The Touch Read online

  The Touch

  Jaymie Holland

  ***

  Copyright © 2011

  The Touch by Jaymie Holland

  All rights reserved. No part of this e-Book may be reproduced in whole or in part, scanned, photocopied, recorded, distributed in any printed or electronic form, or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or hereafter invented, without express written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Published by Pink Zebra Publishing at Smashwords.

  ***

  Also by Jaymie Holland

  Taboo Series

  Taking it Home

  Losing Control

  Alluring Stranger

  Taboo Desires: 3 Tales of Lust and Passion

  Paranormal Novels

  The Touch

  Come to Me

  ***

  Dedication

  To D.J. You make life happen and remind me that anything is possible.

  ***

  Chapter 1

  Chandra Singleton shouldered her way through the crowded street fair. As always, she was careful, very careful not to touch anyone’s hands with her own.

  Jeez, if she lived in Alaska, she could wear gloves all the time. But she loved Tempe, regardless of how high the heat climbed in the Arizona city. She just did her best and dealt with the consequences when she had to, no matter how painful or frightening they might be.

  She shoved her fingers deeper into the pockets of her khaki pants, keeping her hands as inaccessible as possible with her backpack hitched over one shoulder.

  Her sixth sense was the Touch. As far as the highly secretive Paranormal Intelligence Agency, the PIA, was concerned, the hidden gift—or a curse, she hadn’t yet made up her mind on that one—had all but died out. Once the government had discovered this gift, those who had the Touch no longer enjoyed lives of their own. They became, for the most part, unwilling tools of the political system.

  If the PIA knew Chandra had inherited the Touch, well, her life would never be the same. And it certainly wouldn’t be her own. With her additional defensive arts talents, she knew she would be even more valuable to the jerks who would want her to spy and do God only knew what else. She was skilled in fighting while just using her elbows, knees, feet, shoulders and arms while avoiding contact with her hands.

  Still, it happened. Sometimes she touched people. And when she did, the results could be temporarily crippling.

  As she walked along one row of the Tempe Arts Festival, Chandra brought one hand to her chest and fingered her lucky penny that was cradled on one side by a Black Hills Gold leaf, the rose gold a shade that was close to the bright copper penny of her pendant. The charm hung around her neck from a matching chain.

  Her shoulder-length dark-brown hair lifted from her shoulders in the slight breeze, and she blinked away the sudden dryness of her eyes.

  The air smelled of cinnamon, sandalwood, and patchouli incense from the display she passed, along with the smell of sweat from everyone packed together. The noise of so many people talking at once was almost deafening and her head ached from it.

  The spring arts festival was always crowded, but it was the best place to find unique gifts. With her mother’s and her favorite cousin’s birthdays approaching, she couldn’t resist searching for something new and fabulous for them.

  Her gaze darted from vendor to vendor and her fingers just itched to pick up a beautiful beaded blouse for herself. And those sparkling chandelier earrings would look killer with that blouse when she dressed to the nines.

  Chandra slipped one of her hands out of her pocket and reached for the earrings to get a better look at them. Just as she started to run her finger over the crystals, another woman grasped the earrings, her hand brushing Chandra’s.

  Shock coursed Chandra and pain slammed inside her head. Her knees buckled and she dropped hard to the asphalt, landing on one knee and her palm, and she yelped with the impact.

  “Are you okay?” the blond, blue-eyed younger woman asked as she extended her hand to Chandra.

  “Fine.” Chandra tried to shake off the pain and pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the woman’s outstretched hand. Chandra stuffed her own hand back into her pocket and forced a smile. “Just fine.”

  Before the woman could say anything else, Chandra turned away, pain still bouncing around in her head.

  And visions. God, the visions. She saw the young woman with a black eye. Screaming and crying as a man slapped her so hard her head snapped to the side. She’d be in an abusive relationship and soon.

  But Chandra saw light and hope too. The woman would seek help and escape her abuser, and she would eventually meet a good man.

  She clenched her hands into fists in her pockets and ground her teeth.

  The PIA named the ability when several women were discovered to have the gift in the late sixties. Originally PIA officials thought the phenomenon was a result of hallucinogenic drugs the women had taken during the days when taking a hit of acid was the norm for these women.

  However, it was soon learned that the Touch was passed genetically, from female to female.

  In the late nineties, the last known woman with this sixth sense vanished. The PIA was certain the woman had been recruited or kidnapped by an enemy of the United States to use her powers against the government.

  Chandra knew at least this much, as her mother had shaken the hand of one of the PIA agents who was testing her, and she had learned much of the history of the Touch in just that one handshake. She’d purposefully failed all the tests for the gift so that she wouldn’t become a pawn of the government and had made sure her daughters and granddaughters were protected.

  Chandra turned her attention back to the street fair. She wasn’t here to shop for herself. Her mother would probably love a new hat—the woman had a collection to rival the Queen of England. Her cousin would no doubt be thrilled with a handcrafted gold bracelet.

