his torso, arrowing down over the flat plane of his belly before it caught up on the towel. Her heart slammed once, hard, against her ribs, and she licked her lips. She was pretty damn certain she’d never been so thirsty in her life.
He glanced down the hall before heading toward his room, and she groaned as she found herself treated to another view of that fine, muscled back. And his ass. Nice, nice ass.
She needed to quit ogling. She needed to—
She wheezed out a breath as he dropped the towel just inside the door and grabbed a pair of faded jeans off the foot of the bed. “Oh, hell, he’s going commando.” She passed a hand in front of her eyes and tried not to drool.
She dropped her hand, fast, though, leaning forward and staring at him before he dragged those jeans up over his hips, hiding that perfect butt from her view. And it really was a perfect butt. Hard and muscled, it made her just want to bite him.
“You need to get laid. Or buy a vibrator. Something.”
SIX
P SYCHIC skill, in Bruce Watkins’s opinion, really wasn’t as uncommon as people thought. Not everybody was going to be able to read minds, that was certain, and he knew the average Joe wasn’t going to be able to float candlesticks across the room, either.
But if more people listened to their instincts, if more people paid attention to what that still, quiet voice in the back of their head tried to tell them . . . well, people would be amazed at what they could accomplish.
Refined instincts and psychic skill weren’t the
same
, by any means. Psychic ability was the next step up. But there were some people out there who
thought
they just had really good intuition, and what they had was a rudimentary psychic skill they just never bothered to improve upon.
He wasn’t a particularly strong psychic, but he knew how to listen to those instincts, and he’d worked to improve his skills. He made his living listening to those instincts, selling his skills in an odd sort of manner.
It wasn’t always easy to come by work, but when he did, he tended to hit a windfall.
His skill wasn’t anything special. He could feel the abilities of others. Basically they just exerted a pull on him—their rampant energy tugged at him and drew him in.
That was why the ad on the site that operated on the dark web was so appealing to him. He read between the lines pretty damn well, although the initial posting hadn’t given him much to go on. But then somebody had asked for more information just a few hours ago.
The response:
This item is something that should appeal to certain people here. It’ s very valuable to me.
There was a wealth of unspoken information in those cryptic words.
The question was . . . just how much money were they offering?
So that was the question he had to ask. If he liked the answer, he’d offer his very valuable services.
If not?
Too bad. Their package could swelter and rot in Orlando for all he cared.
He typed out a reply, keeping it every bit as vague and obscure as the initial message was, asking for more information, hinting as his experience, his special skills.
The final few words danced around the issue of money, and he hated to be so crass, but it was an issue that had to be addressed.
* * *
LOCATING
such an item can come with expenses.
He smirked as he read the final few words and then he rose, pacing around the office as he pondered his own response. It had been three days since he’d put the ad out there on the web, and this was the first time anybody had shown any
real
response.
There had been more than a few fishing expeditions, which he had expected, and somebody had asked for more information. But nobody had shown promise. A couple of quacks had suggested they meet so they could show how they could use his aura to help locate his missing
item
. Others had told him they could use divination.
All nonsense and he knew it. He’d been prepared for some nonsense, though, so that was fine.
Three
He glanced down the hall before heading toward his room, and she groaned as she found herself treated to another view of that fine, muscled back. And his ass. Nice, nice ass.
She needed to quit ogling. She needed to—
She wheezed out a breath as he dropped the towel just inside the door and grabbed a pair of faded jeans off the foot of the bed. “Oh, hell, he’s going commando.” She passed a hand in front of her eyes and tried not to drool.
She dropped her hand, fast, though, leaning forward and staring at him before he dragged those jeans up over his hips, hiding that perfect butt from her view. And it really was a perfect butt. Hard and muscled, it made her just want to bite him.
“You need to get laid. Or buy a vibrator. Something.”
SIX
P SYCHIC skill, in Bruce Watkins’s opinion, really wasn’t as uncommon as people thought. Not everybody was going to be able to read minds, that was certain, and he knew the average Joe wasn’t going to be able to float candlesticks across the room, either.
But if more people listened to their instincts, if more people paid attention to what that still, quiet voice in the back of their head tried to tell them . . . well, people would be amazed at what they could accomplish.
Refined instincts and psychic skill weren’t the
same
, by any means. Psychic ability was the next step up. But there were some people out there who
thought
they just had really good intuition, and what they had was a rudimentary psychic skill they just never bothered to improve upon.
He wasn’t a particularly strong psychic, but he knew how to listen to those instincts, and he’d worked to improve his skills. He made his living listening to those instincts, selling his skills in an odd sort of manner.
It wasn’t always easy to come by work, but when he did, he tended to hit a windfall.
His skill wasn’t anything special. He could feel the abilities of others. Basically they just exerted a pull on him—their rampant energy tugged at him and drew him in.
That was why the ad on the site that operated on the dark web was so appealing to him. He read between the lines pretty damn well, although the initial posting hadn’t given him much to go on. But then somebody had asked for more information just a few hours ago.
The response:
This item is something that should appeal to certain people here. It’ s very valuable to me.
There was a wealth of unspoken information in those cryptic words.
The question was . . . just how much money were they offering?
So that was the question he had to ask. If he liked the answer, he’d offer his very valuable services.
If not?
Too bad. Their package could swelter and rot in Orlando for all he cared.
He typed out a reply, keeping it every bit as vague and obscure as the initial message was, asking for more information, hinting as his experience, his special skills.
The final few words danced around the issue of money, and he hated to be so crass, but it was an issue that had to be addressed.
* * *
LOCATING
such an item can come with expenses.
He smirked as he read the final few words and then he rose, pacing around the office as he pondered his own response. It had been three days since he’d put the ad out there on the web, and this was the first time anybody had shown any
real
response.
There had been more than a few fishing expeditions, which he had expected, and somebody had asked for more information. But nobody had shown promise. A couple of quacks had suggested they meet so they could show how they could use his aura to help locate his missing
item
. Others had told him they could use divination.
All nonsense and he knew it. He’d been prepared for some nonsense, though, so that was fine.
Three
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