He’d been right; no panties. He toyed and played, teased and tickled with his fingertips. She moaned. Wet and warm, she was more than ready for him. He slid one finger inside the warm cleft, and then another. Her eyes glazed over, and her jaw went slack.
“Yes, baby, yes, oh please don’t stop.”
He wanted to withdraw, but she grabbed his elbow with both hands and wouldn’t let go. Ideas and images sizzled though his mind.
A pool. The nurses had a lottery going to see who would be the first to have sex with him. Cerise had a camera hidden among the towels and was going to snap a photo of him fully erect and, if she could, one of the two of them having sex.
Bucking and moaning, Cerise made sexy growling noises deep in her throat. With one long, shuddering sigh, she came and slumped against the bed. She straightened up and reached for his already flaccid cock.
“Baby, that was wonderful, but I want to feel you inside of me.” She bent toward his face to kiss him.
“Sorry, honey, playtime is over. Take your camera and leave. Too bad you didn’t get the photo since there’s over a hundred bucks in that pool.”
Her coffee-colored eyes grew round, and her jaw dropped. She gasped, whirled, and shot out the door.
Brian shoved the table away from his bed, sloshing water onto the floor. He didn’t know what was wrong with him but hoped to hell it would go away soon, or he’d never get laid.
Chapter Four
A cute, blonde candy striper brought Brian his dinner. He barely brushed her arm but instantly knew she was worried about an upcoming test in school and contemplating having sex for the first time with her boyfriend when they were alone this weekend. His ability—or whatever the hell to call it—was getting worse, stronger.
He ate a few bites of the bland meatloaf and soggy mashed potatoes before giving up and shoving his tray away. Maybe it was this place. Perhaps once he got out of the hospital it wouldn’t happen again. Deep inside, he knew that wasn’t true. He tried to watch an insipid movie on TV but finally gave up and called the nurse for a sleeping pill. He was determined that tomorrow he would get out of bed and start walking to build up his strength. He had to get out, go back to his life, and try to remember.
Brian had been asleep for hours when he jerked awake. Fuzzy with the remains of the strong pill, it took him a few seconds to become fully alert. When he did, he saw a man standing in the corner of the room looking at him.
“Who…who are you? What do you want?” Brian coughed and reached for his water cup to clear his throat. Had Strauss sent an assassin to finish the job?
The man took a step forward, out of the shadows. “My name is Phelps, and I’ve come from the headquarters of Why Pat to help you with your psychic abilities,” he said with a slight English accent. His deep voice rumbled out of his thick chest. He was dressed entirely in black. Totally bald, his head gleamed in the weak light filtering in from the hallway. He had no eyebrows, and his dark eyes burned into Brian like hot coals. A ruby stud winked from the man’s right earlobe.
“Psychic thoughts? Is that what they are? How did you find me? Why do you want to help? And what the hell is the Why Pat?”
“W-I-A-P-T is an acronym for World Institute for Advanced Psychic Training. We consist of a group of psychics from around the world whose goal is to right some wrongs and help mankind with our abilities. We try to assist new members in learning to control their gifts. I’ve been sent to mentor you.”
“But how did you know about me?” Brian’s head thumped painfully.
“When you were coshed on the head, the part of your brain that’s psychic was stimulated. We all felt your power.”
“You mean like a disturbance in the force?” Brian chuckled, but Phelps remained stoic.
“Something like that, yes. Everyone is psychic to a degree, but since your accident, you’ve achieved a higher plane and are much more astute. Right now, you’re getting images and information left and right, willy-nilly. Our aim is to help you channel those images and train you to manage your gift. Once we do, you’ll be able to travel to other countries, interact with people, and bring great good to the world.”
“How? I can’t stand to touch people or have them touch me. I…I know things. I mean, when I touched my lawyer, I realized he’s siphoned all the money from my trust account. As far as I know, I’m broke.” He ran a hand through his overlong hair in frustration, which caused his head to hurt. “I don’t even know how I’ll pay the rent on my apartment, once I find it.”
