The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance (Trisha Telep) (Kitty Norville 0.50)

He moved closer to her, not quite bringing their bodies together, but close enough that she had to lean back against the wall. Not because he intimidated her, and not because she didn’t want him to touch her, but because of the rising warmth in his dark eyes. “It’s been killing me too. I didn’t dare flirt with you, because I thought it was forbidden.

“When I date someone, it’s very . . . intense for me. At least at first. I cannot touch someone without getting flashes of their thoughts. And when we make love—” his gaze drifted down to her mouth, and the corner of his lips curled up on one side “—everything feeds back on itself until I’m nearly mindless with our mutual pleasure. Of course, it does mean I’m a very good lover, because I’ll know exactly what you’re craving.”

Carrie didn’t have to focus her thoughts on the future to feel that same sharp spike of desire

in the here and now.

Clearing her throat, she focused her thoughts. “Well. Now that we know that both of us are attracted to each other, and that the League policy doesn’t forbid it, shall we finish meeting and greeting the populace, and then make our way out onto the streets to deal with the Doctor’s minions and their mysterious powder? Since they are watching and waiting for us to exit the ballpark.”

“And find a place to explore that . . . intense . . . future you foresaw?” he asked, touching her waist with his silver hand.

She started to say yes, then remembered an important detail. Tipping her head, she asked, “Do I at least get to know your real name before we make love? It might kill the mood a little if I shout out ‘Steelhand’ mid-lovemaking.”

“It’s Rio Sanchez.” His smile turned into a smirk. “But don’t worry, it won’t kill the mood on my end if you call out my team name. I want you so much, I’m not going to give you time to think about anything once we’re alone.”

“Your name is Rio Sanchez?” she repeated sceptically, ignoring the promise in his words. She was still a professional, still an on-the-clock Ascendant at the moment . . . though she did plan on sticking to her “potentially embarrassing need for isolation” excuse to cover their abandoning of their patrol tonight. Sometimes it was good to be a precognitive, and protected by League policy from having to reveal the full truth of every little matter.

“I know I don’t look it, but my father’s Filipino and my mother’s Korean,” he stated with a grin. “You’re not the first one to think the name doesn’t match the face.”

“No, I meant it sounded like a hokey sort of secret-identity alias. I’m Carrie Vinson,” she introduced herself, holding up her gloved hand. “It’s not much better as far as names go, but it’s what I’ve got.”

Steelhand/Rio clasped gloved hands with her, then leaned in close and kissed her. It wasn’t exactly a brief kiss, but it wasn’t a very passionate one either, just a gentle, warm salute of her lips. Mindful that he would be picking up snatches of her thoughts, Carrie carefully blanked out everything but the feel of his mouth pressing against hers and her enjoyment of it. He kissed her a little more firmly, then flicked the tip of his tongue along the seam of her lips. Before she could do more than inhale sharply in pleasure, he pulled back.

“We have to be professional,” he muttered. “If I keep kissing you, I won’t be able to go out in public. Not in spandex pants. Even if it is armoured down there. Foresight — Carrie,” Rio corrected himself.

“Everything I know about you as a partner says I’ll like you even more as a man, and I do want to find out all about you, if possible, she agreed.”

Lifting his gloved fingers to her hair, Rio tucked a loose, light-brown curl behind her ear. “Everything I’ve learned about you as a partner makes me think I definitely want to get to know you as a woman.”

Someone knocked on the door. Both of them jumped a little, then blushed. Carrie pulled her mind back into work mode -Foresight mode. “We need to get back on patrol. But I just want to tell you that I’ve never foreseen anything I’ve wanted to happen so badly before.

“By the way, what did you do for a living before you became a superhero?” She asked, stepping aside to let him check his mask in the mirror.

He gave her a smile. “Before I turned Ascendant, I worked as a translator, out of a tiny little apartment with a balcony barely big enough for a few tomatoes and a box of leaf lettuce. Now I work for the League and live in the suburbs on the Eastside, with a big backyard where I grow my own vegetables. I remember being very disappointed that I didn’t get any green-thumb superpowers to deal with plants when I Ascended. But I suppose turning my body into living metal and reading minds aren’t too bad as far as superpowers go. What about you? What does Carrie Vinson like to do?”

“Ceramic arts. It’s extra easy, what with the telekinetic thing. I’ve even had a couple of pottery shows in local galleries,” she confessed.

“Vinson . . . wait, Vinson Pottery? Isn’t that the shop on the corner of Fourth and Stewart?”

“Yeah.” She smiled. “It’s a nice change from throwing around villains with my mind, or having to probe into the future. So you’ve seen my work, then?”

“I’ve bought your work. I bought one of the bamboo sculptures for my father’s birthday—” Rio was interrupted by another knock on the door, cutting off their exchange of personal information. Sighing, they both squared their shoulders, preparing themselves mentally for the waiting public.

Carrie glanced at her partner as she reached for the door lock. “No rest for a superhero, and all that,” she said. “Are you ready to face the public?”

“Not really. But now that I have tonight to look forward to, I can endure almost any torture,” he quipped. “Bring on the crowd of adoring thousands, fellow Ascendant. The sooner we can get this over with, the sooner we can run away and be an adoring little crowd of two.”

“I’m looking forward to that.” In a much, much lighter mood than at the beginning of her evening, Carrie opened the door.

Daniel

C.T. Adams and Cathy Clamp

One

“Jenna! Ohmigod, Jenna Cooper! Is that you?” I made my voice a girlish squeal. Inwardly I was wincing, but I played the role to perfection, running up to the mark like a long-lost acquaintance, making sure everybody in the restaurant would be watching so that there’d be witnesses later if she tried to deny what was about to happen.

A gorgeous woman in a lavender silk suit and pearls the size of gumballs leaned back from her salad plate and eyed me suspiciously. But she didn’t bolt or try to deny it, so I ploughed on.