Desire the Banshee Read Online Free Page A

she meant for him to gather her clothes and left him those psychic images of confusion, loneliness and desperation. It was the only way he could touch her. More than anyone, he understood her carnal pursuits took away her darker emotions.
    With an effort, he closed his door behind him and passed through the corridor to the stairs. Down three flights without running into anyone who’d be awkward with him, he paused before he opened the basement door.
    Eyes closed, he reached out with his mind to reassure himself she waited in her soundproof room. To protect others, she wouldn’t open the door again until time for the mission.
    The small scrap of red on the floor brought a rash of heat over his chest. He’d been with a few women before he mastered the hormones that ruled him as a young man. The fumbling, the solid wall of air that seemed to thicken in his head the more he touched a woman’s flesh, and the pitying glances after. He didn’t miss sex. Hadn’t had it in going on forty years, and the last time had been a doozy. In bed with a woman he’d dated for months, a norm, he’d been unable to stop himself from understanding what she broadcast—not even needing to push inside her, which he would never do to anyone ever again. But touching made it nearly impossible not to catch thoughts.
    Nothing. She was cold, going through the motions, being with him from some sick drive to gift him, a deaf guy, with her charity. He sucked as a lover. If that in and of itself didn’t prove he and the sensual Daisy weren’t for each other, he didn’t know what did.
    With a swoop, he gathered the pile of clothes as quickly as possible. He blocked the mental images as much as he could, as long as he could. He needed to dump these in the washer, a few steps away in the basement.
    But his knees locked. He took a deep breath. Sex. Her clothes smelled like her and a nameless man, maybe more than one.
    A trickle of sweat ran down the side of his face. His legs trembled.
    The scene swept over him, unbidden, unwanted.
    Craved.
    * * * * *
     
    “Aren’t you a sweet thing?” The man spoke into Daisy’s ear to be heard over the raucous bar crowd. She turned to him and forced her face into a knowing and seductive smile. A somewhat handsome man leered at her, his words slurred and his eyes half closed. His cologne appealed to her. His growly voice made her wet.
    “No, lover. Not sweet at all, but you’ll find out soon enough. Let’s go.”
    They barely made it to his truck, got his jeans pushed down his thighs, before her mouth was on him, eliciting harsh moans.
    Music. Music to her ears.
    * * * * *
     
    Sean’s head knocked hard on the thin carpet. The vision faded to a dull shadow as he lay on the floor in a near stupor. Clothes scattered around him. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to rub his face in them and continue the torture, or fling them into the trash. It’d always been that way with him, torn between lust to be with her—though seeing her with other men ripped more of his soul away—and longing to shut that part of her out of his life.
    The light stinging his eyes, he blinked and waited for the pain to subside. Throbbing pulsed from the knot on his head caused by the fall.
    So, this is the great Sean Twenty . A knowing laugh that could only be Daisy’s followed that taunting mental projection.
    Oh hell. Even as he daily warred with his compulsion to be with her and his dire need to stay away, he’d always envisioned their first real meeting—if it had to happen—as something more along the lines of old friends finding each other, maybe over tea in the garden or shaking hands across Ray’s meeting table.
    Not like this, with him spread-eagle on the floor, her clothes spread around him, her thong clutched to his chest and an erection the size of a crowbar straining the front of his jeans. He scrambled up from the floor.
    He was in deep shit.

Chapter Three
     
    Damn. Her handler was hawt . And boy did she want to handle