Sensory Ops: Sounds To Die By Part 4

Not that he would ever be her lover.

"Do you have a back table?" Ian leaned over her shoulder and spoke to the maitre d'. "Maybe near the bar?"

Taylor picked up two menus and smiled. "Right this way."

As she followed him to their table, Kieralyn wondered how Ian would get past not being able to read the menu. Again, her curiosity rose about his decision to leave his dog at home and venture out without aid.

Did the dog make people uncomfortable? Did certain establishments give him a hard time about taking his dog inside? Maybe he thought he would draw less attention to himself alone. Though to her, it seemed more likely that a blind man stumbling through places unfamiliar to him would draw quite a bit of attention.

"Here you are." Taylor pulled a seat from the table and held it for Kieralyn.

She started to comment that Ian should take the seat.

"Kieralyn." He brushed the hair from her neck, his fingertips dancing along her nape.

An electric charge followed the path he drew. She stifled the urge to press back against him.

"Sit." His voice was pitched low so only she could hear.

She sat and took the menu Taylor handed her. Ian sat beside her as if he knew exactly where the chair was and took the menu he was offered.

"Thank you, Taylor."

Ian moved his chair closer to hers. As soon as Taylor was out of ear shot, she asked, "How'd you know he was offering the menu to you, but didn't know in your lab that I'd offered you my hand?"

"Because it's the logical step in his process." He rested his arm on her chair and played with her hair. "And the laminate rubs against his fingers. What color is your hair? The highlights?"

"Brown with red. How'd you know I colored my hair? Highlights rather than full color?" She scanned the other tables, filled with couples all sitting close. "And how could you hear his fingers on the menu?"

"Hmm." He buried his face in her hair. "Most women would go blonde. Then again, a lot of women would straighten their hair if it was this wavy. As for the menu, Taylor needs lotion. He has dry hands like a lot of people in the restaurant business."

Tingles of apprehension, excitement, slid just beneath her flesh. Her skin was hyper-sensitized. She felt each hair on her arm and head down to the roots. "Wait. You know my hair is curly?"

"Wavy and thick." He cupped the back of her head. "Tempting. Like you."

"Ha." She coughed a little. "You do remember we're only pretending, right? That you're supposed to be listening and I'm supposed to be watching?"

"So tell me what you see."

"Other than a blind cad who will, thank G.o.d, never know what he looks like?" Who has the charm of Simon Baker and the rockin' bod of WWE wrestler Randy Orton-the combination was s.e.xy dangerous.

He pulled back and scowled straight ahead. His brandy eyes s.h.i.+fted from friendly seduction to something akin to primal fury. She couldn't have offended him. He had to know he was behaving like an overs.e.xed charmer. And surely he'd come to terms with his blindness. However long he'd lived with the disability, he'd had time to adjust to it, judging by his ability to move around.

"Yes," he snapped. "Other than that."

He was so confident. How could he not realize how appealing he was? "You're touchy." Yeah, she'd misstepped. He was p.i.s.sed. She leaned close and placed her arm around his neck. She brushed her lips along his lobe. "Makes me wonder why. What makes you tick, Ian?"

"Some mysteries are not yours to solve." His voice held its harshness, but he relaxed his shoulders and settled back into the stance of lovers. "What do you see?"

"All business." She'd preferred that since joining the Bureau. Had needed it to keep from thinking of how differently she'd thought her life would turn out. She accepted his mood s.h.i.+ft, but didn't move away from him. He'd said intimate. She would give him intimate. "Fine. As you said, there are couples everywhere. Touching, holding hands, kissing, leaning together as they listen to the music. Waiters and waitresses are bustling around the room."

"Any sign of ours?"

"Actually, a woman just indicated she'd be right over." She narrowed her eyes. "Did you know that?"

"Pay attention to why we're here. What else do you see?"

I hate secrets. "You're a pain in the a.s.s."

"You followed me. Now do your job."

"Fine." She huffed lightly. Arguments would have to come later. Not that they were going to have a later. "There's a married man hitting on a woman at the bar. Sleaze. Though even there, most of the people are obvious couples."

She brushed her fingers along the nape of his neck, his shorn hair tickling her fingertips. "Another man, dressed much like Taylor, only slicker, is at the end of the bar talking to the bartender. The jazz band is an ethnic mix of guys. One woman. All dressed to the nines. Everyone is absorbed in their date or their job, and are paying little to no attention to what goes on beyond the circle of their table. No one raises any alarms or seems like they'd be involved in something like a kidnapping and slavery ring."

