Running Hot

Luther stifled a grin when he sensed Grace’s disappointment. He knew that she had been hoping to test her sense of touch on someone else to determine the extent of the “cure.”
    When they reached the terrace where the open-air restaurant was located, Grace got out first. He followed, thinking that he couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so good, so refreshed.
    “Can you use that aura manipulation trick to make a woman get instantly hot for you?” Grace asked with what sounded like academic curiosity.
    The urge to smile vanished instantly. He knew a trap when he saw one.
    “Damn it, Grace, keep your voice down.”
    He looked around quickly, hoping for a distraction. But none of the half-dozen people in the airy colonnade that led to the restaurant were close enough to eavesdrop. So much for that excuse. He lowered his own voice and injected as much steel into it as possible.
    “Doesn’t work like that,” he said.
    “You can’t blame me for being curious. I haven’t come across your particular talent in any of my genealogy research.”
    He put on his sunglasses and looked at her. She had taken a shower after the hot, sweaty sex. Her still-wet hair was combed back behind her ears. She had on a pair of trousers and another one of her long-sleeved shirts. The sleeves of the shirt were rolled up almost to her elbows, though. A very daring move.
    “I’m not some small electric you can plug in whenever it’s convenient,” he muttered.
    “No,” she agreed. “You are definitely not a small appliance. So? What’s the answer?”
    “We’re about to eat breakfast. Usually I read newspapers when I’m eating breakfast. Could we have this conversation some other time?”
    “A simple yes or no will do.”
    “There is no such thing as a simple yes or no when it comes to sex,” he said.
    That was good, he thought, pleased. Smart answer, Malone. Brilliant, in fact.
    She tilted her head to look at him, eyes veiled by the dark glasses.
    “That’s not an answer,” she said.
    He exhaled slowly and went for deeply offended. “You’re asking me if I can use my talent to seduce any woman I want.”
    “No.” She stopped and turned toward him, clearly shocked. “I know you wouldn’t do anything that unethical.”
    He stopped, too. “Yeah? How do you know that?”
    “I’m an aura profiler, remember?”
    He frowned. “You profiled me?”
    “Of course,” she said coolly. “Do you think I’d go to bed with a man I haven’t analyzed? Especially given my issues?”
    “I guess I haven’t thought about it quite that way.” He paused. “I, uh, passed the profile test?”
    “Oh, yes.” She gave him a smile that was brighter than the light of the tropical morning. “You definitely passed.”
    “And here I’ve been wondering if the reason you were attracted to me was because you could touch me without getting fried.”
    “What?” It was her turn to be outraged. “How dare you think I would fall into bed with a man simply because I could touch him.”
    “You did say you haven’t been able to get close to a man for over a year.”
    “My phobia issues had nothing to do with what happened last night or this morning,” she snapped. “At least, not in the way you mean. I am insulted.”
    “Take it easy.”
    “I will not take it easy. I am more than insulted. You just made me mad. Really, really mad.”
    “I know. I can see it,” he said, admiring the heat leaping around her.
    “Let’s get something clear,” she said evenly. “I would never go to bed with a man just because I could touch him.”
    The fires of her feminine outrage were resonating nicely with the hot, exciting wavelengths of desire. She was furious but she wanted him. He suddenly felt much more cheerful again.
    “You can’t blame a man for leaping to the obvious conclusion,” he said.
    “Yes, I can.”
    “Ever heard the phrase ‘You’re cute when you get mad’?”
    For a few seconds he thought she was going to explode. But she made a face instead.
    “Fine,” she said. “Be that way. I’m hungry. Let’s eat.”
    She turned on her heel and took off very quickly, heading toward the entrance to the restaurant. He retaliated by playing the injured card, making a show of limping after her. By the time he reached the podium, the hostess was waiting with menus in her hand and pity in her eyes.
    Grace glared. He smiled, satisfied with his petty revenge.
    “That sort of behavior is called passive-aggressive,” she