Power of the Mind (Shadowy Solutions Book 2), page 19
Recognizing my indecision, Tallus guided my free hand to his hip, offering a slight nod of assurance. I told myself not to cling too tightly, not to lose control and hurt him. I knew what to do with the other hand.
I ended up so lost inside my head, focused on the functional process of getting us from point A to point B without making a mistake, that when Tallus was ready to proceed, I missed the cues.
Before I knew it, he knocked my hand away with a growl. In a panic—because I thought I’d done something wrong—I removed both hands from his body, holding them up in defense.
It was on the tip of my tongue to apologize when Tallus took hold of me and lowered himself onto my cock. Static filled my brain, and noises of our combined pleasure filled the room.
“Jesus fucking… gah…” I growled.
“I know.” Tallus panted. “Goddamn, Guns.”
Tallus moved like a dancer. Hands planted on my chest, he gyrated, grinding, rising, and falling with perfect rhythm. All I could do was watch. I was along for the ride, and ride me he did.
Fuck he was gorgeous.
Tallus was not afraid to express himself. He openly moaned, vocalizing his pleasure, saying my name over and over. He engulfed me with bedroom eyes from behind dark-framed glasses.
He was everything.
I hadn’t cried since I was eight years old, but I wanted to cry right then and there. Because the moment wouldn’t last. It was fleeting. Stolen. It wasn’t mine to have.
As much as I knew I couldn’t hold on to whatever this was, as much as I knew it wouldn’t last forever, I didn’t want Tallus to walk away. I didn’t want him to see me or this exchange in a negative light.
Exploring his body with my eyes was not enough. I needed to connect with him somehow. Bridge the gap. Do something.
Carefully, cautiously, I brushed my fingers over his hands where they were secured to my pecs, silently asking a question. He understood and weaved our fingers together, letting me hold him up as he moved on me, building the pleasure.
Panting, increasing his effort, he brought my hands above my head and pinned them down. His mouth hovered near mine as he continued fucking himself on my cock. Every exhale glanced my lips. I was on fire, burning, on the verge of full incineration.
When the ending was in sight, Tallus joined our mouths. The kiss was a good hard shove across the finish line, and for a second, I let myself lose control, thrusting up into his body, riding the wave of pleasure as it rolled through me. Muscles straining, I squeezed his hands, desperately holding on to hope, wishes, and dreams come true.
***
Tallus fell asleep in my bed when it was over. I didn’t stick around. Couldn’t. My head was a roar of noise, and I needed to move. No amount of self-talk could convince me to sleep beside him. I was unraveling at the speed of light and needed space. Besides, I had too much to process. The night had ended upside down and inside out. I’d planned in my head for every contingency but this one.
I left Tallus money for an Uber, knowing he worked in the morning and didn’t have his car, then I grabbed my keys and took off. I desperately needed a smoke and a long, long fucking drive to clear my head and figure out what the hell I was going to do from here.
18
Tallus
“Stop looking at me like that, Kitty.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes. You. Do. I can feel your creepy gaze crawling up my neck like tiny spiders. It’s making me shiver. Do your puzzles, woman, and leave me alone.”
“Mm-hmm.”
The clairvoyant witch had been giving me the stink eye since she’d walked in the door thirty minutes ago. Her spidey senses must have gone haywire the second she saw my fret face. Even though I hadn’t spoken a word about what had transpired between Diem and me the previous night—it was not something I could share with my eighty-something-year-old coworker—she somehow knew the poor, tormented man was in the wind and wasn’t answering my calls or texts.
I’d woken up to an empty bed and had been second-guessing my life choices ever since. The previous night had been a clusterfuck of… I don’t know what.
Kitty must have sensed a shift in the atmosphere or read the truth in the stars or… fuck, I didn’t know how, but the woman’s awareness of all things was unnatural and a little spooky. I mean, how much did she see? Did she have X-ray vision? Had she watched Diem and I have sex? Oh, god, maybe she had. Eww.