"Is that all you see? Nothing else?"

"What do you want? A description of every outfit worn?"

"I want you, a trained FBI agent, to see the details you're missing."

"I miss nothing." She was still considered a rookie, but Cabrera couldn't know that. Just as he couldn't know what she'd missed. "I can tell you where the people in here have bought their clothes and estimate an income level for you. I can go out to the parking lot and tell you which person likely drives what car, and I noticed that even though you can't see the room, you sat so that your back is as close to the wall as it can get with everyone else either in front of you or to your side."

"You're touchy." He taunted her with her earlier words. "I'm not arguing that you're observant, but like most seeing people, your sight is a handicap for you whether you realize it or not. You see what's on the surface, missing the undercurrents of the environment you're in."

"Don't get p.i.s.sy again, but how would you know what I missed?" No way was she handicapped. She would let him speak, but she wouldn't allow him to go on thinking she was lacking.

An attractive waitress stepped up to their table and sat two gla.s.ses of water down. "Sorry for the wait. My name's Lisa. What can I get you to drink?"

Kieralyn smiled, though she really wanted to get back to the debate with Ian. He was mentally stimulating, if a bit irritating. "I'll have a gla.s.s of your best Riesling."

Lisa nodded and smiled at Ian. A glint of appreciation lit her eyes. "And you, sir?"

Ian smiled up at Lisa. The scars at the edges of his eyes crinkled and added to his appeal. "A Coors would be great."

"I'll get those drinks right over and take your food order." Lisa strode away.

Kieralyn turned back to Ian. "All right. Out with it."

"First, I'm sorry for being touchy. Your reaction got to me more than I'd thought it would." He put his arm around her at the waist and leaned close. "Now, for what you've missed."

"We'll start with the man talking to the bartender. He's the owner and shows it off by wearing a well-cut, high quality suit and an expensive watch. He's right handed and wearing a gun under his left arm. He's not afraid to do his own dirty work. He's trained himself to speak and move as if he was born to wealth, but there is an almost imperceptible layer of the streets beneath his veneer."

If he was the owner, was he involved in the case? Something from her recording had sent Ian here. If the recording had been made at the club, the owner would know. Wouldn't he? If that was the case, he'd know about Lana. Or had something else tipped him off to her? "I'm going to get tired of asking, but how do you know that?"

"Fabrics are no different than places. They each have sounds that are as distinct as their weights and textures. His suit whispers." Ian rested his hand on her knee and ran it up her thigh where he fingered the edge of her skirt. "Like these stockings you wear beneath this skirt. Both are silk, but the skirt's fabric is woven with a poly blend to give it more weight than the spun silk of your stockings."

Kieralyn swallowed the desire bubbling up and resisted the urge to s.h.i.+ft in her seat. Her body pulsed and tightened in awareness. "And the watch and gun?"

"The second hand on the watch sweeps rather than ticks. It's almost soundless. The holster forces him to hold his arm a little differently, which in turn makes the lining of his jacket rub less evenly than, say, Taylor, who is unarmed."

"You can't hear that over the music and conversation in here."

"On the crowded street, I could tell from the s.h.i.+ft of your silk s.h.i.+rt that you're wearing a lace bra." He slid his hand up her leg and over her s.h.i.+rt. His thumb brushed just beneath her breast. His eyes locked on her face as if he could see her. "Tell me, am I right? Or wrong?"

Moisture pooled in her panties. Her stomach clenched, and the muscles along her spine bunched. What was he doing to her? More important, how was he doing it? Men didn't get to her. She'd had s.e.x, sure. But no man had ever aroused her with a touch or the sound of seduction in his voice.

Ian Cabrera was not like other men.

"Am I right or wrong, Kieralyn?" His thumb eased up, closer to her breast. "Do you wear lace beneath your sensibly s.e.xy FBI agent clothes?"

"Keep your mind on the investigation, Ian."

"I can multi-task." He nuzzled into her neck, his lips smiling against her skin. "You're aroused."

"What?" She jerked, but he held her firm against him.

"Pheromones." He slid the tip of his tongue across the pulse point beneath her ear. "Lilacs. Your normal scent, sort of flowery, becomes intoxicating when it's mixed with the musky aroma of your desire."

Son of a- "Here are your drinks."

