Seized By Seduction. Brenda Jackson

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СКАЧАТЬ days. Then he stopped talking about her...or maybe Striker had stopped listening, since he was so wrapped up in Margo Connelly at the time. He was still wrapped up in Margo. “I hadn’t heard she was back in town.”

      Quasar took a swig of his beer. “She’s not. I ran into her in DC while doing that security gig at the Kennedy Center Friday night.”

      “And she remembered you?”

      Quasar’s lips twitched in a smile. “Let’s just say that we remembered each other.”

      Striker snorted. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

      “Just what I said. The sexual chemistry between us was still too strong.”

      Striker rolled his eyes. “I bet more on your end than hers.”

      Quasar lifted a brow. “Why do you think that?”

      Striker grinned as he took a swig of his own beer. “Damn, Quasar, she’s a psychic. Helping the police rescue me and Margo made a real believer out of me about her paranormal abilities. So there’s no reason for me to believe she doesn’t know what’s on your mind. Every damn horny detail.”

      Quasar’s frowned. “For your information, Mr. Know-It-All, her psychic abilities have nothing to do with me. She says that she has a mental block where I’m concerned.”

      Striker had been dousing his pizza with more parmesan cheese when he shifted his attention back to Quasar. “She says? Mental block? WTF? Did the two of you engage in conversation?”

      Quasar shrugged. “I guess so.”

      Striker frowned. “Stop being a smart-ass and answer the question. Did you and Dr. Fuller converse?”

      Quasar couldn’t help shooting Striker an amused look. Ever since he’d hooked up with Margo Connelly, Striker was getting way too serious. “Yes, we talked. In fact, we did more than that. We spent the entire day together on Saturday.”

      Quasar had Striker’s full attention. “How did you manage that?”

      Quasar saw no point in telling Striker every single detail of what happened, so he decided to give him a shortened version. “I asked her to breakfast, and we decided to make a day of it.”

      “Day? Not night?”

      Quasar rolled his eyes. “We spent only the day together, Striker.”

      After taking another bite of his pizza, Striker asked, “Whose idea was it...for the two of you to spend any time together?”

      “What difference does it make?”

      “None, I guess. I merely asked out of curiosity.”

      “Okay, it was my idea,” Quasar admitted.

      “Hmm.”

      Quasar’s lips tightened. “What’s the hmm for?”

      “No reason.” Then Striker asked, “And you really believe she has a mental block where you’re concerned?”

      “Yes. She said that she did.”

      Striker shook his head. “She was probably pulling your leg, man. I doubt psychics can turn on and off their telepathic abilities that way.”

      Quasar shrugged. “I’m just stating what she told me, and I have no reason not to believe her.”

      A slow grin curved Striker’s lips. “Just as well. Good thing she had no idea what you were thinking while you were with her. Those horny details I mentioned earlier.”

      He wouldn’t admit it, but Striker was probably right. Most of the time he was thinking of her in his bed. “Whatever.”

      “Aren’t you the least bit curious why you aren’t on her telepathy sensor? What makes you so special?”

      “It’s not that I’m special, Striker,” Quasar said, trying not to get annoyed. “From the way she explained things to me, her psychic powers are meant to help others more than to help her.”

      Striker’s smile faded. “Are you saying that she foresees danger for others but not for herself?”

      Quasar frowned thoughtfully. He hadn’t looked at it that way. Leave it to Striker to analyze every damn thing and come up with possibilities Quasar didn’t want to think about. The mere thought that Randi could be vulnerable to the crazies out there was unsettling. “I guess so. Hell, I don’t know. All I know is what she told me.”

      “And like I said, she was probably pulling your leg about what she could and could not do.”

      Quasar honestly didn’t think that she was. “She didn’t know I was an ex-con.”

      Striker lifted a brow. “Are you sure of that?”

      “Pretty much.” Quasar bit into his own pizza.

      “Did she ask you any questions about the time you were locked up?”

      “No,” Quasar said, picking up his mug to wash down the pizza with beer.

      “Then consider yourself lucky. When I told Margo about me being an ex-con, she didn’t give me a minute’s rest. She wanted to know every single detail.” Shaking his head, Striker then downed the rest of his beer.

      Quasar eyed his friend over the rim of his beer mug. “You love Margo, don’t you?”

      Striker scowled over at him. “Why are you asking me that? Damn right I love her. I told you and Stonewall I did. Hell, you two were the first people I told...after telling Margo, of course.”

      “That was almost three months ago. Nothing has changed?”

      Striker burst out laughing. “Shit, Quasar, falling in love doesn’t work that way. It’s a lifetime commitment. It took me forever to find a woman I’d want to spend the rest of my life with, and I can’t imagine that being any woman other than Margo. She totally has my heart.”

      Quasar didn’t say anything. Striker was the last person he’d thought would admit such a thing. But then, Quasar liked Margo, and he knew that she might have Striker’s heart, but Striker had hers, as well. He’d seen how they interacted. It was easy to tell they cared deeply for each other.

      “Don’t worry. Your time is coming, Quasar.”

      Quasar lifted a brow. “How you figure that?”

      A smile touched Striker’s lips. “Not sure. I just do.”

      Quasar didn’t like that prediction. He leaned over the table, got almost nose to nose with Striker and looked him dead in the eyes. “What are you now? Some damn psychic?” he asked angrily. Any other man with a lick of sense would have thought twice before getting in Striker’s face. He was just as tall as Quasar—in fact, maybe a few inches taller—and was a total badass who worked out a lot, rode his motorcycle like a bat out of hell and spent a lot of time at the gun range, perfecting his aim.

      Instead СКАЧАТЬ