Authors: Susan Carroll

Parker And The Gypsy (10 page)

BOOK: Parker And The Gypsy

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“IâI didn't mean to cause such a fuss,” she said. “I seldom have a psychic experience that strong. It felt too real.”

Mike didn't know what she'd just experienced. All he knew on some gut level was, she hadn't been faking it.

“C'mon, angel,” he said gruffly. “There's no sense using your hand when I have this perfectly good jacket you can ruin.” He turned her gently, starting to gather her into his arms, but she tried to pull back.

“Oh, n-no. P-pleaseâ”

“Hey, it's okay. The local dry cleaner is my bookie. I have a running account.” Cupping the nape of her neck, he forced her head against the lee of his shoulder.

She resisted a fraction longer, then wrapped her arms around his neck, burrowing her face deep against his jacket. Cradling her tight in his arms, he made idiotic and totally useless shushing noises, murmuring every fool endearment he could think of. He thought she'd stop crying, but she still trembled.

This was all his fault, dammit. What the hell had ever possessed him into pushing her into trying such a thing? Of course, he'd never really believed this psychic junk would work. He still didn't. Sara was just too... too damn suggestible, blast it! Good thing he'd been able to snap her out of it.

Good thing for her or for you, Parker? his inner voice tormented. That whole bit about John Patrick being scared, the shrill of the ambulance, losing his mom that way. What a bizarre coincidence. It had all struck a little too close to home, didn't it, Mikey boy? Dredging up recollections that Mike hadn't thought about in years, pulling them more sharply into focus. Just what he needed. More lousy memories.

Unconsciously, his arms tightened about Sara, holding her closer. He filled his senses with her, inhaling the fresh sweet scent of her perfume. Was it possible for a woman to smell innocent, like sunshine on roses, summer rain and the first breath of dawn? Sara did.

She stopped trembling and relaxed, her soft, warm curves molded trustingly against him, touching him in some way he couldn't explain.

“S-sorry,” she said, her voice muffled against his jacket.

“For what?”

“For acting so stupid.”

“It's okay, angel. I do it all the time.”

“Y-you mean, you
cry?
”

“No, I act stupid.”

Her shoulders shook again, but this time with a watery chuckle. Shifting away from the damp spot she'd created on his shoulder, she rested her forehead against the center of his chest with a tiny sigh.

She fit so nicely tucked beneath his chin. It seemed the most natural thing in the world for him to pillow his cheek against the golden cloud of her hair.

“Sometimes,” she said, “IâI hate all these strange things I'm able to sense and feel. I get tired ofâof being so different. I wish I could just be normal like everyone else.”

“I don't want you to be normal. I like you just fine the way you are.”

“You do?” Sara raised her tearstained face to stare up at him, her blue eyes round with wonder and surprise.

“Yeah, I do,” Mike said and was surprised himself to discover how much he really meant it.

Sara's lips quivered with a tremulous smile. “I think that's the sweetest thing anyone ever said to me.”

No one had ever accused Mike Parker of being sweet before. He wasn't quite comfortable with it, but he pressed a chaste kiss on her brow.

And then another on the adorable tip of her nose. And then both eyelids, her gold-tipped lashes still damp from her tears. And then her cheeks....

He should have stopped there. He really hadn't intended to use this comfort thing as an excuse to put the moves on her. But it was Sara who wound her arms around his neck, offering her lips to him.

What could he do but kiss her back, accepting her generous warmth like a cold, weary traveler coming home? Suddenly he was no longer sure exactly who was comforting whom.

With a boldness that astonished her, Sara threaded her fingers through the thickness of Mike's tawny mane, holding his mouth fast against her own. He kissed her with a gentleness she would never have imagined him capable of, a tenderness that thrilled her to the core.

When his mouth became more insistent, Sara allowed her lips to part, welcoming the hot play of his tongue against her own. The kiss was both fire and magic, going deeper than mere flesh, drawing her straight down into the recesses of Mike's heart, a world of loneliness and aching needs.

Needs she found not so different from her own. To hold and be held, to touch and be touched, to love...

Their lips parted reluctantly as they each paused to draw in an unsteady gulp of air. Mike stared down at her, and for once his eyes were ablaze with a naked hunger, raw and vulnerable.

He kissed her again, more fiercely this time, as though he would offer her all his desire, and Sara accepted, made it her own. Mike undid the band that bound up her ponytail and Sara's hair spilled about her shoulders like a shower of silk. She didn't think to protest, even when he tumbled her down onto the bed.

His fingers found the swell of her breast, caressing her through the sheer fabric of her sundress and Sara moaned softly, pressing herself against the hard length of him, aware of the evidence of his arousal straining against the flap of his jeans. It should have alarmed her, but it didn't, calling forth instead a primitive firing of her own blood.

With increasing fervor, they embraced, stroked, caressed like two people discovering each other for the very first time. And yet, it all seemed so achingly familiar to Sara, as though she'd always known this man's kiss, his touch, always been eager and ready for this moment, waiting....

Mike eased the thin straps of her sundress down, breathing her name with a kind of reverence. He brushed his lips against the skin of her shoulder, sending shivers of heat rushing through her. He shifted her dress down farther still, baring her breast. He cupped his fingers around her, the soft mound molding perfectly to the callused warmth of his hand.

And that was when all hell broke loose. The bed began to shake with a violence that seemed calculated to bring the whole room tumbling down about their ears.

“What theâ” Mike exclaimed, his head jerking up sharply, the heat in his gaze replaced by alarm.

Sara gasped, feeling as though a blade of ice thrust between her and Mike, forcing her out of his arms. The bed pitched and rolled beneath them like a small ketch lost in a storm at sea. Swearing under his breath, Mike scrambled off the bed, dragging Sara with him.

