Mind Over Matter: the classic story from the queen of romance that you won’t be able to put down

The crystal was cool and smooth in his hand as he studied her. “You don’t approve?”

A.J. merely shrugged her shoulders. “I wouldn’t if she took it seriously.”

“Have you ever tried this?” He indicated the Ouija board.

“No.”

It was a lie. He wasn’t sure why she told it, or why he was certain of it. “So you don’t believe in any of this.”

“I believe in Clarissa. The rest of this is just showmanship.”

Still, he was intrigued with it, intrigued with the fascination it held for people through the ages. “You’ve never been tempted to ask her to look in the crystal for you?”

“Clarissa doesn’t need the crystal, and she doesn’t tell the future.”

He glanced into the clear glass in his hand. “Odd, you’d think if she can do the other things she’s reported to be able to do, she could do that.”

“I didn’t say she couldn’t—I said she doesn’t.”

David looked up from the crystal again. “Explain.”

“Clarissa feels very strongly about destiny, and the tampering with it. She’s refused, even for outrageous fees, to predict.”

“But you’re saying she could.”

“I’m saying she chooses not to. Clarissa considers her gift a responsibility. Rather than misuse it in any way, she’d push it out of her life.”

“Push it out.” He set the crystal down. “Do you mean she—a psychic—could just refuse to be one. Just block out the…let’s say power, for lack of a better term. Just turn it off?”

Her fingers had dampened on the glass. A.J. casually switched it to her other hand. “To a large extent, yes. You have to be open to it. You’re a receptacle, a transmitter—the extent to which you receive or transmit depends on you.”

“You seem to know a great deal about it.”

He was sharp, she remembered abruptly. Very sharp. A.J. smiled deliberately and moved her shoulders again. “I know a great deal about Clarissa. If you spend any amount of time with her over the next couple of months, you’ll know quite a bit yourself.”

David walked to her. He watched her carefully as he took the wineglass from her and sipped himself. It was warm now and seemed more potent. “Why do I get the impression that you’re uncomfortable in this room. Or is it that you’re uncomfortable with me?”

“Your intuition’s missing the mark. If you’d like, Clarissa can give you a few exercises to sharpen it.”

“Your palms are damp.” He took her hand, then ran his fingers down to the wrist. “Your pulse is fast. I don’t need intuition to know that.”

It was important—vital—that she keep calm. She met his eyes levelly and hoped she managed to look amused. “That probably has more to do with the meat loaf.”

“The first time we met you had a very strong, very strange reaction to me.”

She hadn’t forgotten. It had given her a very restless night. “I explained—”

“I didn’t buy it,” he interrupted. “I still don’t. That might be because I found myself doing a lot of thinking about you.”

She’d taught herself to hold her ground. She’d had to. A.J. made one last attempt to do so now, though his eyes seemed much too quiet and intrusive, his voice too firm. She took her wineglass back from him and drained it. She learned it was a mistake, because she could taste him as well as the wine. “David, try to remember I’m not your type.” Her voice was cool and faintly cutting. If she’d thought about it a few seconds longer, she would have realized it was the wrong tactic.

“No, you’re not.” His hand cupped her nape, then slid up into her hair. “But what the hell.”

When he leaned closer, A.J. saw two clear-cut choices. She could struggle away and run for cover, or she could meet him with absolute indifference. Because the second choice seemed the stronger, she went with it. It was her next mistake.

He knew how to tempt a woman. How to coax. When his lips lowered to hers they barely touched, while his hand continued to stroke her neck and hair. A.J.’s grip on the wineglass tightened, but she didn’t move, not forward, not away. His lips skimmed hers again, with just the hint of his tongue. The breath she’d been holding shuddered out.

As her eyes began to close, as her bones began to soften, he moved away from her mouth to trace his lips over her jaw. Neither of them noticed when the wineglass slipped out of her hand to land on the carpet.

He’d been right about how close you had to get to be tempted by her scent. It was strong and dark and private, as though it came through her pores to hover on her skin. As he brought his lips back to hers, he realized it wasn’t something he’d forget. Nor was she.

This time her lips were parted, ready, willing. Still he moved slowly, more for his own sake now. This wasn’t the cool man-crusher he’d expected, but a warm, soft woman who could draw you in with vulnerability alone. He needed time to adjust, time to think. When he backed away he still hadn’t touched her, and had given her only the merest hint of a kiss. They were both shaken.

“Maybe the reaction wasn’t so strange after all, Aurora,” he murmured. “Not for either of us.”

Her body was on fire; it was icy; it was weak. She couldn’t allow her mind to follow suit. Drawing all her reserves of strength, A.J. straightened. “If we’re going to be doing business—”

“And we are.”

She let out a long, patient breath at the interruption. “Then you’d better understand the ground rules. I don’t sleep around, not with clients, not with associates.”

It pleased him. He wasn’t willing to ask himself why. “Narrows the field, doesn’t it?”

“That’s my business,” she shot back. “My personal life is entirely separate from my profession.”

“Hard to do in this town, but admirable. However…” He couldn’t resist reaching up to play with a stray strand of hair at her ear. “I didn’t ask you to sleep with me.”

She caught his hand by the wrist to push it away. It both surprised and pleased her to discover his pulse wasn’t any steadier than hers. “Forewarned, you won’t embarrass yourself by doing so and being rejected.”

“Do you think I would?” He brought his hand back up to stroke a finger down her cheek. “Embarrass myself.”

“Stop it.”

He shook his head and studied her face again. Attractive, yes. Not beautiful, hardly glamorous. Too cool, too stubborn. So why was he already imagining her naked and wrapped around him? “What is it between us?”

“Animosity.”

He grinned, abruptly and completely charming her. She could have murdered him for it. “Maybe part, but even that’s too strong for such a short association. A minute ago I was wondering what it would be like to make love with you. Believe it or not, I don’t do that with every woman I meet.”

Her palms were damp again. “Am I supposed to be flattered?”

“No. I just figure we’ll deal better together if we understand each other.”

The need to turn and run was desperate. Too desperate. A.J. held her ground. “Understand this. I represent Clarissa DeBasse. I’ll look out for her interests, her welfare. If you try to do anything detrimental to her professionally or personally, I’ll cut you off at the knees. Other than that, we really don’t have anything to worry about.”

“Time will tell.”

For the first time she took a step away from him. A.J. didn’t consider it a retreat as she walked over and put her hand on the light switch. “I have a breakfast meeting in the morning. Let’s get the contracts signed, Brady, so we can both do our jobs.”