My neck hairs prickled, and I snapped my attention to Kitty, who was staring again with that all-knowing look in her eyes. “Stop it.” I threw a pencil at her because I had no shame.
Kitty tsked, sighed heavily, and returned to her puzzle book.
“Witch,” I whispered under my breath.
It would be nice if I could get some work done and not have her mind-melding me or whatever she did to people. Ugh, I needed a latte so badly it hurt. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake the fuzzies from my brain. My lack of sleep was catching up with me.
Our late-night stakeout at the slimy doctor’s was one thing, but Diem had unraveled right before my eyes, and I had been unable to walk away. Not when he was sharing for the first time ever. If I’d gotten two hours of sleep, that would be generous.
Forty-seven minutes until lunch, and I could skip out and grab some caffeine.
Forty-six.
Forty-five.
The blasted woman was looking again. I could feel it. “Kitty,” I warned.
“Help me with this one. Two words, sixteen letters. An uncomfortable, unwanted, or uneasy feeling that arises as a result of one’s actions.” She paused, then added, “Starts with a G.”
I slapped the counter and spun from the computer where I’d been trying to work. “I do not have a guilty conscience.”
“Tallus, love, you’re wearing your shame like a dirty shirt. I can smell it from here.”
“My shirt is not covered in shame. It’s clean. I took it fresh from my closet this morning.” I dramatically sniffed to prove it. “Downy fresh.”
“Shame.”
I growled and spun back to the computer. “They should have burned you at the stake in the 1600s.”
Kitty cackled. “Oh, sweetie. You’re starting to sound like him now too. All that growling. What did you do? You clearly upset the boy. I told you to tread carefully, but you didn’t listen. You’re dynamic and verbose, Tallus. Those are lovely qualities in a person, but they can overwhelm softhearted people like my cuddle bear. If you want a relationship with him—and don’t tell me you don’t—he needs a quiet, undemanding, unthreatening conversation where he has time to express himself properly. He does not need to be manipulated into something he isn’t ready for.”
“I’m not manipulating him, and believe me, we tried the conversation thing. Look where it got me. Wearing my stinky shame shirt.”
“You put him in an overwhelming situation.”
I blinked at the ceiling, praying for strength while processing my savant coworker’s words. How did the woman walk into the office and somehow know everything within five seconds? Was there a cosmic interference I was unaware of? Were their aliens sending out signals on the airwaves and Kitty was receiving them in exchange for eternal life?
“I know what I’m talking about, Tallus. Diem needs gentle handling. He likes you. I can tell. Baby steps. Don’t smother him.”
I removed my glasses and pinched the bridge of my nose, fighting exhaustion. “Kitty. My dear, sweet, immortal, prophetic Kitty. I had a late, late night, and I’m super-duper tired. Can we please play witch doctor later? I don’t want to discuss whatever you think you know—which is creepy accurate and disturbing on so many levels. Besides, Diem’s not ready for more conversation. He talked his fill last night. My guess is he met his word quota for this lifetime, and I won’t hear from him again. Ever. Trust me, listening to him finally speak was amazing and utterly painful at the same time. I tried to help. I didn’t want to hurt him more. If I failed, it was not on purpose.”
“He’s ready to talk again.”
I huffed a humorless laugh. “No. He’s not. You’re wrong. I’ve texted and called him a thousand times this morning because I’m the world’s most annoying asshole and hate being ignored, and guess what? He won’t answer.”
“He’s ready.”
Again, I spun to face my far too smug coworker. “And how do you know this? How, witch? How? In fact, how do you know any of this? I have told you nothing. Zip. Zilch. Nothing. You waltz in here and somehow have the gist of my entire night all figured out. Right down to the letter. I’m afraid to ask for details because you might give them to me.”
Kitty smirked, and I broke out in a panicked sweat.
“You scare me. Seriously. What am I thinking right now?” I narrowed my eyes and tried to block all thoughts from my mind, except a yawn hit me unexpectedly, and I couldn’t stifle it.
“You want a latte.”
“That’s not fair.” Growling again, I pointed a finger in her face. “But you’re spot on.”
