Tracy ran her hands over her skirt. She instantly felt sorry for thinking bad of him. The guy was involved in a murder investigation, for goodness’ sake. “That’s okay. I hadn’t really started getting ready yet.” Well, she still had to put on lipstick, so it wasn’t a complete lie.
“Listen, I don’t want you to think we’re trying to get out of this or anything.”
We’re trying. The plural barely even sounded funny anymore.
“Can we get together tomorrow, maybe for lunch? I’m sure I can squeeze in at least an hour. We really want to see you. I’ve been trying to explain to Dak that the timing has been bad.”
“It’s okay. Really, I understand.” And she did, oddly enough. Usually, Tracy got bad vibes from some guys, but John’s were good. How could she feel threatened by a man trying to save people’s lives? “How about we meet tomorrow at a Starbucks or something?”
There was a brief silence. “Dak still says I should be picking you up for a second date, but if you could meet me, that would give us some extra time. My schedule is going to be nuts until this case is closed.”
Until he caught the killer, he meant. Funny how he worded it so it sounded like another day at the office. “Name the place and I’ll be there.”
“How about the Starbucks on Route 42? Do you know it?”
“Northbound? Yeah, I do.”
“How about one o’clock?”
“I’ll be there.”
She hung up the phone, slammed her makeup box shut, and slid it across the bathroom counter. She wasn’t mad that John had cancelled her date, but disappointment was inevitable after looking forward to seeing him for an entire week.
Her skirt shifted around her hips. A weightless sensation came over her, mixed with an air of giddiness.
Adonna? It certainly didn’t feel like her own emotion.
She turned her waist again, and the fabric glided back and forth. Did her Ambient maybe like to dance? Was that why the movement of the fabric sent tingles up her spine?
Tracy placed her hands on her hips and stared at her reflection. Well, why not? No one said she needed a date to go out and enjoy herself, right? She tousled her bangs and grabbed the hairspray as the radio on her nightstand cut to the news: more about the murders, and a warning that the killer was still on the loose.
“Local law enforcement advises women to use caution when traveling alone,” the announcer said.
Well, she wouldn’t have been alone if she hadn’t been stood up.
She stared at her reflection. She hadn’t been stood up. She’d been postponed. Big difference. But she still wanted to go out.
“Laini!” She walked down the hall and into the living room.
Her roommate sat with her feet up on a recliner and a book in her hands. “What’s up?”
“Let’s go out for a while.”
Laini set her book down and folded her arms. “Don’t tell me the cop dumped you already.”
“No. He’s stuck on a case. We’re meeting for lunch tomorrow, instead.”
“Instant make-up date? Three extra points for Inspector Gadget.” She pushed her footrest down. “He must like you.”
Tracy’s cheeks heated. The thought had occurred to her, but she wasn’t ready to get her hopes up. After all, he didn’t even kiss her yet. Disheartened, she pushed the thought aside. “So, what do you think? Are you up for a drink?”
“You know what, why not?”
A few swipes of lipstick and a short car ride later, they settled onto a set of stools at the Shoreline Bar and Grille. Two couples swayed to a slow song on an otherwise empty dance floor. A few girls sat at tables along the wall. Not really the party Tracy was hoping for.
Laini leaned toward her. “There is no way I’m dancing unless I can hide in a crowd of people. Let’s get that perfectly clear.”
“You’ll get no argument from me.” She glanced back at the door. “Do you want to leave?”
The bartender wiped his hands on a towel. Deep mocha biceps stretched the short, black cotton sleeves of his T-shirt as he rested his elbows on the bar. “What can I get you ladies?”
Laini’s mouth snapped shut before falling open again. “I’ll, umm, have…” She stared at him until he laughed.
Cute bartender. Hmm. For Laini’s sake, they could stay for a drink or two.
“Get her a bay breeze,” Tracy said. “I’ll have a white wine spritzer.”
He threw the towel over his shoulder. “You got it. I’ll be right back.”
