morning communion with her had bothered him, similar to burning indigestion. But curiosity had won. And she hadn’t made a sound since stepping onto the beach. Her ability to stay silent surprised him. Pleased him.

Visualizing tendrils of thread woven through the mist of his vision, he again sent his mind out in search of her. He wasn’t as interested in reading her as feeling how she reacted to the tranquility of the water. Empaths needed the cleansing powers of water. If she was empathic, the air would shift around her.

Clouding the perception of peace in the perfect setting was the lingering impression she was conflicted or confused or fundamentally troubled. As she stood there, digging her toes in the sand as he had, she settled—fractionally. Seemed more content.

“You’re edgy, Ms. Sebastian.”

“In a place like this?” She cleared her throat. “Not possible.”

“Glad to hear it.”
Liar.
He erected his barriers, waited for the world to return to a normal view, and turned to her. He skimmed his gaze over her body. His dick twitched and as sure as hell was hot, he knew he had to taste her again. With luck, the swim would calm him.

His gut clenched with worry. He didn’t get aroused so easily.

Hell, he’d dated several great women. They hadn’t been too dull or too ugly or too mundane. Nope. They simply hadn’t appealed to him on a sexual level. The lack of his attraction had contrasted so violently with theirs he’d thought something was wrong with him. The potential lack had led to the sexual line of questioning on the questionnaire.

Logic dictated empaths would experience stronger connections with their chosen partners. He’d implemented the adult study to partially test his theory, but to also see how many adults had natural empathic abilities and unwittingly suppressed them.

The connection he’d thought he should feel with women slammed into him with Ms. Sebastian. That bikini and the desire to glimpse the tattoo gracing the side of her precisely toned thigh had little to do with it. No, he was drawn to her on a more basic level.

Her mind intrigued him.

“So. Are we just here to swim?”

“Yes.” She didn’t want to be with him now any more than she’d wanted to take his bait in the dressing room and accept the bikini. She’d given in on both counts. Admiring her apparent dedication, he yanked his shirt off.

Her throat bobbed before she slipped the tie of the towel free and let it fall.

Just like the moment she’d pulled open the dressing room door, he struggled to not swallow his tongue.

The top half of the suit was nice. The bottom half, the part showing off her flat stomach and gently curved hips was more remarkable. Not quite as remarkable as the slamming urge to see her long legs wrapped around his waist.
 

Her tattoo teased him. A majestic Phoenix, mid-flame, graced the top of her thigh and had him wondering why she’d chosen the famous bird.

“Ready when you are.”

Well-honed restraint held him in place when the horny-guy part of his brain screamed for action. Begging him to drag her to the ground and feel her body against his. Pleading with him to get her out of those tiny scraps of fabric.

“When I’m finished with you this morning, you’ll wonder why you ever needed those artificial vitamins and enhancements to get you going.” He grabbed her hand, turned and ran for the water. He didn’t release her until the gentle waves hit him low on the chest. He pulled a huge gulp of air into his lungs and dove.

Deep. Deeper. He swam straight down into the cooling depths. The compression of the water on his body minimized his stresses, and the sand-grit emotions he’d expelled were brushed away in a trail of flurries along with his arousal. He dove until his lungs began to ache with need for life-affirming air.

Flipping, heels overhead, he changed direction and propelled his body upward. A flash of red caught his periphery just before he broke the surface.

Gasping the oxygen into his lungs, he treaded water and watched Ms. Ava Sebastian. She’d shed her inhibitions and swam with a practiced experience. Her lean legs and powerful arms sliced through the water.

She hadn’t exactly resisted him before, at least he didn’t think she intentionally blocked him, but neither had he gotten beyond her barriers. Barriers he wanted to understand. Were they self-erected?

She flipped onto her back and changed to a backstroke. With each alternate path she changed her stroke. One on her stomach, one on her back. Stomach. Back. Stomach. Back. No wonder she was so toned.

She moved with a skill that spoke of years spent swimming. Possibly competing. She certainly had the competitive spirit in her. He dropped a barrier, reached across the bouncing blue waves and probed gently into her mind.

The more used to feeling him in her mind she became, the more quickly he would gain her trust. He needed her trust if he hoped to learn her secrets.

Happiness as pure as a child gifted with a highly desired toy flooded through him. This woman loved the water, and she didn’t mind sharing it with him. In fact, she’d ostensibly forgotten he existed in the same space.

Perhaps it was a little wicked, but he wanted to know how she would handle surprises. What happened to her guards when she got caught by surprise?

He lowered his first mental barrier, grinned and dove below the surface. He slid through the water toward her, timed his attack and approached her from behind. Just as she prepared to turn so she would be on her stomach, he grabbed her waist and lunged deeper.