Her face softened. “Sweetheart, Diem’s been sitting outside the building on the hood of his Jeep since this morning. He’s chain-smoking cigarettes even though he quit months ago. That’s how I know he’s been taken to his limits. And there’s only one reason he’d be camped out at headquarters.” She hitched her chin. “Because of you.”
Her words took a minute to sink in. I was on my feet in a flash, aiming for the door. “I’m taking an early lunch.”
“Don’t rush. I’ve got a handle on this place. Been here since the 1800s.”
“It was a joke,” I yelled as I flew out the door. “But I’m buying you a pointy hat for Christmas.”
***
I found Diem exactly as my nefarious coworker had described, sitting on the hood of his Jeep, smoking, a faraway look in his eyes. It was easily thirty-four degrees, and a wall of heat hit me in the face the second I exited the building. A haze of sunlight filtered through the thick city smog and reflected blindingly off every metal surface, making me squint.
Diem wore rugged jeans and a snug, plain black tee. Heels of his boots hooked on the front bumper, legs splayed, elbows on his knees, and with his head bowed, Diem stared at the ground with a cigarette, burned to nearly the filter, dangling between his fingers. He was misery personified.
Stupid clairvoyant Kitty was right. I had upset the boy. I may have trodden carefully, but not carefully enough. I’d pushed Diem beyond his limits, and he was paying the price for my selfish ignorance.
Approaching the troubled man, I stuffed my hands in the pockets of my cotton pants, aiming to appear less threatening. I stopped a few feet away, but he didn’t notice, so I cleared my throat to grab his attention.
Diem glanced up, face pale, eyes rimmed red, and the sclera threaded with tiny bloodshot veins. I got the sense Diem was not a man who ever cried. Heavy emotions would render anger, not tears. His eyelids were not puffy, but they were the eyes of someone who hadn’t slept all night.
The man was a wreck.
I motioned to the cigarette. “I guess I’m bad for your health, huh.”
He flashed his attention to the burning stick and flicked the butt away before brushing his hand over his pants like he’d gotten something unpleasant on his fingers. Diem sat straighter. He opened his mouth a few times, but no words came out.
I closed the distance and patted the spot beside him. “Mind if I join you?”
He grunted and shuffled over several inches. I took the hint and gave him plenty of space. No touching. We sat for a long time in silence. The late August sun baked us. Traffic zipped by in both directions. Exhaust filled the air. Horns honked. Pedestrians raced along the sidewalk with their food-truck hot dogs and takeout coffees, and men and women, young and old, ventured in and out of the headquarters building, ready to file one complaint or another.
Tension rolled off Diem in waves. His fists were balled so tight his knuckles were white. Twice, he reached for the pack of cigarettes he’d placed on the hood beside him, but he didn’t take one out.
From what I knew of the man, he would harbor plenty of self-loathing for caving to his cravings when under stress. At the moment, he seemed to be doing all he could to simply exist and stay in control.
Fuck, I hated myself. I’d done this. After his confession, I’d thought I was doing a good thing. Showing him he was wrong. Showing him I wasn’t afraid of his history. Showing him he was a good man who deserved good things.
But I’d failed.
After an extended silence, I tried to figure out the best way to break the ice without completely disregarding the previous night and pretending it never happened. At the same time, I didn’t want to shine a light on it and ask if Diem wanted to discuss his feelings. Of course he didn’t.
“I’d kill for a latte,” I said into the faux silence of the city.
Diem shifted. I felt his gaze but continued staring at the busy street. “How long do you have?” he asked, his voice a quiet mumble.
“However long I need. Kitty’s got things covered, and if I don’t… come back with good news, she might cast a spell on me or something.”
Without another word, Diem hopped down, dug keys from his pants pocket, and grunted. Get in, the noise said. I didn’t tease him. I got in. Diem drove a few blocks to a café and parked in the crowded lot. The lunch rush had hit the city. In silent agreement, we got out and went inside. We took an available booth near the window, ordered food—and a latte for me, Diem preferred his Dr Pepper—and ate lunch together.
