No WIP Wed today, because things are progressing but slowly. Extreme (for WI) heat and a stomach bug are not exactly helping matters. Instead, enjoy this random pseudo-romantic scene I wrote today. I have far too many of these “homeless” scenes floating around my computer…
Background: They’ve been working (with others) on some highly important something-or-other (standard mystery-action-adventure type deal). For some reason or other, Lise (pronounced as in ‘lease’) was pretending to be a telepath, though she finally told the others that she’s not. Dylan sometimes works undercover in one of the less pleasant neighborhoods of whatever city they’re in. The scene takes place in a parking garage, because my brain said so. Hooray for vagueness.
“I’ve been wondering something.”
Lise jumped as Dylan’s voice echoed through the garage. She sent the Marine a wary look as he pushed off of the car he’d been leaning on. He was wearing the tattered civvies that let him blend in down in Ratdom.
“Kera said something to me, back when you were still psychic,” he began as he approached her. “She said you told her I was attracted to you.”
She opened her mouth to deny it, but she sensed Dylan wasn’t going to let this drop. “Not in so many words,” she said after a brief hesitation.
Dylan circled around to stand in front of her and Lise focused her gaze on the small tear in the collar of his T-shirt. “Well, seeing as we both know you’re about as psychic as my left shoe…I’m wondering just what gave you that idea.”
Lise raised her eyes to his for a minute, then closed them on a sigh. “You do this thing, when you’re around me,” she began slowly, chin high, eyes still shut. “I enter the room and you somehow manage to end up on the other side of it, especially if we’re alone. But if you do get close to me—if you can’t avoid it—I swear it feels like you’re trying to get as close as you can without actually touching me. I can feel the heat radiating off of your body, from your eyes. When we’re close together like that, your voice gets lower, and—husky.” Her own voice was getting a bit raspy now.
Lise cleared her throat and opened her eyes, shifting her purse up higher on her shoulder as she took a half a step back. “But, as you say, I’m not a psychic.” She turned to leave, but he caught her by the arm and pulled her back to him.
“What do you want, Dylan?” she demanded, meeting his eyes at last.
Some of her misery leaked through with the frustration and Dylan was taken aback at the pain in her voice. “I—” he said. “I don’t know. I…”
Dylan released her arms, shoving his hands in the pockets of his tattered cargo pants. “I go back undercover tonight,” he said, his eyes studying a crack in the pavement a few feet behind her.
“I know,” Lise said, once her brain had adjusted to the abrupt shift in topic. “You’re wearing the earring.” Not to mention the clothes, which were a dead giveaway.
He looked up at her then. “Well, we’ve established you’re observant.”
Observant enough to know better than to let him keep watching her with those bright blue eyes half-hidden by dark lashes. “You’re still wearing your tags,” Lise said, dropping her gaze to his collar once more. “Given the number of holes in your masterful disguise—”
“All right, all right,” Dylan cut her off, but from the tone of his voice she could tell he was embarrassed that he hadn’t remembered to take them off. He pulled the tags up over his head one-handed. He frowned at the beaten-up-but-flashy convertible that was his undercover transportation, then back at the tags in his hand.
“Leave them with me,” Lise said resignedly, holding out her hand. They both knew how stupid it would be to hide the tags in the car.
Dylan ignored her hand and slid the chain over her head. “Don’t poke anybody’s brain too hard while I’m gone.”
“Dylan—” she began, but he leaned in, tugging on the chain to pull her lips to his.
“Tell North I’ll be back on Sunday,” he said briskly. The businesslike non sequitur was hindered slightly by the huskiness of his voice.
Just when I thought you couldn’t be more trouble, Lise thought as she watched him drive off. Now what are we going to do?
Things you can learn about Myriad from this story:
Here, have a picture of David James Elliot.