wholeheartedly agreed with.
Alone, she felt suddenly shy, unsure of herself. Part of her didn’t want to leave Michael alone, but the events of the evening had bewildered her and she needed to think. He patted the side of the bed.
“Will you join me?”
“What?”
“I have a few things to tell you but I want to be holding you when I do. Hell, I just want to hold you. Lisa, I know you’re confused, but you still know me. I’m Michael, the same person you’ve been working with for the last twelve months. I haven’t changed, just concealed a few things.”
“I’ll say.”
“Please, Lisa.”
“I-I don’t know.” She bit her lip and watched the gleam in his eyes intensify. “Am I going to like this?”
“No way of telling.” He moved in her mind, soothing and sweet. “Don’t you want to know?”
The best way to deal with fear was to confront it.
Lisa started to strip, knowing she wanted him holding her as much as he wanted to hold her. She wanted to feel him for herself, assure herself he was fine, no damage done. She couldn’t fool herself any longer. She’d wanted him for a long time now, and she had to give him a chance to explain all this.
When she got to her underwear, she stopped and flushed. “I wore the appropriate underwear for the outfit.”
His burning gaze gave her no doubt of his need for her. “I’ll say,” he managed, his voice hoarse. “Does that belong to you?”
She glanced down at the girdle, a white elastic concoction she privately considered an instrument of torture, and couldn’t see the attraction. “I have to roll this thing off. Don’t tell me you like it.”
He gave a short laugh. “I prefer what’s inside it.”
She got the girdle off a lot faster than she’d got it on, not bothering to undo the fasteners for the stockings, and dragged the whole lot off at once. Underneath, she wore the horrible conical bra and ordinary panties. She got rid of the bra, undoing the four hooks at the back, acutely aware of Michael’s eyes, avidly watching. “I wish I was wearing nicer underwear,” she murmured, more embarrassed in the stuff than out of it.
“I might ask you to wear it again.”
She couldn’t doubt his tone or his hungry look. “You like it?”
He licked his lips. “Oh, yeah.”
No longer in control of her faculties, she slid her panties down her legs and took the two steps to the bed to slip in beside him.
He held her as if she’d had the accident, not him. “God, I needed this! Lisa, sweetheart, I’m going to tell you the truth. All of it. Mr. Smith has agreed, and after I’ve told you, you can decide whether to retain the memories or lose them. You might decide you’re better off not knowing.”
She lifted her face and kissed his chin. He moved so their mouths met, but his kiss was soft and sweet, rather than passionate.
“I should have died tonight,” he murmured, his lips so close to hers she could feel them move. “But my colleagues arrived in time to save me. The older man you saw is Mr. Smith, who runs a division of the CIA. The other is a…a man called Basil Rostov.”
“CIA? You’re an agent?”
“No, only a consultant. But you already know some of the things I can do.”
She swallowed. “You can do more?”
“Some. It’s my heritage. The gifts seem to be a genetic trait in my family. My mother’s family, the Hungarian side. We’re part of The Company so we can support each other. There’s another organization calling themselves the anti-sensitives and they call people like me deviants. They think these gifts are unnatural, and a few years back they turned to violence. They’re killing us, just because of who we are.”
“That’s terrible!”
He hushed her with a gentle, breathy kiss, a bare touching of his lips to hers. “Yes, it is. The attack tonight, the second attack, was the anti-sensitives. Smith and Rostov are going to turn off the electricity to the pool and examine the light fixture, but Mr. Smith is
Alone, she felt suddenly shy, unsure of herself. Part of her didn’t want to leave Michael alone, but the events of the evening had bewildered her and she needed to think. He patted the side of the bed.
“Will you join me?”
“What?”
“I have a few things to tell you but I want to be holding you when I do. Hell, I just want to hold you. Lisa, I know you’re confused, but you still know me. I’m Michael, the same person you’ve been working with for the last twelve months. I haven’t changed, just concealed a few things.”
“I’ll say.”
“Please, Lisa.”
“I-I don’t know.” She bit her lip and watched the gleam in his eyes intensify. “Am I going to like this?”
“No way of telling.” He moved in her mind, soothing and sweet. “Don’t you want to know?”
The best way to deal with fear was to confront it.
Lisa started to strip, knowing she wanted him holding her as much as he wanted to hold her. She wanted to feel him for herself, assure herself he was fine, no damage done. She couldn’t fool herself any longer. She’d wanted him for a long time now, and she had to give him a chance to explain all this.
When she got to her underwear, she stopped and flushed. “I wore the appropriate underwear for the outfit.”
His burning gaze gave her no doubt of his need for her. “I’ll say,” he managed, his voice hoarse. “Does that belong to you?”
She glanced down at the girdle, a white elastic concoction she privately considered an instrument of torture, and couldn’t see the attraction. “I have to roll this thing off. Don’t tell me you like it.”
He gave a short laugh. “I prefer what’s inside it.”
She got the girdle off a lot faster than she’d got it on, not bothering to undo the fasteners for the stockings, and dragged the whole lot off at once. Underneath, she wore the horrible conical bra and ordinary panties. She got rid of the bra, undoing the four hooks at the back, acutely aware of Michael’s eyes, avidly watching. “I wish I was wearing nicer underwear,” she murmured, more embarrassed in the stuff than out of it.
“I might ask you to wear it again.”
She couldn’t doubt his tone or his hungry look. “You like it?”
He licked his lips. “Oh, yeah.”
No longer in control of her faculties, she slid her panties down her legs and took the two steps to the bed to slip in beside him.
He held her as if she’d had the accident, not him. “God, I needed this! Lisa, sweetheart, I’m going to tell you the truth. All of it. Mr. Smith has agreed, and after I’ve told you, you can decide whether to retain the memories or lose them. You might decide you’re better off not knowing.”
She lifted her face and kissed his chin. He moved so their mouths met, but his kiss was soft and sweet, rather than passionate.
“I should have died tonight,” he murmured, his lips so close to hers she could feel them move. “But my colleagues arrived in time to save me. The older man you saw is Mr. Smith, who runs a division of the CIA. The other is a…a man called Basil Rostov.”
“CIA? You’re an agent?”
“No, only a consultant. But you already know some of the things I can do.”
She swallowed. “You can do more?”
“Some. It’s my heritage. The gifts seem to be a genetic trait in my family. My mother’s family, the Hungarian side. We’re part of The Company so we can support each other. There’s another organization calling themselves the anti-sensitives and they call people like me deviants. They think these gifts are unnatural, and a few years back they turned to violence. They’re killing us, just because of who we are.”
“That’s terrible!”
He hushed her with a gentle, breathy kiss, a bare touching of his lips to hers. “Yes, it is. The attack tonight, the second attack, was the anti-sensitives. Smith and Rostov are going to turn off the electricity to the pool and examine the light fixture, but Mr. Smith is
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