“You can read my mind.” He’d spent his childhood listening to Dad tell tales of magical happenings in Ireland. Con could almost accept paranormal events there. Ireland had a reputation for fairies, banshees, and haunted castles. But Galveston, Texas?
He had a choice. Either accept what was right in his face or run screaming from the room. Since he was pretty sure he wasn’t crazy, Con had to believe Deimos was being straight with him. “I can take care of my own sex life. Why does Sparkle care about us anyway?”
“She specializes in creating sexual chaos by bringing together people who don’t much like each other. She gets off on emotional turmoil. I have special talents in this area, so Sparkle is mentoring me.” Deimos stood and moved closer to Jessica.
Con had real doubts about Deimos’s talent level. “I don’t get it. I like Mandy.” His body affirmed he did indeed like her.
Deimos glared at him before edging even nearer to Jessica. “My talent level’s top-notch. But this isn’t about me. It’s about you hanging on to your mad because she went off and got a life of her own. Get over it, Maguire. Have sex with her. You know that’s what you want to do.” He narrowed his eyes to sneaky slits. “Either the earth will move, or it won’t. What’s to lose?”
Anger pushed away Con’s fear. Deimos must’ve been reading his mind since the first time they met. “Stay out of my mind.”
“Or else you’ll do what?” Deimos oozed obnoxious self-confidence.
Con thought about Sparkle. She’d deliver some serious butt kicking. “I’ll tell Sparkle you can’t even stay in the room to make sure the job’s done right.”
Deimos hissed at him. “Okay, okay, I’ll stay out. But you might need me soon.” He was so close to Jessica now that his nose was almost touching a leaf.
“Don’t hold your breath.” Con wanted the cat gone so he could pull himself together before Mandy came back. If she came back.
“Hey, don’t insult the cat with inside info. Remember, I’m the only one who can read your woman’s mind for you.” Deimos touched one of the plant’s leaves with his tongue. “Turns me on like catnip. Jessica’s one hot babe. Think I have a chance?”
“Get. Out. Of. Here.” He wondered how ticked Sparkle would be if he laid some serious damage on her precious apprentice.
“Sure. Sure. Let me know what happens tonight so I can pass it on to Sparkle and make believe it was a live report.” Scrambling from the bed, Deimos fled the room.
Con drew in a deep calming breath. He had to push what had just happened to the back of his mind until he could deal with it. But Deimos had a point. Con had never expected Mandy to come back to Galveston, and when she did, his first impulse was anger. Why the anger? Who knew? But when had anger kept him from wanting Amanda Harcourt? Never.
Con stopped thinking as Mandy returned to the room. She had Sweetie Pie in her hand. Walking around his bed, she set Sweetie Pie next to Jessica. “I figure a few days with you will give new meaning to her life.”
“We could give new meaning to her life a lot faster than that.” Con was through being subtle. He wanted to lay her down on his bed, slide his fingers though her hair, and cover her mouth with his while her body came alive beneath him. He’d touch every warm secret spot on her body with his mouth, and then bury himself in her, creating a new memory to take the place of the one from ten years ago.
She saw the intent in his eyes, and the part of her that had worked damn hard for ten years to earn her BA in mature decisions demanded she leave. Now.
He unwound from his cross-legged position and then swung his feet to the floor. His towel slipped a little lower on his hips.
Her mature self pointed out that taking pleasure with Conleth Maguire would be a really poor business decision. If he thought he could override her color choices now, what would happen once they made love? She’d end up with purple walls with neon orange smiley faces on them.
Con stood and walked toward her, each stride focusing her attention on the towel’s precarious position. Each stride showcasing the beauty of powerful muscles beneath smooth, supple skin.
Her mature self, still calm and firmly in control, assured her she’d walked away from men with beautiful bodies before. Beautiful bodies didn’t mean a thing if there was a troll inside.
He stopped in front of her. Six feet plus of power, muscle, and the mysterious ability to roll back time. She expected to be Zit Central at any moment.
They should talk. Ten years ago they’d made spectacular love on that beach. But when it was over, it was over. That was at the root of her anxiety now. If it was all about sex, she didn’t want any part of it. Been there, done that ten years ago. Fine, so she wanted something deeper, more meaningful, right? Well, no. Deeper and more meaningful might tempt her to stay in Galveston. What did she want? That depended on which body system was answering. Right now there was a catfight heating up between her brain and the sluts in her basement.
“We should talk.” Her mature self applauded.
Leaning down, he touched her throat with his mouth. Her heart beat hard and fast beneath his lips. He smelled like Irish Spring and toothpaste. Her list was growing. Paint, Irish Spring, and toothpaste smelled sexy.
“No.” The warmth of the one word against her skin brought a shuddering response that surprised her.
“Why not?” She knew why not, but the question gave her a moment
