At His Fingertips. Dawn Atkins

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      What the hell was she talking about? “Anyway, my brother Dale is a musician, and—”

      “I remember. He was in your band. Extent of something…”

      “Xtent of the Crime, yeah.”

      “Where are you playing now?”

      “We broke up years ago. Just a few days after that night, actually. But Dale still plays and—”

      “But you had that record deal. And I remember I saw in your palm that you would succeed.”

      Didn’t she know how stupid that sounded?

      “The L.A. thing didn’t work out.” They’d been scouted for a music video and three-album deal in L.A. In his gut, he’d known it was too easy, but when Lady E had read his palm—really, his wild hope—he’d been convinced to go for it. He’d been arrogant and ambitious, like every other twentysomething with a band.

      She’d meant no harm. He’d been young, hooked by her sureness, the fire in her eyes, and ignored what his head told him.

      “That’s a shame. You were so good.”

      He’d played one of his songs for her, he remembered, and she’d stared, those eyes going from his face to his fingers and back, enthralled. What an ego boost.

      “I grew up.” And thank God for that. His first job out of law school had allowed him to bail his parents out of the dot-com crash, where they’d lost most of their investments.

      “What do you do now?” Esmeralda asked.

      “I’m an attorney. I practice business law. I’m a sole proprietor with an associate. I mostly work with startups.”

      “That’s a long way from music. But there was lots of space between your heart and head lines, which means a strong commitment to fairness. And your lines were deep, I think, which means you’re practical and grounded, like an attorney needs to be. But your head line had a creativity curve and I don’t remember a split fate line. May I…?” She reached for his hand. “I have a great memory for palms.”

      Jesus. Palm reading had been fun at eighteen, but she was, what, thirty-five now? To his thirty-nine. “You’re still into that…psychic stuff?”

      “Of course.” She blinked at him. “I was just learning when we met. I made some mistakes.” Pain crossed her face again. “Maybe I was wrong when I read yours.” She leaned forward for his hand again.

      He withdrew it. “No big deal,” he said, not wanting to laugh at her. “I didn’t take it seriously.”

      “I do,” she said. “I take it very seriously. It’s my life’s work.”

      “You’re kidding.” The words were out before he could figure out something more diplomatic. “I mean, you’ve got Executive Director by your name. You don’t get a job like that reading crystal balls.” He smiled, hoping to hell he was right. Think of the harm she could do to any poor schmuck who took her guesses at face value.

      She’d been earnest when they’d met. Wide-eyed and full of hope. He’d been that way, too, really. Didn’t miss it one bit. Hated that sense of expectation, that vulnerability and the crash that followed. Better to nail down what you wanted, set reasonable goals, then work to get them.

      “The woman who started the foundation is one of my palmistry clients, and she asked me to apply for the job after the first director left.”

      “Really? Because you read her palms?”

      “Really,” she said, sounding insulted.

      He had to smooth it. “But you had to have relevant experience.” God, he hoped so, or his brother’s grant was gone in a wisp of fruit-scented smoke.

      “I have the credentials that matter to her.”

      “You mean a strong intuition, an understanding of human psychology, right? Personnel directors are like that.” Was she a complete nut case? Or was it the founder who was crazy?

      “It might interest you to know that there are scientific studies on palmar dermatoglyphics that have appeared in prominent professional journals.” Her voice had an angry edge. “They have verified the link between hand markings and behavior. I can give you Web links or printouts if you—”

      “I’m sorry. I got us off on the wrong foot. I came here to find out about a grant for my brother. I don’t mean to offend you.” Pissing off the CEO would not score a grant.

      She sighed. “You’re just not what I expected.” She caught herself, covered her mouth. “I mean, remembered. But here you are. And on our anniversary. So that’s that. We go from here.”

      “Where are we going?” He felt as though he’d fallen down some Alice in Wonderland rabbit hole.

      “Don’t you think it’s curious that we’re meeting again on exactly this day?” Maybe it wasn’t incense he smelled. Maybe she’d been smoking some fruit-flavored hallucinogen.

      “Small world, I guess.” He moved his shoulders uneasily.

      Her eyes found his with their strange piercing power, so he looked down, but there were her sloppy straps and her nipples.

      Ouch.

      “That was a magical night. Remember the meteor shower?”

      “Sure. I guess.”

      “And the fruit we ate? Strawberries and raspberries and, my favorite, star fruit.”

      “It tasted like pears?” That was how she’d tasted. Like pears and something sweet that was all her. Her lips had been soft and strong, and he’d been so hot for her he thought he would explode—

      “So, Mitch…?” She touched his hand.

      Electricity zoomed through him. Seventeen years had gone by, but the chemistry between them had not changed one bit. Screw the grant, screw her craziness, he thought, blood pounding through him. He wanted this woman. Right here, right now.

      2

      “WHY DON’T YOU TELL ME about your brother’s idea?” Esmeralda managed to ask, trying not to sound stunned. How could she help it, though? Doctor X had returned seventeen years later, almost to the day of when they’d met. The minute she recognized him, heat and light had poured through her from the soles of her feet to every last follicle on her scalp.

      Mitch seemed stunned, too. By her touch or something in her gaze. Maybe some latent psychic impulse? She could only hope.

      There was attraction, of course. It shivered in the air between them, like heat from an oven on broil, and made her forget his insulting hints that she was in over her head with the foundation.

      Could he be the one? He was from the past, all right, and they had unfinished business. He hadn’t called her when he’d returned from L.A. as he’d promised. But then her life had changed so terribly the next day that a hot musician from a star-mad night СКАЧАТЬ