Touch and Go

“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.”

“Right. Well, if I decide I need help with my light flickering telekinesis, you’re the first person I’ll call.” She let out a shaky breath. Her emotions—normally well under control—were all out of whack from meeting Patrick. She felt flustered and confused by her uncontrollable attraction to him. “Maybe we should just focus on the interview.”

“Sure.”

She bit her bottom lip. “You’re still holding my hand.”

“I am.” He looked down at it. “And you’re not pulling away.”

She wasn’t sure if it had anything to do with Patrick’s abilities, but a tingling sensation was sliding up her arm, moving further throughout her body the longer they remained touching. It felt really good. He was wrong about her—about the telekinetic thing, anyway—but she was so attracted to him she might consider letting the ridiculous subject slide.

The problem was, she was seeing someone. Joe was a great guy she’d met at the magazine a month ago. He worked in the layout area as a designer. They’d only been dating for two weeks, but there was no reason she’d simply break up with him because of a couple of minutes of intense hand-holding, sexual tension and empathic reading with the psychically seductive Patrick McKay.

He slid his index finger along one of the lines on her palm. Could be her life line, maybe her love line. She didn’t know.

Her breath caught. “Do you get this close with every woman whose fortune you read?”

“I don’t normally read fortunes.”

“So I’m special?”

He met her gaze and held it with a heated one of his own. His grip on her hand increased. “Carrie, you’re—”

There was a buzzing sound, and Patrick’s jaw tensed before he pulled his hand away from hers and fished into his inner jacket pocket for his a cell phone.

“Yes,” he said. “No, I won’t be long. Talk to you soon.”

He hung up.

“Let me guess,” she said, sliding her fingers around the rim of her wineglass. “It’s PARA wanting you to jet across the country to pick up a cursed garden gnome from somewhere.”

“That wouldn’t be completely unusual in my line of work, actually.” He put the phone away. “But, no, that was…my fiancée.”

“Oh.” That piece of news worked like a glass of cold water thrown directly in her face. She hadn’t seen a wedding ring, so she thought—

What had she thought? That something meaningful was going on between them? Stupid. This was only an interview and a glorified palm reading. Nothing more.

She shook her head and smiled at her own naiveté. “So let’s talk PARA.”

Patrick leaned back in his chair. “You’d be good there, you know.”

“Would I? Did you read that, too?”

He kept his hands on his side of the table, on either side of the place mat. It was easier to concentrate now that the thought of being totally skin to skin with Patrick McKay was no longer a possibility. And damn it, she felt disappointed about that. She couldn’t help it. A lot of things she wanted in life were positioned just out of her reach. Patrick was the most recent example.

“Yes, I read it. You’re meant to be an investigator—whether it’s journalism or something else. You’re analytical, you’re naturally curious, you’re levelheaded—well, most of the time.” He smiled.

She felt heat flood her cheeks again. “You make it sound like you know me.”

“I think I do.”

It was well past time that she gained full control over this conversation again. “Let me tell you one thing, Patrick. I am a good investigator, but I won’t ever be working at PARA. I’m a writer, not a psychic. And as far as I’m concerned, I’m done with this topic of conversation.”

The light above them flickered violently until it finally went out completely.

She looked up at it. “And I didn’t do that.”

“I think you’d best be careful of elevated emotions in the future. It makes the TK go a little crazy if you don’t have a firm grasp of it.” He reached into his pocket and produced a business card. “Here’s my number at the office. Whenever you need me, just call. I’d be glad to help you.”

She picked up the card and pointed it at him. “I won’t need it. Now let’s get back to these questions because I have to be somewhere else soon.”

“No you don’t.”

She hissed out a breath. “That is really annoying.”

He grinned. “Sorry. Okay, ask your questions, Carrie. I’m all yours.”

No, he wasn’t. But that was okay. She was only interested in the next hour. After that, she’d probably never see the gorgeous and engaged empath Patrick McKay again.

She had to admit that the thought was disappointing.

2

TWO YEARS SURE COULD change a lot of things—personally and professionally.

Carrie pulled her jacket tighter around her, ignoring the winter chill in the air and the snow falling around her. She stared up at the tall glass front doors of the Paranormal Assessment and Recovery Agency a moment before entering the building’s front lobby.

Well, here I am.

She’d kept Patrick McKay’s business card safely tucked away in her wallet all this time, taking it out every now and then to look at his name, title, phone number and email address. He’d somehow managed to frequently work his way into her hottest dreams after spending only one hour in her company. But dreams weren’t reality and she was more than aware of that.

Her normal life was just that—normal. She still wrote articles for the Mystic Medallion. The profile on Patrick had garnered rave reviews from readers who loved finding out more about all things supernatural. A year ago, she’d rented an apartment in New York to try her hand at big city living and bigger writing gigs.

It had gone well, or it was starting to when disaster struck and Patrick’s “read” on her proved only too true.

Six months ago, on Carrie’s twenty-ninth birthday, her telekinesis arrived in full force. Bam. Or, rather, splat. The cake her then-boyfriend had bought for her flew across the room and straight into his face when she learned from a friend that he’d cheated on her. Things had been crazy ever since. The control she’d valued since leaving home at eighteen and putting herself through college by working two jobs was gone.

Telekinesis was real. Forget about flickering lights in restaurants, she was now a full-out safety hazard. A jinx. A walking natural disaster.

