Authors: Beyond Control
Underhill sat up straighter, looking interested. Obviously, the prospect of hacking into Crandall's computers excited him. "I'll get right on it."
"How long do you think it will take?"
"Don't know. I'll get back to you, man."
"Make sure they can't follow your trail back here."
"What do you think I am, an idiot?"
Underhill exited the room, and Dan stood up. Walking to the window, he looked toward the Capitol Building, admiring the view from his spacious office suite. The park-like ground had a majesty befitting the seat of government. But since 9/11 the landscape had been marred by concrete barriers, machine-gun-toting cops, and other antiterrorist measures. He didn't much like the world he was forced to live in now. Still, he'd stayed in the Senate and he was going to run for the presidency because defending democracy was worth the personal sacrifice.
Which was why he was digging into the Maple Creek flap.
He tightened his fists. That was it. Right?
An image flitted into his mind. An image of the Trinity twins. Saxon and Willow. He'd already gotten some money from people in their church. And more was coming. He wanted their support, and they had ...
The thought slipped away from him.
They had ... He tried to hold on to the picture that had formed in his head. But it wouldn't stay.
Suddenly he was desperate to remember something very important. Something he should do? Something he should be worried about?
But the image wouldn't come clear. Feeling frustrated, he turned his thoughts back to the Crandall Consortium and immediately felt less anxious. He had the feeling that Kurt MacArthur had gone too far this time. And he wanted to know what the bastard was up to.
* * *
When he stopped at a motel chain that featured suites, she looked at him questioningly.
"Can we afford a suite?"
"It's not expensive. Trust me." Stopping in a parking space across from the door, he said, "I'll go in, so we won't be seen together."
When he came back, the look on his face told her that he was enjoying some private joke. But he blocked it from her—and was careful not to touch her.
All she could pick up was sexual arousal. Nothing new about that.
"We have room three twenty-three," he said as he slid behind the wheel again. "You go up first. I'll park the car and meet you."
He held out the plastic card key.
When she reached for his hand instead, he pulled it back, and she knew that he'd put up the same kind of barrier he'd used before he stole the license plate—only he was getting better at it.
"What are you trying to hide from me?"
He glanced around, then tossed the key into her lap. "We'll talk about it later."
LINDSAY UNLOCKED THE door of room three twenty-three and found herself in a small living room.
The bedroom and bathroom were through another door to the right. Pretty spacious for two people who were sleeping in the same bed.
While she was inspecting the bedroom, Jordan set his bag down on the dresser.
"You're sure we can afford a suite?"
"It's the same price as a room in a lot of other motels. And I want to read over some of the notes from Leonard Hamilton—and do some Web research. Why don't you get some rest? I'll join you later."
The tone of his voice was casual, but she wasn't fooled. "What kind of research?" she asked.
"Let me see what I can find before we talk about it."
"Fine." Determined to give him some privacy, she turned and strode into the bathroom. After a nice hot shower, she dried her hair and changed into a clean T-shirt and panties.
She might have walked into the living room to see what he was doing. Instead, she climbed into bed.
As she stared at the shaft of light coming from the bathroom, she found herself listening for sounds from the living room. She could hear none. But she sensed Jordan's presence out there.
When the phone rang, she jumped—then snatched up the receiver. "Hello?"
The stern voice on the other end of the line said, "You shouldn't answer the phone when you're undercover."
It was Jordan.
"If I shouldn't answer, why did you call?" she snapped.
"I wanted to talk to you."
"You said we couldn't use your cell phone. So how are you calling me?"
"This hotel has two lines in each room. I did a room to room call—to the other line."
"Oh." She felt a tingle of alarm. Well, not exactly alarm. "What are you up to?"
"Strengthening our skills. This afternoon when we tried mind talking without touching, we couldn't always make the connection. I'd like to work on that. I'd like to see what we can do when we're not in the same room."
"Is that why you got a suite—instead of just a bedroom?" she demanded.
"Yes."
She licked her suddenly dry lips.
"What was the catalyst that opened us up to each other?" he asked in a silky voice.
"Touching."
"Not just touching. Arousal."
The word hung in the air between them. They weren't touching now. He'd put them into a position where they couldn't reach for each other. And suddenly she didn't have to be a mind reader to figure out where this conversation was going.
"I think I'm going to hang up," she finally said.
"Don't!"
"Why not?"
His voice turned grave. "Because communicating without talking may be the key to our survival. It's not just fun and games."
The reminder sent a shiver over her skin. Yet she didn't like being forced into a scenario that he'd obviously been contemplating for several hours. "Don't talk to me about danger—when the game is the payoff for you."
"Lindsay, I wasn't kidding. Our lives may depend on our being able to work together in ways that most people can't even imagine."
Her fist clenched around the receiver. And while she was trying to come to grips with what he'd just said, she heard him drag in a breath and let it out slowly. That breath was reassuring because it told her he wasn't as calm and reasonable as he sounded.
Before she could put up more objections, he began speaking again. "Extraordinary things happen when we touch. Let's see if we can make them happen without the actual physical contact."
"I'm ... too conventional for this ..."
"With me, you're very open, very giving. Very sexy. Let's imagine what would happen if I came in there.
We both know I'd start kissing you—touching you—taking off your clothes."
She understood his goal—turning her on without being in the room. And it was definitely working. His voice was like honey sliding over her skin.
He went on with the sweet seduction. "You switched off the light. I'd have to turn it back on so I could see your beautiful naked body. I'd take off my clothes, too, and lie down beside you. And we'd go on from there—kissing and touching until I'd made you as hot as I am now."
It was impossible not to react. Her nipples tightened. And moisture gathered between her legs.
Pausing to let the words sink in, he asked, "So am I making you hot by saying all that?"