Tracy handed Laini a napkin. “You’re drooling.”
She covered her bright pink cheeks with the small white square. “Oh my gosh, he had blue eyes. Did you see his eyes?”
“Sorry, I didn’t see the ebony god’s eyes because they were too busy undressing my best friend.”
Laini’s gaze widened. “Do you think so?”
She turned toward the end of the bar as the bartender bent over to grasp a glass. His tight jeans left little to the imagination. Dang.
“I am so going over there and talking to him.” She stood.
“But he’ll be back with our drinks in a minute.”
She tapped the napkin on the counter. “If I don’t go ahead and do it, I’m gonna chicken out.”
Laini straightened her skirt as she skated down to the end of the bar. Adonis flashed her a million-dollar smile as she lolled over the far side of the counter toward him. He better not just be working up a good tip. Her roommate deserved better.
Laini never complained as much as Tracy did, but they were both in the same boat: thirty, single, and no prospects. Well, Tracy had one now, but she wasn’t quite ready to put her handsome detective on the marriage radar yet.
Tracy jerked up in her seat as if struck by an electric current. A swirl moved within her, jittering. She took a deep breath and rubbed her stomach as someone stepped up to the bar beside her.
A deep southern drawl filled her ears. “One of us doesn’t belong here, and I don’t think it’s me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tracy turned toward the blue eyes of the guy from the bar last week. Mr. Intensity. The stale air touched her tongue as she gaped.
“This place is usually a tramp-fest,” he said. “You don’t look much like a tramp.”
That had to be the worst line ever. “Really? What do I look like?”
“A nice girl.”
Wow, that was even lamer than she expected. “And I suppose you’re looking for a nice girl?”
He laughed and ordered a gin and tonic from a different bartender. “Nope. I was looking for a tramp.”
Tracy could feel her eyes widen, not expecting that kind of honesty.
He gestured over to the table of girls. “Except for that group of kids who came in with fake ID’s, the pickings are pretty slim tonight.”
“So you came over to talk to the nice girl?”
“Yeah, well, I figure if I can’t get laid, I might as well have some friendly conversation.”
Damn, was this guy candid or what? “Conversation is as good as sex?”
“Not always. Sometimes the conversation is better.”
She tried to control the dumbfounded stare that she was sure had plastered itself across her face as he drew a small box from his pocket and tapped it into his palm. The contents shook against the metal sides of the container until a small, thin toothpick appeared. He shoved it between his lips and ran his thumb over the embossed picture on the front of the case.
Tracy raised an eyebrow. “You don’t strike me as the toothpick type.”
He shrugged. “Do I strike you as the smoking type? ‘Cause I use these to curb my much nastier habit.”
“You use toothpicks to quit smoking?”
“Yeah. The patches worked great, but it was harder to curb the habit of having something in my hands and mouth.”
“Good for you.” That sounded stupid, but she could never relate to people who smoked. She’d never even been tempted to try.
&nbs
p; Across the bar, Laini and the cute bartender spoke over both the drinks he’d made. Had Laini forgotten she’d come here with somebody?
The southerner tapped the top of the tarnished box. Twice his brow arched as he glanced in Tracy’s direction, as if there were something about her he was trying to figure out.
Uncomfortable under his stare, she centered her attention on the metal box he passed back and forth between his hands. “That looks like an antique.”
His brow rose. “Actually, it is. My daddy and his daddy before him used this very same box to carry their toothpicks. I never in a million years thought I’d carry it in my pocket like they did. But here I am, the third generation of toothpick dweebs.” He handed her the box.
The picture on the front showed an embossed peach with a red and blue circle around it. “Does this symbol mean something?” She handed the container back to him.
“Yeah. That’s the symbol of my family’s plantation in Georgia.”
“You grow peaches?”
