The Touch

Jaymie Holland

***

Copyright © 2011

The Touch by Jaymie Holland

All rights reserved. No part of this e-Book may be
reproduced in whole or in part, scanned, photocopied, recorded,
distributed in any printed or electronic form, or reproduced in any
manner whatsoever, or by any information storage and retrieval
system now known or hereafter invented, without express written
permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations
embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places,
and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons
living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Published by Pink Zebra Publishing at Smashwords.

***

Taboo Series

Taking it Home

Losing Control

Alluring Stranger

Taboo Desires: 3 Tales of Lust and Passion

Paranormal Novels

The Touch

Come to Me

***

To D.J. You make life happen and
remind me that anything is possible.

***

Chandra Singleton shouldered her way through
the crowded street fair. As always, she was careful, very careful
not to touch anyone’s hands with her own.

Jeez, if she lived in Alaska, she could wear
gloves all the time. But she loved Tempe, regardless of how high
the heat climbed in the Arizona city. She just did her best and
dealt with the consequences when she had to, no matter how painful
or frightening they might be.

She shoved her fingers deeper into the
pockets of her khaki pants, keeping her hands as inaccessible as
possible with her backpack hitched over one shoulder.

Her sixth sense was the Touch. As far as the
highly secretive Paranormal Intelligence Agency, the PIA, was
concerned, the hidden gift—or a curse, she hadn’t yet made up her
mind on that one—had all but died out. Once the government had
discovered this
gift
, those who had the Touch no longer
enjoyed lives of their own. They became, for the most part,
unwilling tools of the political system.

If the PIA knew Chandra had inherited the
Touch, well, her life would never be the same. And it certainly
wouldn’t be her own. With her additional defensive arts talents,
she knew she would be even more valuable to the jerks who would
want her to spy and do God only knew what else. She was skilled in
fighting while just using her elbows, knees, feet, shoulders and
arms while avoiding contact with her hands.

Still, it happened. Sometimes she touched
people. And when she did, the results could be temporarily
crippling.

As she walked along one row of the Tempe Arts
Festival, Chandra brought one hand to her chest and fingered her
lucky penny that was cradled on one side by a Black Hills Gold
leaf, the rose gold a shade that was close to the bright copper
penny of her pendant. The charm hung around her neck from a
matching chain.

Her shoulder-length dark-brown hair lifted
from her shoulders in the slight breeze, and she blinked away the
sudden dryness of her eyes.

The air smelled of cinnamon, sandalwood, and
patchouli incense from the display she passed, along with the smell
of sweat from everyone packed together. The noise of so many people
talking at once was almost deafening and her head ached from
it.

The spring arts festival was always crowded,
but it was the best place to find unique gifts. With her mother’s
and her favorite cousin’s birthdays approaching, she couldn’t
resist searching for something new and fabulous for them.

Her gaze darted from vendor to vendor and her
fingers just itched to pick up a beautiful beaded blouse for
herself. And those sparkling chandelier earrings would look killer
with that blouse when she dressed to the nines.

Chandra slipped one of her hands out of her
pocket and reached for the earrings to get a better look at them.
Just as she started to run her finger over the crystals, another
woman grasped the earrings, her hand brushing Chandra’s.

Shock coursed Chandra and pain slammed inside
her head. Her knees buckled and she dropped hard to the asphalt,
landing on one knee and her palm, and she yelped with the
impact.

“Are you okay?” the blond, blue-eyed younger
woman asked as she extended her hand to Chandra.

“Fine.” Chandra tried to shake off the pain
and pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the woman’s outstretched
hand. Chandra stuffed her own hand back into her pocket and forced
a smile. “Just fine.”

Before the woman could say anything else,
Chandra turned away, pain still bouncing around in her head.

And visions. God, the visions. She saw the
young woman with a black eye. Screaming and crying as a man slapped
her so hard her head snapped to the side. She’d be in an abusive
relationship and soon.

But Chandra saw light and hope too. The woman
would seek help and escape her abuser, and she would eventually
meet a good man.

She clenched her hands into fists in her
pockets and ground her teeth.

The PIA named the ability when several women
were discovered to have the gift in the late sixties. Originally
PIA officials thought the phenomenon was a result of hallucinogenic
drugs the women had taken during the days when taking a hit of acid
was the norm for these women.

However, it was soon learned that the Touch
was passed genetically, from female to female.

In the late nineties, the last known woman
with this sixth sense vanished. The PIA was certain the woman had
been recruited or kidnapped by an enemy of the United States to use
her powers against the government.

Chandra knew at least this much, as her
mother had shaken the hand of one of the PIA agents who was testing
her, and she had learned much of the history of the Touch in just
that one handshake. She’d purposefully failed all the tests for the
gift so that she wouldn’t become a pawn of the government and had
made sure her daughters and granddaughters were protected.

Chandra turned her attention back to the
street fair. She wasn’t here to shop for herself. Her mother would
probably love a new hat—the woman had a collection to rival the
Queen of England. Her cousin would no doubt be thrilled with a
handcrafted gold bracelet.

How these artisans could create such
treasures, Chandra had no clue. She was a publicity agent for a
semiconductor company that handled government contracts and she
didn’t have a bit of artistic talent in her bones.

