Excerpt of Hook Up by Miranda Baker

"The door to Come Again opened just as he reached it and a
pink-cheeked redhead stepped outside and held the door for
him.

“Thanks,” he said, glad to be spared the awkwardness of
trying to open the door while holding two hot coffees and a
bag of goodies.

He spotted Crystal behind the counter.

“Be right with you,” she called. Her back was turned as she
reached to hang a pair of fur-lined handcuffs on the wall
behind her. He wasn’t exactly sure what she was wearing, but
it was black and made out of leather and something shiny.
There were an ungodly number of hooks and laces across the
back. It reminded him of a Chinese puzzle box he’d had as a
kid. It had kept him busy for hours unhooking latches and
bolts to get inside. When he had discovered the trick, it
had been fiendishly simple. One button and the lid had
popped open like magic. He wondered if Crystal’s complicated
getup had a simple catch too. Maybe a hidden zipper?

She turned around and her welcoming smile disappeared. The
heavy black lines around her eyes made them look huge and
deep, and her lipstick was so dark it looked like it had
been applied with a black Sharpie marker. It should have
looked garish, but it suited her.

She crossed her arms and the movement plumped her breasts
above the neckline of her top. What the hell is that thing?
How does it stay up? How does it come off? He itched to get
his hands on the closures.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Bringing you coffee.” As he set her mocha on the counter,
he saw an empty cup with chocolate residue on the bottom.
“But I see you’ve had your fix today. My instincts were
right on, but I guess I’m a little late.”

“I’d say that about covers our situation.” She slid onto the
stool behind the counter and crossed her legs. The band of
smooth white skin between the top of her fishnet stocking
and her miniscule skirt made him dizzy.

He swallowed hard, forcing his eyes back to her face.
“What’s with all the black and leather? I don’t remember you
as a goth girl.”

She smiled, tilting her head back to gaze at him through
half-shut eyes. The long line of her neck made his mouth
water. “People change, Ryan.” The way she said his name sang
through him. “I’m more comfortable this way. It fits the
whole psychic image, and frees me up to do what I do best.”

“What do you do best?” he asked, even though he already knew
—make love like an angel, haunt a man’s dreams, set the
standard so high that no other woman would ever measure up.

She shrugged. “I help people. I know what my clients want,
what they need. I give them the good advice they would give
themselves, if they only knew what to say.”

“How do you do it? I don’t remember you being psychic.”

She laughed. “We spent one night together, Ryan. I didn’t
tell you all my secrets. Did you tell me all yours?” Her
voice held no more than mild curiosity, but something about
her blasé attitude didn’t ring true. Maybe it was the faint
sheen of sweat on her forehead and upper lip. The tightness
in her jaw. The way her heel twitched against the leg of the
stool.

He leaned on the counter. “You tell me.” They were eye to
eye, her sitting on the stool, him leaning forward. “Even if
I did, I have more secrets now. Better secrets. Want to try
to guess them?”

She shook her head. “I can’t read minds. Only emotions.”

She could read his emotions? Did she know he wanted to walk
around the counter and stand behind her, brace her body with
his and drop his face into the long, pale curve of her neck?
From this distance, he could just catch the edge of her
spicy perfume. It wasn’t enough. Couldn’t they drop the
bullshit and have this conversation naked? Somewhere
comfortable? Where she couldn’t run away for at least a
week?

She swayed on the stool. “And I don’t have to guess how you
feel right now. I can’t get away from it.” She took a deep
breath and blew it out loudly. “Enough with the lust, Ryan.
You’re giving me a headache.”

Surprise jerked him upright. “That is certainly not my
intention.”

“Yes, I understand that. But we aren’t teenagers anymore.”
Her indulgent smile made his hackles rise. She had moved on.
She’d made that clear, but he still felt like she owed him
an explanation.

“I have some questions for you.” He crossed his arms. He had
assumed she was cleverly tapping a niche market with the
whole sensual psychic gig. Was it possible she was telling
the truth? If so, he had nothing to hide.

She jumped to her feet. “I’m sorry, but I have a client at
four thirty. I don’t have time to chat.”

“Actually, you do.” He pointed at the appointment book on
the counter. “I booked your last slot.”

She grabbed the book and flipped it open. “Marvin Gaye?” Her
voice held disbelief and fury.

“I couldn’t resist.” He took a sip of his cappuccino, now
cool enough to drink. “Isn’t that what you peddle? Sexual
healing? I’ve needed a dose of that for ten years. Bring it
on, Crystal. I’m waiting.”"