“No worries, Mr. Wakefield. We’ve all been through it. You’ll learn to control the touch. And you’ll get your memory back, eventually. We can help with that, too. And all the money is back in your accounts. When you received your ability, we researched your background and knew you would be of great value to us, but you needed your funds. When we discovered what the nefarious Mr. Strauss had done, we made sure to reverse his withdrawals.”
A smarmy smile slid onto Phelps face. “Your Mr. Strauss has done the same thing to others. He will be taken care of forthwith.” He took a step forward, and Brian couldn’t help himself from cringing against his pillow. There was something very sinister and creepy about the guy.
Phelps continued. “As for living arrangements, you own the penthouse in the Marina Towers Apartments. You have quite a lovely view of San Diego Bay, I must say.”
Brian’s brain whirled with confusion. “You said you would train me to control my psychic powers. How?”
“When you’re well enough, we’ll bring you to the institute located in the Berkshires of central Massachusetts and train you. You have a great talent, and used properly, you can help many people. But if you don’t learn to control it, you will go mad.”
Brian wanted to tell the guy he was already going nuts. He opened his mouth to ask another question when he heard a soft knock on his door.
“Mr. Wakefield?” One of the night nurses pushed the door the rest of the way open. “I heard your voice. Can I get you anything?”
“No, I was just talking to…” The room was empty, but a slight odor remained. Something dark and moldy. Brian shivered. “…myself. Had a bad dream. I’m fine now. Thank you for checking.”
“Ring if you need anything.” She eased the door almost closed.
Brian searched the murky room. He was alone. Now, how in the hell had that guy gotten into the room? More importantly, where had he gone? It must have been a dream.
He scrubbed his face with his hands. There was no way for anyone to get into or out of his room but the door, and the nurse had been right outside.
Snuggling back down into the covers, he tried to go back to sleep. He heard something crinkle and found a business card on the edge of his pillow. All it had was the name Phelps, a phone number, and the initials, WIAPT.
So, he hadn’t been dreaming. The pain in his head made it hard for him to think. He tucked the business card under the edge of the mattress, fully expecting it to be gone in the morning.
The first thing he did when he awoke was to shove his fingers under the mattress. To his surprise, it was still there, if a bit wrinkled. Sweat slid down his sides, and the pain in his head thrummed. He really was going nuts. Now more than ever he was determined to get out of the hospital and back to his home. He had to find out if he’d really gotten his money back. He also had to ascertain how he got the money in the first place. Christ, but he wished he could remember!
He heard voices and footsteps in the hallway. Morning rounds had begun. Good, he had a few questions for his doctor. He shoved the business card under his mattress again.
“Mr. Wakefield. How are you feeling this morning?” Dr. Morton stood in the doorway with a group of fresh-faced, eager new doctors in tow. “Any pain today?”
He did have a headache but figured he’d get out of the hospital a lot faster if he kept his mouth shut. “Yes, a mild headache, but I think I’m getting better everyday. When do you think I can be released?”
Morton walked over
to the bed but was clearly reluctant to touch him. “Dr. Raymond, why don’t you do a quick exam of Mr. Wakefield?”
A young black man wearing green hospital scrubs under his white coat nodded and walked around to the side of the bed. Gold-rimmed spectacles gleamed in the overhead light as he bent over Brian. He took his stethoscope from where it was looped around his neck and applied it to Brian’s chest.
Brian gasped and bit his lower lip to keep from blurting out his thoughts.
“I’m sorry. Am I hurting you?”
“No, not at all. The stethoscope is a bit cold.” Brian looked into the doctor’s serious brown eyes and felt his pain. He was struggling to finish his residency because he had five siblings to support. His student loans were horrendous, and the young doctor worried all the time about repaying them. He was starting to get an ulcer.
Brian gritted his teeth and tried to block out the images as the doctor examined him.