They'd barely gained their balance on the floor when the bookshelf on the wall joined in, dancing out a mad rhythm, keeping time with the bed.

“Mike!” Sara cried out a warning as the books came flying off. But she was too late. One hefty tome slammed into the side of his head.

He grunted with pain, reeling away from her. Flinging up his arms, he deflected several more hardback missiles that seemed to be aimed at him with deadly accuracy.

Only when the last book lay tumbled on the carpet, did the shaking stop. Sara pressed her hands to her heart and drew in a tremulous breath. She'd seen displays of Mamie's infamous temper before, but she never failed to be awed by it.

Cautiously lowering his arms, Mike straightened. Groaning, he rubbed his head and nudged aside a fallen book with the toe of his shoe. “
Webster's Dictionary. Complete and Unabridged.
” He winced. “Damn it! No wonder it felt like a ton of bricks.”

“Are you all right, Michael?” Sara asked. It was starting to become a familiar question.

“No, I'm not!” he snapped, glaring at the bookshelf and then the bed. “First I nearly break my leg on the stairs. And now I think I've got a damned concussion. What the hell is going on around this place?”

“Itâit's Mamie,” Sara said, faltering. The room settled to an ominous quiet, but she could still sense something in the air, the chilling breath of an icy disapproval.

“I wasn't making any spook jokes. What's her problem this time?”

“I'm not sure, but...but I don't think she likes you...umâkissing me.”

Mike's brows shot up in disbelief. “What business is it of hers?”

Still basking in the memory of Mike's warmth and tenderness, Sara wanted to know the same thing. She called out, “Mamie! You hurt Mike again. Why did you do that?”

Someone had to stop Mr. Casanova there and bring you to your senses.

Sara shivered at the sound of Mamie's voice, but it was obvious from Mike's expression that he had heard nothing.

With a halting embarrassment, she explained, “Mamie seems to feel we were getting too carried away.”

“Damn right we were.” Mike dragged his fingers through his hair in a gesture of angry frustration, wincing when he came to the bump on his head. “I don't know what the devil came over me. Sorry, angel. You seem to bring out the worst in me.”

“The worst?” Sara made a feeble effort to smile. “I rather hoped it was the best.”

Mike shook his head. “Give me a woman in a bedroom and apparently I can't be trusted. Good thing that Mamieâ” He stopped, flinging up his hands in disgust. “What am I talking about? There
is
no Mamie.”

Sara stared at him in dismay. After all of this, he couldn't possibly still deny Mamie's existence, could he? Any more than he could deny that what had just happened between him and Sara had been something strange and wonderful. Special.

But apparently he could, for he stalked away from Sara, muttering something about raging hormones. He went over to the shelf to examine it, looking for some logical explanation for the recent disturbance.

Sara's warm glow faded to become an ache of bitter disappointment. She became suddenly aware of her disheveled state, and shoved her dress straps back up on her shoulders, feeling mortified and ashamed.

Maybe Mike was right. Maybe she'd just imagined that there had been anything at all magic about the way they had kissed. Maybe it was nothing but hormones.

Then why did she still feel so shaken, tingling all over just like yesterday when he had kissed her, only stronger?

Just like yesterday.... A peculiar sensation stole over Sara and she clapped her hand to her mouth.

“Oh, no. Not again,” she murmured. Perhaps it was her eyes she needed to cover. She tried to avoid looking at Mike, but her gaze was drawn to him like a magnet.

In a blinding flash, she seemed able to see straight through the man's clothes again. Only it wasn't just his shirt this time. Everything was gone except his socks and a skimpy pair of black silk briefs. She envisioned clearly the taut calves, the lean, muscular thighs, the broad chest with its golden dusting of hair, trailing over the flat plane of his stomach to disappear into those scandalous briefs. Briefs that outlined far too well an interesting bulge.

“Oh...oh, my.” Sara gulped, her face on fire. “Youâyou haveâ”

“Have what?” Mike asked, glancing back at her with a puzzled frown.

“Youâyou have another scar. On your left thigh.”

Mike's hand clapped defensively over the exact spot, his frown becoming a full-blown scowl. “Damn it, Sara, don't you start that again. I've been weirded out enough for one day.”

“I can't help it,” Sara moaned. “I can see it so clear. You got this scar fromâ” She winced as an image of shattering glass, grinding metal filled her head.

“From an automobile accident. You were driving too fast.” Sara's eyes widened at the realization. “Michael! You stole a car.”

He squirmed. “Yeah, so what? I used to be a very bad boy. Too bad to live and not bad enough to die and... Hell, Sara! What are youâsome kind of a witch or something? How do you keep guessing all this stuff?”

She didn't bother to answer him. It would have done no good. He wouldn't believe her anyway.

“IâI sense a lot of pain,” she went on. “But it wasn't as bad as the time youâyouâ” She drifted toward him, her hand outstretched. “The time you hurt your shoulder.”

“Sara, don't,” Mike growled in warning, but her fingertips already came to rest on the area where she knew his scar to be. She shuddered as pain sluiced through herâsavage, sharp, burning. Mike's remembered pain. But instead of his shoulder, it felt as though the knife had been plunged, twisted in his heart.

Sara felt the color drain from her cheeks. “Myâmy God. Youâyou were only a boy when you were stabbed. Just twelve years old!”

“Stop it!” Mike shoved her hand roughly aside.

A jolt of fear rushed through her, not at Mike's rising anger, but at the new image forming in her mind.

“I see the man lurking in the shadows. Terrible, frightening, but I can't see his face unless he steps into the light. Heâ”

BOOK: Parker And The Gypsy

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