“Me? No. My family did a long time ago. This little box and a few thousand toothpicks to fill it are all that’s left of those days. I think that land is an outlet mall now or something.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
He grimaced. “No worries. That was long before I gave a damn about any of it.” The container reflected the lights above the bar as he slipped the tin into his pocket. “I do remember running through those trees as a kid, but not much else about the place.” A sense of calm coated him, as if the memory of the trees gave him peace.
The plantation must have been like a magical playground. Her earliest memories were of the countless daycare centers she’d been left in. She’d never even seen a park until she was twelve. But her mom had worked hard to make the best of their time together. Tracy had always been thankful for that.
The peach-guy eased onto a bar stool as his gaze dropped over her. “Dressed like that in a place like this. Let me guess: some asshole stood you up.” His gin and tonic arrived, and he took a sip.
“It wasn’t like that.”
“It never is.”
What was she supposed to say to that? Tracy’s personal life was none of his stinking business. “What happened to the blonde you were with last week?”
His head tilted back, and he laughed. “Yeah, I thought you looked familiar.” He shrugged. “That, well, that really didn’t work out.” He reached for his drink again but hit the glass instead. His drink sloshed across the counter, soaking Tracy’s blouse.
“Oh, crap, I’m so sorry, darlin’.” He grabbed a few napkins and turned toward her. He hesitated and handed her the white squares. “Maybe you should do that yourself.”
She laughed and dabbed the drink from the front of her shirt before taking the extra napkins he offered. The tips of their fingers touched and a jolt of electricity shot up her arm.
She dropped the napkins, forgetting about her outfit.
He stared at her, wide-eyed. “What in Sam Hill was that?”
Her fingers still tingled. Her hand hummed. Something inside Tracy shook, like pure glee waiting to explode with nowhere to go.
This guy had an Ambient inside him, and from his expression, he either had no idea he wasn’t alone, or he’d never touched another host. Ho-lee-shit.
She dried herself off, still undecided about what, if anything, she should say. John had a badge to hide behind, and he was sure to flash it before he mentioned Dak so she wouldn’t think he was out of his mind. All she had to show this guy was a wet blouse.
When she placed the damp napkins down on the bar, the southerner was in exactly the same position, staring at her. His beautiful blue eyes quaked. His lip trembled.
“My name is Tracy.” She held out her palm.
He stared at her fingers as if they might bite him.
“Sean,” he finally said. He didn’t take her hand.
Might as well try to ease into this. “Did you feel something strange when we touched?”
“Shit yeah.” His gaze lingered on her fingers, her wrist, her arm. “What was that?” He reached out toward her but drew back. “Why do I feel like I’m going to die if I don’t touch you again?”
Every molecule in her body cried out. She inched toward him, but the pressure in her mind, in her blood, in her very being, coaxed her even closer.
Like she would die if she didn’t touch him? Yes. Exactly like that. But why? She didn’t feel that way about Dak.
Sean took a deep breath and grabbed her hand. A new pressure dove through her skin. An Ambient. Not gentle and searching like Dak, but strong, demanding, needy. And sure as hell not afraid to take what it wanted. A firecracker exploded in her chest and she clenched her teeth to keep from crying out.
Sean pushed her away. “Fuckin’ A.” When his eyes returned to her, they were filled with a hunger that sent a chill to her core.
She stumbled from her stool and stepped back despite an inner push to climb on top of him and comingle his body with hers.
Wait. Comingle?
Her sense of reason wavered as the chill was replaced with heat. She blinked and shook her head. The fog subsided before rushing back and prodding her toward him.
Tracy staggered forward, and Sean grabbed her shoulder. A deep pressure formed under her skin beneath his grip. A silent curse crossed her lips. Why did she have to wear sleeves?
Shaking her head again, she tried to steady herself. Why did she care if she had sleeves on or not? Tracy stiffened. She didn’t care, but the being inside her—the one who craved skin to skin contact—did.
Oh, shit.
Sean’s eyes never left hers as he threw a few bills on the bar top, took Tracy’s hand, and pulled her to the door.