  How these artisans could create such treasures, Chandra had no clue. She was a publicity agent for a semiconductor company that handled government contracts and she didn’t have a bit of artistic talent in her bones.

  But she certainly appreciated good art, and collected as much as her limited budget could afford. She was frugal with her money, but there were some things she couldn’t resist.

  Like that! She caught her breath as her gaze lit upon an incredibly beautiful painting that was so lifelike she felt as if she could reach out and touch the mountains within it.

  She pushed her way through the crowd until she stood directly in front of the work of art, just inches from it. The painting was probably twenty by thirty inches, just the right size for her small townhouse.

  The painting captured the beauty of an Arizona sunrise perfectly. A wide range of cacti dotted the landscape and in the distance crouched the majestic Superstition Mountains of the East Valley in the Phoenix area. The sun peeked over the mountain range and cast its pale light upon Four Peaks.

  She had to have it. There was no question. It most certainly had been made just for her. Unfortunately she would have to dip into the cash she had stashed away, but the painting called to her like none other. It was almost like magic the way it attracted her. She could imagine how perfect it would look in the modest townhouse she shared with her cousin.

  She slipped her hand out of her pocket to run her finger lightly along the framed canvas.

  A jolt shocked her so badly her knees almo
st gave out again.

  A vision bolted through her mind at the same time jagged pain shot through her head.

  The vision was intense and compelling, but she’d never had one before from touching an inanimate object. She saw herself reaching around and lifting a small, round microchip from the back of the canvas. A chip like those her company produced.

  Chandra cut her gaze to the young man perched on a stool within the booth while he worked on a canvas. Bright colors of paint stained his gray T-shirt and blue jeans, and he had a smudge of blue on his angular chin. The artist appeared to be so focused that he didn’t know she was there.

  Her heart pounded as she slipped her hand from the front of the painting, deep into the corner she was seeing in her vision. There was a small gap between the canvas and the frame. Almost at once her fingertips touched something small, smooth and round, attached to the backside of the canvas.

  Unable to control herself, she lifted the object. It stuck for a moment, then gave and plopped onto her hand. She curled her fingers around the piece and eased her hand away from the frame and into her pocket. It stuck to her palm and she tried to flick it off.

  From the time she touched the painting to the moment she had the thing in her pocket, mere seconds had passed. Blood rushed in her ears and her skin tingled at the thought of anyone catching her doing something as dumb as stealing a microchip.

  Why had she taken the thing, she had no idea, but her visions never lied. Was she destined to become a kleptomaniac?

  Chandra’s gaze shot to the artist again, and his sky blue eyes met hers as he raised his head. Heat flushed her cheeks as she forced a smile.

  “Your work is amazing.” Chandra looked at the painting she was in love with—and had just stolen a microchip from—before returning her gaze to his. “I can’t get enough of looking at it.”

  “Thanks.” A quick grin lit up his handsome face. “Anything in particular you’re looking for?”

  “This painting,” she said softly.

  She kept her hand in her pocket and finally dislodged the small chip from her hand, but then it stuck to the pad of her index finger. At the same moment she noticed the chip was about the same size as her lucky penny with the leaf embellishment.

  Keeping her fingers curled, she raised her hand to her neck and tried to keep the artist’s attention on the painting as she spoke. “It’s so realistic.”

  He turned away to set his palette and paintbrush aside as he slid off his stool, and Chandra took that moment to stick the chip to the back of her coin.

  “Excuse me,” an incredibly deep voice said from behind Chandra, startling her so bad a hot rush of fear shot through her. Had someone caught her?

  Strange, though, at the same time she felt fear, a shiver raked her spine—but this was from awareness. She had never heard a sexier voice. It caused something to zing straight from her belly to that place between her thighs, despite the fact she was afraid she’d just gotten caught doing something she’d never done before.

  When she glanced up, her mouth started to water. The man was far from perfect-looking, but his well-cut features and his intimidating build sent a thrill through her. Even the scar over one of his eyes was sexy. He was much taller than her so she had to glance up to see his dark eyes.

  She couldn’t help but look him over to see if the rest of him was just as hot. Beneath an unfastened black shirt, he wore a tight black T-shirt that showed his broad shoulders, muscled chest and trim waist. Powerful thighs were evident beneath his snug faded jeans.

  The man glanced down at Chandra, his eyes taking her in from head to toe in a slow, sensual perusal that caused her stomach to twist. He obviously hadn’t missed her assessment of him and had enjoyed doing the same with her. His gaze lingered on her breasts for a moment and she wanted to squirm.

  After giving a slight incline of his head to Chandra he turned to the artist and she breathed a huge sigh of relief. He sure didn’t act like he had seen anything.

  “I’d like to purchase this painting,” he was saying as he gestured toward the easel.

