Page 45 of Diagnosis Attraction

“You think we’re going to be able to focus on what we’re supposed to be doing?” she asked.

“I guess we’ll find out. Keep your shorts on to make it harder to go too far.”

“A good precaution.”

She pulled off her shirt, bra, and jeans, leaving on her panties, and when she pulled back the covers and slipped into bed, he followed her, wearing only his briefs. He gathered her to him, both longing for the contact and both knowing that they couldn’t give in to their own needs—not yet. They had to focus on dragging out the information that had to be in her mind.

She brushed her lips against his, then pillowed her head on his shoulder while his hands stroked over her arms and up and down her back.

Maximum contact,he silently murmured as he lifted her and stretched her out on top of himself, only two thin layers of fabric separating her center from his erection.

The intimacy was like a jolt of heat, and she couldn’t stop herself from moving against him. After a few moments, he quieted her with his hands and thoughts.

Stay still, or we’ll end up making love instead of pulling information from your mind.

Hard to remember that’s what we’re supposed to be doing.

Yeah.

Knowing he was right, she settled down, letting the simmering sexual heat pull their minds deeply together. The first time they’d touched, the transfer of memories had been unexpected. Now they had a much better idea of what they were doing—like when she’d found the thumb drive hanging in plain sight on the bulletin board. He wasn’t just inviting her memories. She felt him lending her energy, the way he’d done when they’d been out in the woods hurling thunderbolts at rocks and then again when they’d disabled the guy who had staked out the back of her house.

As she pulled the power into herself, another picture formed in her mind.

She was at a row house in Baltimore, checking out how things were going with a young mother named Wendy, who’d adopted a child from Romania. They had been talking for about five minutes when another young woman slipped in the back door.

Elizabeth looked up, taking in the woman’s frightened eyes and pale skin. The newcomer and the mom exchanged glances.

“This is Sabrina. I met her when I was out walking the baby. I saw her a few times, and I knew she needed help. I told her you’d be here today—and that you could help her.”

Elizabeth nodded, wondering at this unorthodox approach to social services. But in her profession, she had to be open to people in need, even when they didn’t necessarily go through normal channels.

Wendy picked up her baby and went upstairs, leaving Elizabeth alone with the other woman.

“How can I help you?” she asked.

Sabrina licked her lips and spoke haltingly in heavily accented English. “Pardon me if I don’t speak too good.”

“You’re doing fine.”

“I thought to come to this country because there is nothing for me back home.” She stopped and swallowed hard. “I had some money saved. I paid it to a man who said he could get me into America—and get me a good job.”

When she stopped talking, Elizabeth prompted her. “And what happened?”

“He got me here. Me and other women. We traveled in a big shipping container.”

“My lord.”

“It wasn’t so bad. We had lights there, and food and toilets. But then we got to Baltimore, and I found it was all a big lie. Men were here to meet us. They took us to a house where they forced us …” she stopped then started again, “forced us to be prostitutes.”

Elizabeth sucked in a sharp breath. “I’m sorry.”

“They had us under guard at a house way out in the country, but I was able to escape.”

“How?”

“A man wanted to take me home for the weekend. He paid a lot of money for that, and I hit him over the head, stole some of his money, and got away. I know that attacking him and stealing from him was wrong, but I had to do it.”

“What he was doing was wrong.”

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