That should be her byline—Carrie Stanfield: Natural Disaster.

She believed in psychics without question now. In fact, as she reflected back on her life, there’d been signs she was a telekinetic since she was a kid. Little things. Doors slamming shut when there wasn’t a breeze. A boy in Grade Six who’d picked on her losing his balance and falling headfirst into a swimming pool. The windshield of her father’s car cracking down the middle as he drove away, leaving her mom for another woman.

It was different now. Worse. Her emotions played a huge part with the crazy happenings. She knew she needed help mastering her new and unwanted abilities.

And she just happened to have the business card, tucked away safely in her wallet, of someone who’d promised to help. Someone who’d said she would make a great agent for PARA due to her journalism background and her natural curiosity.

Two weeks ago, she’d summoned enough courage to finally call Patrick to explain her situation. True to his word, he told her to immediately move back to Mystic Ridge and start work at PARA, where he’d personally help her master her telekinesis.

She was so grateful she’d nearly cried right then and there. She could investigate paranormal phenomena. Sure she could. And in return she’d get her life back under control. It sounded like a fair deal to her. An opportunity that sounded too good to be true.

Plus, she’d get to see Patrick again. The idea thrilled her more than she’d like to admit, even though she knew his fiancée of two years ago was probably his wife now.

I’ll lust after him at a safe distance, she thought.

Still, even solid in her knowledge that he was off the menu, she felt her heart thudding wildly as she waited for him in PARA’s lobby at promptly one o’clock this Monday afternoon. Today her new life would begin.

And then she saw him get out of the elevator at the far end of the lobby with a brunette woman. They begin walking toward her. He was just as she’d remembered—tall and lean, mid-thirties, with hair the color of dark golden sand and eyes the color of an emerald-green ocean. He wore a crisp white shirt that fit his top half perfectly and slate-gray pants that fit his bottom half perfectly.

Over the past two years she’d hoped that it was just her imagination that had made her remember this electric attraction to him. It wasn’t. She felt it now as keenly as she had the first time she’d seen him.

Two years, too many erotic dreams to count, and she knew she wanted Patrick McKay to make wild love to her.

The light above her head didn’t flicker this time. It shattered, raining tiny pieces of glass down just in front of where she stood on the ceramic tiled floor.

She winced. One look at Patrick was enough to spike her emotions enough for her telekinesis to create a minidisaster. Great second impression.

He stopped walking and looked up at the broken light, then down at her.

He raised an eyebrow. “That was definitely you this time, wasn’t it?”

She grimaced. “Guilty as charged.”

“Welcome to PARA, Carrie,” he said.

“Thanks. I’m—I can’t tell you how glad I am that you’ve agreed to work with me.”

“Mastering TK is a challenge, but I think you’ll be up to it if you’re willing to work hard.”

She glanced down at his left hand, surprised not to see a gold wedding ring there. Her eyes flicked back to his. “I’m a hard worker.”

“I’ve asked that you be temporarily assigned as my partner so I can work personally with you.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “That sounds good to me.”

Patrick then looked at the woman standing next to him. She was beautiful, with dark hair a shade lighter than Carrie’s and bright blue eyes. “This is Amanda LaGrange. She’ll be helping you get settled in and she’ll show you around. If you have any questions, Amanda’s the one to ask. I’m going to be away for the rest of the day, but we’ll touch base tomorrow. Our first assignment together will be an off-site assessment next week. I hope your passport’s up to date.”

An off-site assessment sounded interesting. “It is.”

Amanda stretched out her hand. “It’s great to meet you, Carrie.”

Carrie smiled and shook it. “You, too. And thanks again, Patrick. I’m going to sound like a babbling, enthusiastic newbie for a while, but the fact that you’d remember me after all this time really floors me. I appreciate it more than you know.”

She extended her hand toward him.

She waited.

And then waited some more.

His shoulders stiffened and he looked down at her hand. “Carrie, I…”

Amanda glanced at him for a moment. “Sorry, Carrie. Patrick doesn’t touch…uh…” She appeared to grapple for her words. “Patrick prefers not to have physical contact with anyone. Don’t take it personally.”

No physical contact? Carrie felt confused and embarrassed as she pulled her hand back and shoved it into the pocket of her winter jacket. This was the extreme opposite of the first time they’d met, when he’d taken her hand in his. Maybe he’d become a germaphobe in the last couple of years.

“It’s okay. I understand.” She didn’t, but she didn’t want him to feel awkward about it.

Patrick cleared his throat. “I can make an exception for my new partner, of course. Let’s try that again, shall we?”

He held his hand out to her, his expression tense.

Carrie glanced at Amanda, who watched them with a slight frown, before she took Patrick’s hand. He squeezed, but didn’t shake it. His skin was slightly rough and as warm as she remembered. It sent a shiver of awareness through her that made her breath catch. Nothing had changed. She still felt this strange sensual pull toward him that was much too strong to ignore. She wondered if he felt the same.

She shifted her attention from his hand to his handsome face and was startled to see his already tight expression had grown pained.

She tried to smile. “Hope you’re not reading something horrible about me this time.”

“No…nothing like that.” His voice sounded strained and he let go of her and took a shaky step backward. “That’s more than enough.” He said it under his breath, more to himself than to her, then gingerly touched his temples as if he had a headache.

She watched him cautiously. “Is something wrong?”