The biochemistry of a heavy burn was complicated and not well understood. For males, there was a lot of adrenaline and testosterone involved, so the sexual arousal was predictable. But the hungry, urgent restlessness had never been this bad in the past. It didn’t take a psychic to know why the sensation was so overwhelming tonight. It had a focus, and that focus was Abby.
He forced himself to go through the drill. He noted the location of the emergency exits and came up with two possible escape routes. His hand shook a little when he inserted the key card into the lock. If Abby noticed, she was too polite to say anything.
Inside the room, he secured the door and did a quick survey. No connecting doors, as promised. The sealed windows looked out over Sixth Avenue twelve floors below.
Satisfied, he unzipped the leather duffel and took out two small crystals.
“What are those?” Abby asked.
“Think of them as psychic trip wires. If anyone tries to come in through the door or the window, I’ll know about it.”
“More PEC technology?”
“Yes.”
“Do you always carry those gadgets and your gun in your overnight bag?”
“Yes.”
When he was satisfied that he had taken all possible precautions, he turned around and looked at Abby. She stood, contemplating the bed, arms folded. Something about her obvious uncertainty irritated him.
“What?” he asked.
She cleared her throat. “Nothing. I, uh, thought there would be two beds, that’s all.”
For some reason, the knowledge that she did not want to share the bed with him hit him harder than the damn flash-bang had. And then he got mad; not at Abby, at himself. That was another problem with the burn-and- crash routine. It pushed everything, including normal, logical thought processes, to the edge. It made for a real roller-coaster ride.
“Sorry.” He knew he sounded brusque, but that was a hell of a lot better than begging her to sleep with him. “This was all that was available in a room that had no connecting door. No problem. I’ll take the chair or the floor.”
“No, you certainly will not.” Her brows scrunched together in a severe look. “You need to sleep soundly. You can’t do that in a chair or on the floor.”
“Trust me, the way I’m going to go down tonight, I won’t notice where I sleep.”
“Forget it. Sorry I raised the issue. I’m a little tense. You’ve had a very deep burn. I thought that you would sleep better alone.”
“I’m not going into a coma.” He took his overnight kit, a fresh T–shirt and a clean pair of briefs out of the duffel bag. “I just need some sleep.” He headed toward the bathroom.
“By the way, what is PEC technology?” Abby asked.
“What?” It was hard to focus on her question. The urge to pull her into his arms and lose himself in her warm, soft body while the aftermath flames burned through him was growing stronger. What the hell was the matter with him? He had never been this close to the edge of control. Maybe Barrett’s psychic flash-bang gadget had a few side effects.
“PEC technology,” she repeated. “You and Gideon Barrett both used the term.”
He stood in the doorway, staring into the white tile bathroom. “Stands for psi-emitting crystals. The paranormal equivalent of light-emitting diodes and liquid crystal displays.”
“They’re similar to LEDs and LCDs?”
“Yes, but the energy generated comes from beyond the normal range on the spectrum and has different properties. It’s the kind of technology Coppersmith is working on in the Black Box lab.” He moved into the bathroom and plopped the overnight kit down on the counter. “Do you mind if we save the science lesson for tomorrow? I’m beat. Not really in a good place to explain the physics of para-rocks right now. I need a shower.”
“I was just curious.”
That did it. Now he felt like a total brute. He closed the bathroom door.
He emerged a short time later wearing the clean underwear and the trousers he’d had on earlier. Abby was waiting, still fully dressed. She had the hotel vanity kit in hand.
It dawned on him that she did not have a nightgown.
“I’ve got a spare T–shirt,” he said.
“Thank you.” She looked relieved. “I’ll take it.”
He took a clean black T–shirt out of the duffel without a word and handed it to her. She slipped past him and disappeared into the small room. The door closed firmly. He heard water running in the sink. It ran for a very long time. He realized she was probably doing a little hand laundry. In the morning, he would probably find a pair of panties hanging on the towel rack. The vision heated his blood a little more.
He considered his options and went for the padded reading chair in the corner near the window. The sight of the ottoman cheered him in some macabre way.
“Damn perfect,” he muttered. “Just doesn’t get any better than this, does it, Coppersmith? You’re in the middle of a burn. Abby is a few feet away, getting ready for bed, and you get to crash in a chair with an actual ottoman. You’ll be able to prop up your feet. Wow.”
The bathroom door opened a crack. “Sam, did you say something?”
“Just talking to myself.”
“I understand. I do that sometimes, too. Well, actually, I talk to Newton. Maybe you should get a dog.”
He realized that he was gritting his teeth. “I’ll definitely have to think about doing just that.”
The door closed.
He opened the minibar, chose two small bottles, the whiskey and the brandy. He yanked a pillow off the bed, turned off all the lights except the one by the bed and dropped into the chair. He propped his feet on the ottoman, twisted the top off one of the liquor bottles and swallowed some of the whiskey. He contemplated the closed door of the bathroom while he downed the medicinal alcohol. With luck, he would be unconscious by the time Abby came out.
The door opened quietly a few minutes later. Abby emerged wearing his T–shirt. It was much too big for her. The hem fell to her thighs. She looked sexy as hell in the shadows. An elemental thrill of possessiveness swept through him. He drank some more of the whiskey.
“Are you asleep?” she asked softly.
“Getting there.”
“I told you to take the bed.”
“I don’t follow orders well.”
“You don’t have to be grouchy about it,” she said. “I was just trying to make sure you’ll get the rest you need.”
“I’ll sleep fine right here.”
“Are you drinking something?”
“Yeah.” He opened the second bottle. “Helps take the edge off the afterburn buzz.”
“You got into the minibar?”
“Uh–huh.” He swallowed some of the brandy.
“I could use a glass of wine myself.”
“Help yourself. There are a couple of small bottles of wine in the bar.”
She crossed the room, opened the minibar and studied the assortment. Then she glanced at the printed card that detailed the prices of the items in the bar.
“Geez, look at the prices,” she said.
“Go for it.” He saluted her with the miniature whiskey bottle. “Live large. I’m paying for the room, remember?”
“Okay, thanks.”
She chose the little bottle of white wine, untwisted the cap and sat down on the edge of the bed.
They drank in silence for a while. He saw no reason to try to engage in conversation. It would only make things more complicated.