Lisa's appearance at the table snapped her back. Kieralyn found herself looking into the envious eyes of their waitress. Ian straightened in his chair as if he'd been doing nothing at all. As if he hadn't been close to bringing her to o.r.g.a.s.m with little more than his words and a couple of caresses.

"Thank you, Lisa. I'm feeling a bit parched." Humor and warmth lit his eyes as he smiled at Lisa.

Unlike most blind people Kieralyn had encountered, Ian didn't have a glazed-over look to his eyes. His gazes were as engaging as the next person's. More so because he rarely blinked.

Lisa blew out a soft breath, as if she was turned on simply by the idea of Ian. h.e.l.l, how could a woman not be? Especially if she'd heard any of what he'd been saying. "Have you had a chance to consider what you'd like to eat?"

Ian grinned and slid his gaze toward Kieralyn. Oh, she was so not going there with him. She couldn't. No way.

d.a.m.n, but she could imagine how great it would be. Kieralyn lifted her wine gla.s.s. Maybe a drink would soothe her. Calm her River-dancing nerves a bit.

"I'll have the steak, medium well, and the house salad. I may need the protein later."

Kieralyn choked, struggling not to spew her wine across the table. Energetic Ian was an image she didn't need, but too late it popped in her head. Only it was naked, energetic Ian, and he was wors.h.i.+ping her in bed. Or maybe she was wors.h.i.+ping him.

"Breathe." He rubbed a hand over her back in small circles. "I need you coherent for the night to come."

She cleared her throat and placed the gla.s.s carefully on the table. Lisa watched them with rapt appreciation. Kieralyn wanted nothing more than to crawl beneath the table and hide. She never should have agreed to this charade.

"Are you all right, ma'am?" Lisa sounded concerned, but Kieralyn wasn't fooled. The woman was turned on.

"I'll be fine." As soon as the ground swallows me whole. Kieralyn scanned the menu, more to take the moment to compose herself than to choose her dinner. "I'll have the baked cod and steamed vegetables."

"An excellent choice." Lisa took their menus and sauntered off. Her step a little lighter than it had been before.

Had Lisa been the target of Ian's seduction, she wouldn't be walking at all. Even sitting, Kieralyn's knees shook. "What else did I miss in my a.s.sessment of the club?"

Ian chuckled, but didn't dispute her change of topic. "Okay, the man at the bar hitting on the woman."

"The sleaze. What about him?" She glanced to where she'd seen the two in question. "He's making nice headway from all appearances. She's blus.h.i.+ng."

Ian grinned. "As she should be. The man is smooth, but he's also deeply in love."

"Then he shouldn't be hitting on a woman in a bar."

"But she's the one he's in love with. She's his wife. The mother of his newborn child. Why shouldn't he hit on her?"

"What? You can't possibly know all of that." Married women who'd given birth didn't flirt and blush like girls just turned twenty-one out on the town for the first time.

"We walked past them on the way in. She smells of breast milk. He smells of baby burps. There's a familiarity in their voices, the way they speak to one another as if they know every secret of importance." Ian began fingering Kieralyn's hair again. "And he's telling her all the ways he's going to love her, wors.h.i.+p her body, when he gets her home."

"You're making every bit of that up."

He lifted her hand with his free one and pressed his lips to her palm. "Bet me."

Lightning streaked down her arm and spread through her body. Her panties grew damper and abraded her swollen c.l.i.t. She closed her eyes and restrained herself from squirming in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure. "What?"

"If I'm right, you owe me one indulgence. If you're right, then I owe you."

"What kind of indulgence?"

"To be determined by the winner."

She laughed and shook her head. "That's a loaded bet."

"Indulgences can be physical." He dropped his hand from her hair enough to rub her neck. "s.e.xual, or not."

"I know what kind you're aiming for." Using the hand he still held, she placed his hand in his lap. "I'm not playing."

"Some would call that proof that I can read a situation without sight better than you can with."

"And some people are idiots. There's nothing wrong with my eyes or deduction abilities."

"Then take the bet."

"Fine." She pushed away from him and stood. "If you'll excuse me, I have to go prove you wrong."

"Wait." He stopped her with a gentle hold on her wrist. "How am I supposed to know you're telling the truth when you come back?"

Her jaw dropped. He honestly thought she was going to lie to win a bet. That she was unworthy of trust. "You take me for a liar? You think that I have something to hide?"

"I think you're afraid of what I'll ask for if I win."

She bent down close to his ear. "I'm not the one keeping secrets."

"I'm not so sure about that."