But she certainly appreciated good art, and
collected as much as her limited budget could afford. She was
frugal with her money, but there were some things she couldn’t
resist.

Like that!
She caught her breath as
her gaze lit upon an incredibly beautiful painting that was so
lifelike she felt as if she could reach out and touch the mountains
within it.

She pushed her way through the crowd until
she stood directly in front of the work of art, just inches from
it. The painting was probably twenty by thirty inches, just the
right size for her small townhouse.

The painting captured the beauty of an
Arizona sunrise perfectly. A wide range of cacti dotted the
landscape and in the distance crouched the majestic Superstition
Mountains of the East Valley in the Phoenix area. The sun peeked
over the mountain range and cast its pale light upon Four
Peaks.

She had to have it. There was no question. It
most certainly had been made just for her. Unfortunately she would
have to dip into the cash she had stashed away, but the painting
called to her like none other. It was almost like magic the way it
attracted her. She could imagine how perfect it would look in the
modest townhouse she shared with her cousin.

She slipped her hand out of her pocket to run
her finger lightly along the framed canvas.

A jolt shocked her so badly her knees almost
gave out again.

A vision bolted through her mind at the same
time jagged pain shot through her head.

The vision was intense and compelling, but
she’d never had one before from touching an inanimate object. She
saw herself reaching around and lifting a small, round microchip
from the back of the canvas. A chip like those her company
produced.

Chandra cut her gaze to the young man perched
on a stool within the booth while he worked on a canvas. Bright
colors of paint stained his gray T-shirt and blue jeans, and he had
a smudge of blue on his angular chin. The artist appeared to be so
focused that he didn’t know she was there.

Her heart pounded as she slipped her hand
from the front of the painting, deep into the corner she was seeing
in her vision. There was a small gap between the canvas and the
frame. Almost at once her fingertips touched something small,
smooth and round, attached to the backside of the canvas.

Unable to control herself, she lifted the
object. It stuck for a moment, then gave and plopped onto her hand.
She curled her fingers around the piece and eased her hand away
from the frame and into her pocket. It stuck to her palm and she
tried to flick it off.

From the time she touched the painting to the
moment she had the thing in her pocket, mere seconds had passed.
Blood rushed in her ears and her skin tingled at the thought of
anyone catching her doing something as dumb as stealing a
microchip.

Why had she taken the thing, she had no idea,
but her visions never lied. Was she destined to become a
kleptomaniac?

Chandra’s gaze shot to the artist again, and
his sky blue eyes met hers as he raised his head. Heat flushed her
cheeks as she forced a smile.

“Your work is amazing.” Chandra looked at the
painting she was in love with—and had just stolen a microchip
from—before returning her gaze to his. “I can’t get enough of
looking at it.”

“Thanks.” A quick grin lit up his handsome
face. “Anything in particular you’re looking for?”

“This painting,” she said softly.

She kept her hand in her pocket and finally
dislodged the small chip from her hand, but then it stuck to the
pad of her index finger. At the same moment she noticed the chip
was about the same size as her lucky penny with the leaf
embellishment.

Keeping her fingers curled, she raised her
hand to her neck and tried to keep the artist’s attention on the
painting as she spoke. “It’s so realistic.”

He turned away to set his palette and
paintbrush aside as he slid off his stool, and Chandra took that
moment to stick the chip to the back of her coin.

“Excuse me,” an incredibly deep voice said
from behind Chandra, startling her so bad a hot rush of fear shot
through her. Had someone caught her?

Strange, though, at the same time she felt
fear, a shiver raked her spine—but this was from awareness. She had
never heard a sexier voice. It caused something to zing straight
from her belly to that place between her thighs, despite the fact
she was afraid she’d just gotten caught doing something she’d never
done before.

When she glanced up, her mouth started to
water. The man was far from perfect-looking, but his well-cut
features and his intimidating build sent a thrill through her. Even
the scar over one of his eyes was sexy. He was much taller than her
so she had to glance up to see his dark eyes.

She couldn’t help but look him over to see if
the rest of him was just as hot. Beneath an unfastened black shirt,
he wore a tight black T-shirt that showed his broad shoulders,
muscled chest and trim waist. Powerful thighs were evident beneath
his snug faded jeans.

The man glanced down at Chandra, his eyes
taking her in from head to toe in a slow, sensual perusal that
caused her stomach to twist. He obviously hadn’t missed her
assessment of him and had enjoyed doing the same with her. His gaze
lingered on her breasts for a moment and she wanted to squirm.

After giving a slight incline of his head to
Chandra he turned to the artist and she breathed a huge sigh of
relief. He sure didn’t act like he had seen anything.

“I’d like to purchase this painting,” he was
saying as he gestured toward the easel.

Chandra was so mesmerized by his voice and
his powerful appearance, she almost didn’t catch that he was trying
to buy
her
painting.

The artist was coming toward them when
Chandra said, “That’s the painting I want to buy.”

The tall man behind her talked over her head
as if she hadn’t spoken. “How much?”

“Wait.” Chandra hitched her backpack higher
on her shoulder as she slipped her other hand out of her pocket.
She put both hands on her hips and straightened to her full five
foot nine inch frame. Still the man was a good six to seven inches
above her. “I was here first.”