Vision. Not dream. Two months ago, he hadn’t believed a word she said. Now he was asking her about her visions. It felt good. Too good. Besides, it was so much easier talking about visions than thinking about her growing attachment to Witt. “It wasn’t like the others.”
“Tell me.” He sounded like he was asking her to take off her clothes.
“Nobody died at the end.” Usually they did. Usually the murdered woman somehow managed to take over Max’s emotions, even her actions. Sort of like possession. Thank God it hadn’t happened this time. She didn’t feel the slightest inkling of another presence in her body. But there was still something very unsettling about the experience.
“What happened?”
She ran a hand through her short, dark hair. Definitely a nervous gesture. She dropped her hands to her lap. “A man and a woman. And they were...” She couldn’t say it.
“Having sex.”
Role reversal. Last time her vision had been about sex, he was the one who couldn’t say the words. Showed how much their relationship had changed. Witt now had the upper hand. “Yeah ... they were doing that.”
He chuckled, and when she looked at him, his blue eyes were sparkling much like his mother’s. “Gotta love your dreams, Max.”
She breezed past that innuendo. “It wasn’t like the other visions. I’m not even sure it was a vision.” Except...
“But it was, wasn’t it?”
The man was always reading her mind. It was another thing that made him like Cameron, another thing that unnerved her. She’d already watched one man she loved die. She wasn’t up to another relationship, especially with a cop whose life was constantly on the line, yet she wasn’t up to telling Witt to get lost either. Having sex with him had been a big-time mistake.
But she knew she’d make that same mistake again.
She put her hand to her hair again, stopped in mid-touch. “It’s the way the dreams feel. I know when I’m not ... me. When I’m dreaming about other people. Real people.”
The soft music filled the silence. He regarded her from his side of the cab. She was almost sure he wanted to slide over next to her, but was waiting for the invite. Then he said, “Suppose we’ll have to wait until something else pops into that psychic little brain of yours.”
“You’ll be the first to know.” She bit her lip, unsure of herself. “Okay, I’m ready for my present.”
She waited for him to exact a price. He didn’t. Instead, he reached to his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a small wrapped box. Not flat like a jewelry case, not square like a ring box. Max took it gingerly. It was light. She shook it like a child. It didn’t rattle, but something moved. Tearing off the wrapping, she stared until she started to laugh.
It was a toy Dodge Ram, three inches long. Black with red decals. She took it out of the box.
“Put it by your bedside.”
“What? So I can think about you?”
He just smiled. They were both thinking about the Dodge Ram fantasy she’d told him.
The temperature in the cab rose a few scorching degrees. Her mouth went dry. Those fantasies were dangerous, especially when she was sitting with him in his Ram. “It’s time for me to go in.”
“Yeah.” He didn’t move, not to open the door and not to lean across to kiss her. He waited like a spider, spinning a web with that blazing look in his eyes.
“I’m starting a new temp job tomorrow at seven.” Her bank account was dangerously low. Of course, she could have dipped into the blood money fund—proceeds from Cameron’s life insurance—but she’d sworn never to touch it. “The job is setting up a consolidating company.” She was an accountant by trade, a former CPA, and good at what she did. She was also babbling, nervous as hell with Witt’s silence and the predatory glitter in his gaze.
“Come here, Max.” He pointed to the spot right next to his thigh. She eyed all his delicious, powerful muscles.
“I just told you I have to get up early.”
He slid over to her side, melding that tempting thigh to hers. “You’re a hard woman.”
He was a hard man if that bulge in his jeans meant anything. He also smelled too damn good. She shrank against the door while her mind and body screamed to jump in his lap.
“Witt, behave yourself.” She hoped the repetition of his mother’s admonishment would cool his ardor before hers flared out of control.
No such luck. He trailed a finger from the hollow at her throat to the first open button on her blouse, taking him deep into cleavage territory. “That wouldn’t be much fun,” he rumbled, the sound vibrating inside her.
Danger, Will Robinson! Involuntarily, her nipples peaked against her bra.
“Now isn’t that an interesting reaction?” He hummed in this throat. “Cops always read body language to see if a suspect’s lying.”
She couldn’t breathe without inhaling his aftershave and hot male scent.
“And lookee here. Your pulse is fluttering. Another sign we detectives look for.” He leaned in, licking her throat. She almost moaned.
“Undo your blouse,” he whispered.
Maybe it was okay, since he was doing the asking. She fumbled with two buttons, his chin slightly stubbled and enticing against the back of her hand.