“Well, Fin, I truly appreciate that. But I still want to go home tonight. This isn’t about me bucking your reins. I simply prefer to sleep in my own bed. I need my space.”
He clutched the top of his desk chair, his knuckles whitening against the leather. Something fizzled in me at his stifled display of anger. Now we were getting somewhere. Maybe I could coax him into a raised voice, a stern scolding.
A spanking?
“It’s also safer here. Your landlord hands out keys to anyone who wanders through.”
I laughed. “You seduced it out of him. Come on, I doubt there is a human alive who could resist your charm when you actually used it.”
His face contorted into a twist of confusion and frustration. Oh, yes, I’d seen it a hundred times on so many faces, I could recognize it immediately.
“You met Esteban. He could do the same.”
Damn. I would need to talk to my landlord about his taste in men. Hell, what did that say about my own then?
I waved at the chair opposite mine and put a little pander in my tone. “Sit down and talk to me. Let’s discuss a plan. That will make you feel like you have more control.”
He scowled so beautifully, but sat in front of me, anyway. He took a moment to roll up his dress shirt sleeves before he spoke. “I’m not a child throwing a fit because I didn’t get what I wanted.”
“Sure looks like that to me.” I shrugged. “We have no agreement stipulating I have to stay here, so I want to go home. I’m happy to discuss your ideas for controlling my dreams before I leave.”
Why did I suddenly feel like we’d switched places: him the moody dramatic one, me the rational pragmatist? As much as I was capable, anyway.
I crossed one leg over the other and winced as the ache in my side pinched sharply.
“Are you still in pain?” he asked, studying me.
“Well, considering it takes six weeks or so for a broken rib to heal, I’d say, yes, I’m still in pain.”
The concern building in his tense shoulders and the tight grip of his hands was kind of touching. “Did the doctors give you anything for it?”
“Of course, I take it when I need it. I’m fine, thank you for your concern.”
We lapsed into silence, and I waited for him to lead the conversation. Him being the one more versed in magic between us I expected him to start. I took a sip from the melted ice bourbon mix at the bottom of my glass. When I’d drained it, I pressed out of the chair.
“I’m going home if you have nothing to add.”
“Sendings are a form of psychic communication. It establishes a connection between the two parties. It can be broken, of course, the same way you can block out my type of psychic infiltration.”
I sat again in the chair and faced him. “Anything else?”
“I might be able to use my own magic to sort of subconsciously activate your own powers. It’s not something I’ve done before, but I’d be willing to try if you are.”
The idea of someone else free-wheeling inside my mind didn’t sit well with me. The entire concept of psychic infiltration gave me goosebumps and turned my stomach.
He must have seen the reservations on my face.
“I promise, I’ll do nothing except what we agree,” he said.
It came back to trust. Did I trust him to keep his word? Did I trust him with my mind? My magic? To control my body? It hurt a little to admit, no, I didn’t. Not yet, at least.
I shook my head. “I’m sorry, I don’t feel comfortable with anyone inside my head. Hell, I can barely stand to be in there myself sometimes.”
My attempt at levity didn’t faze him.
I leaned over despite the pain to meet his eyes easier. “We haven’t been working together long. And most of the time we did, you forced me to do things I didn’t want to do. Then, being secretive about your plans and hiding things from me. After we both almost died, I promised myself I wasn’t going on that shit show train again. Now, I’ve agreed to work with you again, but it will be a true partnership. No secrets. No hiding things. No controlling my mind to make me do things. Understood?”
“I can help with the pain. Make your body think it’s not even there,” he said.