No words were exchanged except to relay our needs to the server. Over a half hour, Diem’s anxiety decreased. His muscles let go. His shoulders came down from his ears. His jaw relaxed. He stared surreptitiously for long periods of time while we ate—although I made sure not to meet his eyes or draw attention to it. I sensed he was still processing.
When lunch was over, Diem picked up the tab. Before he could stand or walk away, I reached for his hand, holding it lightly. He stilled and stared at the connection. He didn’t pull away. He didn’t startle at the contact. His breathing slowed, his entire body on alert. It was like his anxiety was waiting around the corner, wondering if it needed to come back. Is that what I did to him?
“For the record, Guns. This doesn’t count as a date. You need to ask me out properly if you want that to happen. And when it does, I want to go somewhere where they serve steak and a decent bottle of wine. Preferably when I don’t have to race back to work when I’m done.”
Diem seemed to consider my words and gave an almost indiscernible nod.
I let go of his hand, and we returned to the Jeep. He drove us back to headquarters and parked on the street. Before I got out, he said, “Your case.”
“We can drop it. I know it’s stupid.”
“We’re breaking into Hilty’s office tonight. We need to find out what those files are about.”
I sighed and remembered what Kitty said about manipulation. “This whole thing is nonsense, D. I think, subconsciously, I wanted an excuse to hang out with you.”
He remained quiet for several seconds before saying, “It’s not nonsense. I have a bad feeling I can’t shake. I want to see those files.”
“Really?”
Another grunt and nod.
“Okay. Tonight?”
“Meet me at the office when you get off work.”
I agreed and closed the door. Diem drove down the street, and I stood on the sidewalk for a long time, wondering if we’d ever find a proper connection or if my bold personality and kindly-meant pressure would continuously push him away.
***
Shortly past sundown, Diem pulled the Jeep into the shared parking lot belonging to the pharmacy and shawarma restaurant across the street from Dr. Hilty’s office building. The drugstore closed at nine. The street-facing windows were dark, and steel safety grates were pulled down for the night. The shawarma restaurant was open for another hour, but its street-facing windows showed a distinct lack of diners. We were long past the dinner hour, and business was not booming for the quaint family-owned establishment.
Since we were planning to partake in a touch of illegal B&E—I should not have been as excited about this as I was—Diem had wanted to wait for the cloak of darkness. He parked beside a green dumpster and aimed the nose of the Jeep so it faced the two-story strip mall across the street, then he killed the engine.
The bookstore beside Hilty’s office was closed, and the supplements store on the other side displayed dark windows. Someone had forgotten to turn off the lit-up sign in the window that announced We Deliver.
Diem, dressed in black jeans, a black shirt, and a black beanie, pulled on a pair of black gloves as he scanned the street in both directions. I was less prepared since I’d come from the office. He should have suggested I run home and change.
I’d shown up at Diem’s at six, and the man hadn’t been any chattier than earlier in the day. Few words had passed between us, and he’d gone out of his way to avoid eye contact, grunting and grumbling as much, if not more than usual. In the past three hours, Diem had managed an accumulated ten words. We’ll leave at nine, and There’s leftover Chinese in the fridge.
Honestly, it was nice to simply exist in the same room and not worry that he was struggling alone. Maybe he appreciated the company too. I couldn’t tell. He’d taken a handful of breaks to sneak outside and smoke. Each time, he seemed ashamed.
Now, as Diem scanned and surveyed the street, I thought it prudent to break the silence and get a rundown of exactly how we were going to make this happen. “What’s the game plan?”
“Stay here. Keep watch. Text if there’s a problem. I’ll be back in ten minutes tops.” Diem reached for the door handle, but I snagged his shirt sleeve to stop him.
“Whoa. Wait. What the hell? You’re going without me? I thought we were a team.”
“We’re not.”
“I thought I was in charge. My case, remember?”
“Too dangerous.”
I scoffed. “I happen to like danger. It’s why I was drawn to detective work to begin with.”
