Power Trip(32)
“For millions.”
“It’s not a crime,” he protested.
She led the way toward the basement door. “Now I really am dying to see your lab.”
Chapter Nine
“Wow.”
Cal grinned, pleased that she was impressed with his set-up. Although the room was crammed with equipment, there was plenty of room for whatever she wanted to add.
“What’s that?” she asked, pointing at a full-size mannequin across the room. It wore the latest version of his bio-enhancer, a skullcap of black straps connected to a leather vest that housed a still-too-complicated circuit.
“A prototype of the electrical enhancer I was telling you about the other night in the car.”
She pointed at the conductor in its hand. “That looks like a gun.”
“It is a gun, a green gun. No batteries, no chemicals. It’s powered solely by the electrical impulses of the human body.”
Her jaw dropped. “Does it work?”
He nodded slowly, watching her eyes go wide. “It’s a little clunky and I haven’t tested it out on anyone but myself. Unfortunately, I have the opposite problem as the rest of the world. I have too much energy.”
She raised her hand, then paused. “Can I touch it?”
“Sure.” Her fingers traced the wires, stopping every so often to explore the connection points. As her hands moved over the mannequin, he imagined her hands touching his skin. He heard a sizzle. Yes, he definitely had too much energy.
Audrey looked at him. “Is it safe? Can I try it out?”
He stifled a groan at her professional enthusiasm. “I should have known better than to bring you in here. Scientists are so predictable.”
Her eyes flashed. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
He chuckled, moving toward her. “I’m not disappointed. Far from it. Sure you can try it—take off your clothes.”
“What?” She jerked back.
He pointed at the mannequin. “Do you see any clothes on him? The wires need to touch your skin, and it seems logical to begin our next experiment in the lab anyway.”
She lifted her chin and pulled her shoulders back, searching his eyes. What was she looking for? He waited for a question, but she said nothing.
The zipper of her fleece sounded loud in the charged silence. She shrugged out of it, folded it and set it neatly on a lab stool. Her T-shirt followed, leaving her in jeans and a lacy white bra. She toed off her sneakers, bent and placed them under the stool. He watched her breasts rise and fall, her belly tighten, as she reached for the button of her jeans. When they were folded too, she stood only in her bra, panties and thick, white sport socks.
“Leave the rest.” He liked her practical yet sexy lingerie, and he didn’t want her feet to be chilled by the cold tile.
He wanted to touch her, but he didn’t dare. She wasn’t hooked up to any monitors and his electrons were massing, rioting, begging for release. He pulled a pair of insulating gloves from his desk drawer and put them on, noting her eyelids dipped as he did. “Why did you just look away?” he asked.
“I’m disappointed you’re not going to touch me.”
Her honest answer pleased him and made it doubly hard to control his charge. “Soon,” he said. “Don’t knock the gloves. They offer many erotic opportunities. May I touch you?”
She rolled her eyes. “You have to ask? I just said I wanted you to.”
“I do. Permission is one of the basic tenets of BDSM. We begin now. What is your safe word?”
“Red.” Her voice was soft, her eyes clear.
“And what will you say if you are uncomfortable?”
“Yellow.”
“And how do you feel now?”
“Green.”
He placed his hand on her shoulder and looked down into her eyes. “Is your brain slipping out of gear?” He knew it was, even before she nodded. Her pupils were dilated. Her breath came in time with his. He felt immense satisfaction in being able to safely run his hands over her compact muscles and feminine curves. “Just stand still while I touch you.” He stroked his hands over her arms, down to her wrists and back up again. He let his palms drift over her chest to cup her small, firm breasts, filling his hands with their sweet weight. He pinched her nipples, making her gasp.
“You have a beautiful body,” he said, dying to press his lips to her shoulder. Not yet. Not until she was monitored.
She sighed, a harsh sound of frustration, not a soft sound of longing.
“Patience,” he urged, not having much himself.
“I have patience,” she grumbled. “But in some situations, I expect immediate gratification. You aren’t touching the parts that want attention.”