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The Touch

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I want it noted for the record that I hadn’t actually intended to use that knowledge the Sight had given me. I tried to shove everything I’d learned about Marcone into a deep mental box wrapped up in chains, and then dumped into a deep hole in my subconscious with warning signs. It wasn’t knowledge I wanted, and I sure as hell had no clue what to do with it.

At least, that had been the plan: to forget about it and hope it went away.

But it started coming up in my dreams, so often that I couldn’t just ignore what I knew. I’d never been so plagued with wet dreams in my life. Hell, it hadn‘t even been this bad when I was a teenager. And to top it all off, as if that wasn’t bad enough, because I was getting pretty tired of having to wash my sheets, I’d been spending more time with Marcone than I would have liked.

Which is why I was currently bored out of my mind, sitting in Marcone’s office waiting for him to finish a phone call so I could update him on the weekly reports from the White Council.

One of the codicils added to the contract was that he was to be informed of all White Council activities where he held territory - so pretty much all of northwest America - at least those that weren’t considered too sensitive for him to know. He wanted to be kept informed every time a sorcerer was discovered, the disappearance or death of any practitioner, as well as any incidences of supernatural attacks on mortals. Frankly, it sometimes felt like he’d taken over being regional commander with all the reports he insisted on. Which was another thing that was driving me crazy, but that’s not was on my mind at the moment.

In my boredom, I found myself thinking about that spot on the back of Marcone’s neck.

Would caressing it be enough? Or would I have to dig my fingers in? Why hadn’t anyone ever found it before? And how would Marcone react if I touched it? Well, other than possibly shooting me for getting into his personal space without warning, I mean.

I kept trying to shove the questions away, but they kept coming back up. It didn’t help that when I looked up to see if he was finally done with his phone call, Marcone had his chair angled away from me, his head bowed over some papers on his desk. That spot on his neck was visible from where I was sitting.

His dark hair cut tapered to a slight point right below it, as if saying: Here, you want to touch here.

Which is how I found myself stepping right up to his desk my hand outstretched. It wasn’t until the tip of my forefinger touched his warm skin that I realized what I was doing.

Which was exactly a split second too late.


Marcone stiffened as if he’d been hit with a lightning.

I jerked back. His head snapped over to me, phone pressed against his ear.

I could see the arousal in his eyes; his pupils were blown until only a ring of green remained. There was a flush to his cheeks, and his expression was completely surprised.

“Um, sorry, I-” I tried to say. “I was- your neck.”

“Mr. Dresden,” Marcone said, his voice deep but strained. One of his hands was white-knuckled around the phone while the other was clutching at his desk as if it were the only thing keeping him up.

Stars and stones, he was seriously turned on. All that from one little touch… that I’d given him.


“Right!” I said brightly, getting a hold of myself. I could freak out about what I‘d just done later. I pulled out the latest report from my coat pocket and put it on his desk. “I‘ll be leaving now!”

And then I ran away like a little girl.