  Chandra was so mesmerized by his voice and his powerful appearance, she almost didn’t catch that he was trying to buy her painting.

  The artist was coming toward them when Chandra said, “That’s the painting I want to buy.”

  The tall man behind her talked over her head as if she hadn’t spoken. “How much?”

  “Wait.” Chandra hitched her backpack higher on her shoulder as she slipped her other hand out of her pocket. She put both hands on her hips and straightened to her full five foot nine inch frame. Still the man was a good six to seven inches above her. “I was here first.”

  The artist interrupted and gestured to the painting. “Five hundred.”

  She could handle that. “I’ll take it.”

  Tall, dark and annoying said, “Seven fifty.”

  “What?” Chandra jerked her attention back to him. “I want that painting.”

  With a shrug that told her, “Your loss,” he said, “I’d like it delivered to my home.”

  Temper flaring, Chandra ground her teeth as she looked back to the artist. “Eight hundred.”

  Something flashed in the artist’s eyes. Almost as if sending a message to the tall man beside her. The young man shrugged. “She was here first.”

  “A thousand,” the arrogant ass said easily.

  The artist’s expression was unreadable and he didn’t say a word as he looked back to Chandra.

  Her shoulders slumped and her hands slipped from her hips to her sides. Her stash couldn’t take that big of a hit. Eight hundred had been more than pushing it. She sighed and looked into the tall man’s dark eyes—eyes that made her shiver—even if he was an ass.

  Before she knew what he was doing, he took one of her hands in his large grip and squeezed it as he said, “You just cost me an extra five hundred.”

  Shock at his touch rammed into Chandra, along with flashes of his future—

  Only this time the images included her.

  Something that had never happened before when she’d touched another person’s hand.

  Scenes flashed rapid-fire through her mind, one after another. Chandra saw the big man undressing her, touching her, tasting her, then taking her to bed.

  But…there were shadows. What did the shadows mean?

  There was a feeling of danger as well. Not from this man, no. Not at all. With him a sense of security flooded her that she had never felt with another person. The danger definitely came from someplace else.

  This time when she experienced the Touch, pain didn’t shoot through her head as it always had when she had a premonition. Also unusual, and to her amazement, she didn’t find his touch unpleasant at all.

  Just…disturbing.

  In her vision she was in bed with this man, a man she didn’t even know. What about the shadows? And the sense of danger. Was she meant to help him, or warn him, about something?

  She didn’t understand what was happening to her and she wondered if it had something to do with the microchip she’d just taken

  Something told her it did.

  All this sped through her mind in just seconds. Every bit of it came so fast, so hard that she felt as if she was on the edge of losing consciousness.

  “Ma’am?” The man’s deep voice shocked her from the visions. She swayed and he caught her by placing his other hand at the small of her back.

  Chandra couldn’t manage to get anything out. The images of the two of them having sex wouldn’t stop. She tried to jerk her hand from his, but he wouldn’t let go. Her words came out in a strangled rush. “Please. I’m fine.”

  He frowned as she tugged again. This time he released her, his fingers sliding away in a slow and sensual movement that caused her knees to grow weak again.

  She cleared her throat, but couldn’t look away from his intriguing eyes. “Excuse me. I got a little dizzy.”

  The man smiled a sexy grin that reminded her of his expressio
n in her vision when he’d taken her. “Wade Branson.”

  Her heart pumped hard after experiencing such intense visions and she found it difficult to breathe, much less talk. “Chandra Singleton,” she managed to get out. What possessed her to give him her name, she had no clue.

  “Nice to meet you.” Wade reached for her hand again, as if to shake it, but she shoved both hands into her pockets.

  She glanced at the painting, but the images of the two of them continued to chase one another through her mind, even as she looked back at him. “I’m not so sure it’s nice to meet you.”

  He laughed, a deep, husky sound that sent another thrill through her and almost made her smile. He turned to the artist. “Do you have more than one?”

  The young man shook his head. “I only do originals.” The artist took the painting from the easel and she caught her breath. Would he notice the chip was gone?

  Wade reached into the back pocket of his snug jeans and pulled out a wallet. He flipped through it and withdrew a bunch of bills, along with a coin with an unusual image on it. The coin was so white a gold that it looked almost silver.

  Wade counted out ten one hundred dollar bills and handed them to the artist along with the coin, before stuffing the rest of the cash and wallet into his back pocket. “When can it be delivered?”

  The young man didn’t hesitate, his eyes focused on Wade’s. “The morning after the festival is over. Monday.”

  Chandra found herself frozen, unable to get her legs to work and walk away as Wade gave the artist his address for delivery of the painting. Strange, but it didn’t sound like his place was anywhere in the Phoenix metro area.

  The artist took the painting, wrote Wade’s name and address on a receipt and handed it to him. The artist wrote SOLD across his copy of the receipt taped it to the top of the painting, then placed the painting behind several others that were set to the side.