“Everything seems fine.” Dr. Raymond patted Brian’s hand. “You haven’t had any seizures, and that’s good. No blackouts. Have you had any exercise?”
“Just walking to the bathroom and back, but I made that by myself.”
“Try to walk a bit more. You’ve been lying in bed for a while, and your muscles are weak. Ring for a nurse to help you. We don’t want you to fall. I believe another x-ray of your skull would be in order before we discharge you.” Raymond looked at Morton, who nodded his head in the affirmative, then turned back and smiled, showing straight, white teeth. “I’ll check back tonight and, if you’re able to move about by yourself, I think we can release you tomorrow. Dr. Morton?”
“Yes, yes, fine. I agree.” Dr. Morton looked very relieved to be rid of him. “Now, Mr. Wakefield, we’ll expect you back for some follow-up exams, but as far as I’m concerned, you can leave tomorrow after lunch. How does that sound?”
“Great. I’m tired of lying in bed all the time.”
Morton gathered his flock of neophyte healers and walked out of the room.
Brian wiggled out from under the sheets, sat up, and dangled his feet over the side of the bed. No time like the present. He stood up, the room whirled, and he almost fell on his ass. He flopped back on the bed and lay there gasping and sweating. So much for independence. He’d have to ring for help.
He’d barely pulled his finger from the bell when the pretty, redheaded nurse poked her head in the door. A flash of memory sparked, and he remembered her touching him when he was first in the hospital, in those days of foggy consciousness.
She thought she was frigid. That’s what she’d been about to ask him the other day. How had he known she thought she was frigid?
He grinned. Perfect. If he was going to lead the life of a do-gooder, this would be an excellent start. He couldn’t wait to cure the curvaceous nurse.
Chapter Five
“Mr. Wakefield. Can I get you something?” Robin stood in the doorway, feeling like a dozen humming birds were trapped in her chest. She hadn’t been able to get the man out of her mind for the past two days. When he rang for help just now, she’d almost run over the other nurse to get to his room first.
“Yes. A bathrobe, slippers, and your strong young body ah, what’s your name?” He was grinning at her.
“Robin Guyer.” She felt a blush roll up her neck and onto her face. Damn her fair-skinned genes. She walked over, opened the closet door, and brought the articles to him. “Are you sure you’re strong enough to get out of bed, Mr. Wakefield?”
“Not yet, but I’m working on it. The doc said I could go home tomorrow if I can walk up and down the hallway by myself.”
Her heart tumbled in her chest. Too soon, too soon! She wanted to—no, had to—get to know this man better and find out if he really could help with her problem.
He put on the robe and shoved his feet in the slippers. Robin draped his arm around her shoulders and circled his broad back with her arm. He gasped.
“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” She could hardly speak. His muscular torso was firm. When he stood, he was a good head taller than she was. He leaned heavily on her shoulders, resting. His scent was clean and masculine, and she had to bite her lip to keep from throwing him back onto the bed.
“No, I’m fine, Robin. I just got dizzy for a moment. Let’s go for a walk.”
His face was pale and his eyes glazed. He licked his lips and stared at her. She couldn’t help but wonder if he felt the same strong attraction that she did.
Brian dragged his feet at first but by the third time around the hallway, he was stronger. He hadn’t said much, and Robin couldn’t help but wonder if he had remembered his words from the emergency room and was embarrassed.
“Want to go around one more time?” She smiled up at him.
“No, I think that’s enough for now. Thank you.” He turned and started into his room, then turned again. “What time are you off duty tonight?”
“Six o’clock. Why?”
He glanced up and down the hallway. “If you can come back tonight, later, after visiting hours, I’d love to help you with your problem.” He winked, turned, and walked into his room.
Her face felt as if it were on fire. Her nipples strained against the lace of her bra. Her female essence was warm and moist. The thought of Brian Wakefield’s cock being inside of her almost made her come. That was the problem. She could usually get right to the point of orgasm then for some reason, nothing.