Rather than fight or struggle, she fitted her back closely to his chest and synchronized her moves with his. Two kicks later, she curled her body and propelled herself upward. His hands slipped from her waist. The gliding contact of their bodies broke before he was fully able to register how she’d so fluidly and rapidly matched her moves to his.

His heart slammed against his ribs as he broke the water a second time. His shields slid into place as the water cascaded off him. She was treading the bouncing water, waiting for him with a sexy smile. Her long hair floated around her shoulders and rhythmically moving arms.

“Tell me, H. What part of your morning plans includes trying to drown a woman?”

He cut through the water until he was close enough that his legs brushed hers as they kicked to stay afloat. After a few kicks they were moving again in unison, their bodies instantly matching the tempo of the other. Connecting.

“I was curious to see your reaction.”

“Curious to see if I would freak out.” She laughed—an illicitly lilting rhythm that danced along his spine. “Sorry to disappoint you. I’ve spent too much time in the water to be thrown by such amateurish moves.”

“That sounds almost like a challenge.” He circled her.

Rather than follow him, to command they maintain eye contact, she continued facing the horizon. He stopped behind her and allowed the grin teasing his mouth its freedom. “How far will you trust me out here?”

“I have enough skill and stamina to save myself. Whatever games you play will have no impact on my safety.”

He moved closer so the fronts of his legs brushed the backs of hers. The hard-on he’d banished before sprang back to life. If he moved any closer she would feel his desire. “Who says I’m referring to physical trust?”

“No one. Were I in trouble, I would trust you to handle yourself well enough to help. In the water.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure.” Her arms drifted back and forth just beneath the water. “I watched you swim. I know how long you can hold your breath before surfacing for air. You’re competent.”

Competent?
Ha! She was challenging him.

He moved closer and allowed his tented shorts to brush her ass. She shifted her legs. Surprisingly, she spun around and braced her hands on his shoulders.

Habit had him wiping the grin off his face before she could see it. To the outside world he didn’t know how to have fun. She was part of the outside world, even in his sanctuary. Nothing could prepare him for her hands on his body or the lust filling her gaze.

“I’m good in the water.”

She drew out the word “good” and added a sexual inflection that had his dick jumping for attention. He reached through his barriers into her mind again, gently. He wouldn’t get a clear read, but she may feel him. Feel something. “How good?”

“Better than you can imagine.”

Virginity is overrated.

He’s The One

© 2010 Jane Beckenham

Taylor Sullivan doesn’t trust Cupid, but she plays one for a living. As a successful wedding consultant, she creates a couple’s ultimate fantasy—even though she’s never managed to create her own.
 
And when her clients start asking her for wedding night advice, she’s sensible enough to know when to enlist help.

Cade Harper knows two things about women. They either abandon him, or use him as a walking bank. He doesn’t do commitment, and marriage is a dirty word—witness the string of broken hearts he’s left in his wake. Yet Taylor’s business proposition intrigues him. In exchange for one night of no-strings passion, she’ll develop a promotional plan for his business. Who could say no?

Never one to buy anything sight unseen, Taylor tests the waters with a kiss. In an instant she has the only answer she’s ever wanted—that Cade is the one she wants.
 

As business starts tumbling into pleasure, Cade finds himself falling hard and fast.

It’s a fantasy come true—if they can turn heartache into forever…

Warning: Contains explicit, straight-to-the-heart sex between a hopeless romantic heroine and an abandon-all-hope hero. No need to dress up for this party—just curl up with a glass of bubbly and a box of tissues!

Enjoy the following excerpt for
He’s The One:
 

“Virginity is overrated.” Easy words? She’d said them often enough.

Yet when Taylor Sullivan whispered them, the swell of panic threatened to take hold.

She had to do this.

It was time.

Taylor exhaled every emotion she’d bottled for the past twenty-four hours, ever since she’d seen him: Mr. Perfect-for-the-Job.

As she stood outside the bar, her bravado waned and panic set in. Who wouldn’t panic when they were about to make an off-the-wall suggestion to a stranger?

She gripped her assistant’s arm. “I can’t. This is a mistake.”

“No, it’s not. You said so yourself, he’s the one.”

“What do I know? I mean,
who
is he?”

“Cade Harper. Bad boy made good—and one sexy hunk. Is that enough for you?” Nita gave her a suggestive grin.

Oh, yeah
.

Taylor wiped her sweaty palms down the sides of her skirt. “The fairy godmother sure did hand out good looks at his bassinet.” He’d been the best man at a wedding she’d planned recently. Haloed by the light streaming in from the stained glass window, he’d taken her breath away.

But now, twenty-four hours after that wedding, as the throbbing beat of music threaded its way out onto the curb where she and Nita waited, Taylor’s wayward nerves vaulted into overdrive. “I should never have told you.”

Nita shrugged. “Probably not, but, hey, I get those calls too.”