Wait! Tracy blanched, realizing the word she’d tried to scream hadn’t left her lips. And she was walking. With him. Toward the exit. Laini!
The female bartender shouted to them. “Sir, you left two twenties here.”
“Keep the change,” Sean shouted over his shoulder, quickening his pace.
Tracy matched him, the swirling heat inside her driving her forward through a fog. A dull hum drove out all but the sensation of their entities stroking each other through the touch of their fingers.
They walked toward a blue sedan and Sean opened the passenger side door for her.
No! I am not getting in that car with you!
But her body ignored her, slipping into the leather seat and reclining.
Sean glided into the driver’s seat and closed the door. His gaze combed over her as he moistened his lips. Tracy’s gut clenched, but the thought of his mouth not being on her drove her to madness. A burning sensation rolled over her skin and she leapt toward him, assaulting his mouth with her tongue. He growled, a deep guttural sound of need that shook her entire body as his tongue jammed between her lips.
A wave of nausea swept over her, but the swirling need pushed it back. She tried to shove him away, to scream, but her body moved on its own, as if she weren’t even there.
*Need,* the deep, ethereal voice boomed within Tracy. Her own voice, but yet, not.
Oh God!
*Want*
No! Don’t want! Stop this!
Tracy slammed her hand against the steering wheel, wishing she could push it out of the way so she could cover more of his skin with hers.
She bit at his lower lip as he pulled her blouse out of her skirt and rubbed his hands over her stomach.
Tracy tried to wince away, but the tingle of the touch overtook her, driving her consciousness deeper down, as if she’d fallen into a pit.
*More.*
Her silent scream filled only her mind as her own hands unbuttoned her blouse and released the clasp between her breasts.
Sean’s eyes widened, and she guided his head to her chest. He smiled before her breast disappeared into his mouth. He sucked deeply, driving her Ambient to a mad fury as Tracy fought against the steering wheel to mount him.
He growled, his eyes dark and menac
ing as he shoved her off him and back to the passenger seat. He crawled over the shift between the seats, driving his tongue deep into her mouth. She sucked greedily, all sense of reason gone. She reached between his legs. She needed to touch him, feel how much he wanted her.
No! Adonna, no! I don’t want this. You need to stop. Jesus, please stop!
The swirling ball inside her shuddered, weakening. Tracy willed her fingers to claw at Sean, to beat him off, and they twitched.
They twitched!
Adonna slipped away in a whoosh. Tiny tendrils of energy shot through Tracy, stinging her muscles, trying to regain hold.
Tracy pushed with all her will to keep the Ambient from taking control again. But Sean’s merciless grip dug into her arms. She screamed into his mouth, tears streaming down her cheeks.
A slam against the window startled them both and the door opened. Tracy tumbled out as the Ambient receded in a whoosh, releasing her as Tracy stared up into Laini’s fiery brown eyes.
“What the…?” Her friend turned to Sean. “Who the hell are you?”
Tracy’s legs wobbled as she grabbed her roommate. “Come on. We have to go.”
Laini held her up and they stumbled from the car. Each step seemed harder than the last, as if the blood running through Tracy’s body was reaching out to the man who still sat in the car with his forehead now resting against the steering wheel.
“This is not cool,” Laini said. “This is so not cool!”
No, it wasn’t cool. Tracy had been taken over. Her body had been used without her permission, and she could do no more than watch. The helplessness, the powerlessness.
Her knees gave way as Laini dragged her to the passenger side of her Toyota.
“Stay with me, girl,” Laini whispered, opening the door and helping her inside.
When Laini eased behind the steering wheel, she brought her cell phone to her ear and engaged the power locks. “Yo,” she said into the phone. “We’re in the parking lot of the Shoreline Bar and Grille and some psycho just attacked my friend.” She turned the keys in the ignition.
Oh, shit. She’d called 911.
“No!” Tracy jolted up in the seat. “It’s okay, let’s just leave.”
Invaded Page 10