She went back to the nursing station to see what other chores needed to be taken care of. Right now, she had to do something to take her mind off of Brian Wakefield.
“Aren’t you the brave one?” Cerise stood by the chart rack with a scowl on her face.
“What do you mean?”
“Didn’t you hear? Oh, right, you were off work.” Cerise came closer and lowered her voice. “I went to give him a bath two days ago, and he exposed himself to me and tried to grab me.” The woman’s face was a mask of righteous indignation. She leaned even closer. Her breath smelling like coffee, she whispered in Robin’s ear. “He grabbed my crotch and tried to pull me into bed with him.”
Robin pulled back and looked at the other nurse. She had to struggle to keep a look of concern on her face. Everyone on the floor knew about Cerise and her escapades. More than once, she’d been warned to stop hitting on the handsome not-too-ill male patients. Robin knew about the lottery, too.
“Wow, are you all right? Maybe you should talk to someone, one of the psychiatrists or something.”
“No, I’m okay. Just watch yourself. That man is a sex maniac.”
I certainly hope so . “I will. Thanks for the warning.” She went off to check on her patients while mentally thinking of a sexy outfit to wear for her late-night tryst. One thing was for sure. She wasn’t about to bother with underwear.
Chapter Six
Brian had made himself walk up and down the hallway several times during the day, being careful not to touch anyone. His headache was still there, but manageable. He felt stronger every time he moved, but his memory remained in a fog. Perhaps getting back to his condo would trigger his memories. He hoped to remember his past life before he contacted Phelps. He couldn’t wait to learn to control his psychic thoughts and visions. Walking with Robin this morning had been shear torture. The instant she’d touched him, visions, or ideas, or some damn thing had flooded his mind. He tried mentally humming a tune to block them out, and that seemed to help some.
The lawyer, Strauss, had left him an extra key for his condo and money for a cab. Generous of the old weasel, but at least he could get to his place. He’d been puzzled why no more people had shown up to identify him. He was going to ask Strauss, but he’d touched the old bastard and everything had gone out of his mind except the betrayal. He didn’t think he had family, but no friends? That seemed odd.
An orderly came for him in the late afternoon and took him to x-ray. The technician was cagy but finally admitted that it appeared the fracture had started to heal. He just had to be caref
ul not to fall or get hit on his head again, or he’d be in real trouble.
Now that he’d been up and around, he was restless and ready to get out of the hospital. A volunteer brought his dinner, placed it on his tray, and carefully avoided touching him. Word must have gotten all over the hospital. Fine. He really didn’t want to know all the minute details of strangers’ lives. He flicked on the television and dug in. His fork stopped halfway to his mouth. A picture of his bastard lawyer popped up behind the newsreader.
“Friends and family of Nathan Strauss are puzzled as to why the successful lawyer took his own life today. Strauss opened a window in his office on the twentieth floor of the Symphony Towers Building and jumped to his death about three o’clock this afternoon. Strauss, age sixty-three, left no note.”
The phone rang. Brian jerked and spilled gravy on his pajamas. He tossed his fork on the plate and grabbed the phone on its third ring.
“Phelps, here. Just a quick word. We’ve taken care of that little problem of yours. Ticket and instructions on the dining room table of your condo. We’ll be in touch.”
Before he had a chance to reply, the dial tone buzzed in his ear. Taken care of his problem? Oh, God. They’d killed Strauss. Or made him commit suicide. The people at the institute had already gotten his money back, so why had they killed the guy? Was this the way they went around the world doing good with their psychic powers?
His stomach in knots, he pushed his mostly uneaten dinner away. He hadn’t actually committed to go to the WIAPT. They couldn’t make him go, could they? But still, he had to find a way to control his new psychic powers. Confusion clouded his mind and made his head ache.
He decided to take one more walk around the floor, get ready for bed, take a pill, and sleep. Tomorrow would be a better day.
Mysterious Gift Page 2