"Damn you. You know you are."
"Good."
She should tell him she didn't approve of sex games like this. But the words stayed locked in her throat.
"Thanks for admitting it. I don't have any problem telling you I'm hard as a lead pipe. And we're not even in the same room."
"Because you're a man!"
He laughed softly. "Yes. A man who wants to make love to his woman."
"You could come in here right now and do that."
"And we wouldn't accomplish anything we haven't already experienced."
"I get the feeling you started thinking about. .. phone sex before we got to Delaware," she accused.
"Right. So let's see how much pleasure we can give each other—like this. And let's see if we stop needing the phone to communicate."
She turned her head toward the closed door to the living room. He was just on the other side of the wall.
"Where are you sitting?"
"I'm lying on the sofa, where I can get comfortable."
"Oh."
"Have you ever tried aural sex?" he asked, his voice silky, and she knew that he figured she wasn't going to back out now.
"No. Have you?"
"No. actually. I've lived a pretty sheltered life."
She laughed.
"You have a very sexy laugh."
"Do I?"
"Oh, yeah. I love that musical sound. But that's not the only thing I love about you."
The declaration warmed her. "I'm listening."
"I love getting hooked up with a woman who's my intellectual equal. A woman with a sense of purpose.
Who has courage—and integrity—and a great body."
"You always get back to the physical, don't you?"
"Because I want you," he answered in a rough voice.
"Does talking when we're not face to face unleash your inhibitions?" she heard herself asking.
"Of course. I don't have to deal with your disapproving look."
"What disapproving look?"
"We'll change it to a look of stupefied passion."
She laughed again. Jordan Walker was a serious man. It gave her a little thrill to unleash his playful side.
"I want to picture you. So tell me what you're wearing," he said suddenly.
"A T-shirt and panties."
"You didn't pack anything sexy? Even when you knew we were going to a cabin in the woods to make love?"
"I'm too practical."
"But aroused."
She swallowed. She could have denied it. It was a unique opportunity with him. If he couldn't touch her, he wouldn't know for sure. Except that he would—from the tremble in her voice and the rapid in and out of her breathing. "Yes," she admitted.
"So. Are your nipples standing up? If I were there in the bedroom with the light on, could I see them through your T-shirt?"
She looked down and saw the twin points outlined by the soft fabric.
"Lindsay?"
"Yes," she whispered.
"And it would feel good if I ran my hand over those hard tips."
"Yes."
"But I'm not there. So you'll have to do it for me."
"Jordan!"
"Are you embarrassed?"
"You know damn well I am."
"But you're hot, too. So take your hands and just touch yourself there. Do that for me."
"You could come in."
"That's a very tempting offer. But it won't prove anything. We know our minds will open to each other if I'm with you on the bed. Naked. Holding your body against mine. My cock hard against your middle."
She made a strangled sound. "Is that what you want to do?"
"You know I do."
This was crazy. She should stop. Instead she did as he asked.
"Ah, that's nice," he murmured.
"Did you feel me do that?"
"I felt the shadow of it. I think we need to be more turned on to bridge the mental gap."
"Jordan Walker, boy scientist."
"Man scientist," he corrected. "You're lying down, right?"
"Yes."
"Are your legs together? Or spread apart?"
"Together," she whispered.
"Because the pressure makes you hotter."
"Stop!"
"Open your legs for me."
"Why?"
"So I can picture you that way. Open for me. Welcoming me. Ready for me to ease my cock inside you."
She did as he asked and found that it made her even hotter to follow his directions.
God, that's good.
You felt it?
Oh, yeah. I felt that leap of heat inside you. He took a breath and let it out. "If I were in there with you, I'd run my hands up the insides of your legs, up your thighs, and find..." He stopped and she knew he was grinning. "There's no convenient word for that part of you, is there? I mean no nice word. What do you call it?"
Down there.
"Hum. That got through to me just fine without the telephone. But it's not much help. Not very romantic.
I'd like something more poetic."
"Like what?"
"What about your quiver?"
"Did you make that up?"
"Yeah, I did."
"Just now?"
"No."
"And you blocked that?"
"Well, I was thinking about it after I sent you off to get ready for bed. I was thinking about what I wanted to do with you. And the image came to me. Because when I touch you there, I feel you quiver for me."
She made a strangled sound.
"Do you hate the word?"
"We could do worse."
"A lot worse. I'd love to stroke your quiver. Dip my finger inside, then stroke up toward your clit. Right down the center of that hot, swollen valley."
The words were like a caress against that slick, aching place, robbing her of breath.
"Are you wet for me?"
This time, against all odds, she managed to get out one syllable. "Yes."
"Touch yourself there for me. I can't do it. I'm too far away."
"And you want to picture me doing that?"
"Yes."
'That's too much for me."
"But you're so hot. So needy."
Yes.
Let me touch you. It's me touching you. Only I can't do it in person. You have to help me out. I can feel the need building inside you. I can feel how hot and wet you are.
And she could feel the arousal of his body. That hard shaft, straining at the front of him. Such a foreign sensation to her, yet part of her now, too.
"Lindsay, I ache for you."
She liked the way he said it, as though he were having trouble catching his breath.
"I know." She gulped. "So if you can ask me to touch my breasts, and touch myself down there .. ."
Your quiver, you mean.
"So if you can give me directions, than I can do the same. I want you to touch your penis."
"Oh, yeah," he answered.
"Open your pants, if you haven't done that yet. Take your ... your cock out. Grasp the shaft. Stroke your hand up and down."
She closed her eyes, picturing him lying on the couch, his head thrown back against a cushion, his hand stroking his red, swollen penis. He was doing it now. She knew that as well as she knew the response of her own body. And she loved the sensation of fullness. Of male arousal.