“Charlie,” he choked out and she turned with a look of surprise.
God knows what she saw on his face, because she nodded to his parents and said, “Have a good evening.” Then she took his arm. “And now, you promised me a dance, LJ.”
He squeezed her hand, and together they walked away, leaving Emily to deal with his parents.
When they were out of earshot, she said, “Are you okay? You know they may never approve of me.”
“Or they’ll get to know you, the way Mr. D and I did. In which case”—he stopped near the edge of the dance floor and took a deep breath—“they’ll have to love you. The way I do.”
Her eyes widened, then she gave a radiant smile. “You asked me once, if I could have anything for Christmas, what would I want.”
“And you said, your tattoo parlor in Toronto.”
“I’ve changed my mind. I want Christmas in Whistler, with you. And after that, spring, and summer, all with you. My dragon’s released my heart into your care.”
“I promise I’ll look after it.”
“I believe you. Now, how about you? I asked what you wanted, and you said you hadn’t made up your mind.”
“My impulse was to say ‘you,’ but I wasn’t sure if that was just my old crush talking. And you were so determined to not get involved. But now, now I’m sure.”
“And?”
“Of course I want you, but there’s something more. I want a tattoo.”
“What?” She gave a startled laugh. “A tattoo? Seriously? What kind of tattoo?”
“At the moment, I’m thinking of a big red heart with the name Charlie inside it.”
She chuckled. “I’d never design something so conventional.”
“Seriously, what I want is something like the one on your neck. Symbols for you and me, together.”
Her eyes went misty. “I want one, too.” Then mischief sparked. “We’ll have fun working on the design. I’m thinking hammers to symbolize you, because you had to pound away at me until I realized the truth.”
He chuckled. “Maybe we can work in some mistletoe.”
“Sounds good to me.”
He nodded firmly. “We’ll find the exact right design. I want an original Coltrane.”
She went into his arms and tugged him onto the dance floor. “LJ, you’ve got the original Coltrane.”
Hungry for the holidays? Go out and get
THE BITE BEFORE CHRISTMAS,
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Connor’s level of confidence where his younger siblings were concerned was quite a bit lower than his declaration made it sound.
Did he wish he had the power to influence Liam and Maeve’s attitudes and actions? Certainly.
Had he had any success in doing so thus far? Not even remotely. And nothing that had happened in recent memory made him think he ever would.
But sitting across from the lovely Jillian Parker—the events planner Angelina had sent to help keep his holiday from becoming a complete and abysmal failure—he suddenly felt the need to preen…or at least to act as though being the patriarch of his family carried some weight with his unruly brother and sister.
Angelina had told him Jillian was good at what she did. His longtime friend had apparently attended several events that Jillian’s company had organized, and had been quite impressed.
What Angelina hadn’t told him was that Jillian Parker was hot with a capital H and two Ts.
From the moment Randall had opened the door and invited her in…from the moment he’d stepped out of the library and sniffed the air, he’d known she wouldn’t be just another random woman drifting in and out of his life. She smelled of peaches and cream and just a hint of honey, all of which seeped into his pores and set his blood on fire.
It had been all he could do to walk calmly across the foyer to introduce himself. To take her hand instead of her mouth.
He hadn’t been able to resist slipping his middle and index fingers over the inside of her wrist, however, to feel her pulse. To feel the beat of her heart in the one, slim vein, and the heat of her life’s blood that called to his own.
Having her here, working in his home, was going to be an experience, that was for sure. And an exercise in self-control; something he’d always prided himself on…but now couldn’t be entirely certain of.
Her blond hair was swept up in a loose knot at the back of her head, a few wisps falling free to frame her heart-shaped face and dust the pulse at her neck. He could see the gentle throb on both sides, even with the short distance that separated them.
She had bright blue eyes surrounded by light lashes and a raspberry-tinted mouth that could only be described as infinitely kissable.
Since it was winter in Boston, she was dressed more warmly and demurely than he suspected was the norm. Charcoal slacks and a thick red sweater with a deep, wide cowl neckline covered her from shoulder to ankle, but he could very well imagine the luscious figure hidden beneath.
Professional on the outside, sexy as hell on the inside. A flush of intense arousal heated his skin at the thought, moving south at a rapid pace.
Even though she wore stylish boots with a two-inch heel, the top of her head only reached his chin while standing. But though petite, her form was lush and curvaceous, and made him feel both protective and possessive. Unusual given their short acquaintance, but not something Connor was inclined to question at the moment.
Clicking the tip of her pen, Jillian crossed her legs and adjusted the pad on her lap, ready to take notes.
“That I can do,” she murmured, oblivious to the fact that he was nearly chewing nails on the other side of the desk, his mind having wandered hell and gone from worries about an ideal holiday celebration to stripping her of that soft sweater and exploring every inch of her soft, white skin.
Thankfully, the wide desk hid the proof of his distraction, but if he didn’t drag this out for a while, she and everyone he came in contact with in the next little while would know exactly what he was thinking of doing to his attractive new party planner.
“So tell me what it is you’re looking for in a holiday event. What would make your Christmas flawless with a capital F?”
Exhaling a deep breath, he rocked back and forth slightly in his cushioned black leather executive chair and did his best not to picture her beneath the tree on Christmas morning—naked and waiting for something that definitely started with a big, hard capital F. And it wasn’t flawless.
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Then he felt it. Not a cessation of the pain, but a momentary lapse in the constant skull-shattering noise that vibrated through his head all the time.
Just a moment, but the relief was sheer bliss.
He heard…nothing.
Nothing in his thoughts. Only the sounds of the crashing waves and the river that poured through the opening overhead as it rushed to join with the sea.
Nothing.
But just as quickly as it happened, the silence ended and the throbbing clamor pulsed back to its original level. Gavin struggled to his feet, pushed the hair out of his eyes, and searched for the cause of the interruption.
His servant was gone, taking the healer back to his village farther west along the coast. No one else ever remained here with him, not even the women sent by the earl to keep him satisfied as the time for his revelations of truth approached. His only companion was the clatter—relentless, ever-growing, maddening noise—and the pain that accompanied it.
Gavin stumbled then, landing on the stone floor. His limbs felt heavy and his eyes weighted closed. Ah, the healer’s concoction did have some effects after all. Rolling to his knees, he crawled toward the drier part of the cave, seeking someplace to lie while the brew did its work.
As the drug drew him into some stupor, he felt the silence once more. This time, he could feel it coming from a specific direction. He laughed harshly at such nonsense. Ho
w did silence come from a place? Gavin forced his eyelids apart and stared up where the silence seemed strongest.
It was gone as quickly as it had happened.
Closing his eyes, he realized that the sensations rushing through him from this brew were not unpleasant after all. It did not remove the clamor or the pain, but it eased his body in a pleasurable way. He might have to have Haakon bring the healer back after all. Gavin sank deeper into the lethargy until his body began to react as it did when the revelations approached.
Lust filled him, swirling in his veins and in his skin and in his cock until it stood ready. He tried to fall more deeply under the control of the brew, tried to relax and ignore the growing need that heated his blood, but like the relentless noise in his thoughts, it could not be ignored. Since it would be hours before Haakon returned and since Haakon was the only person permitted to bring women here to his sanctuary, there would be no way to quench this latest fire in his blood.
Well, there was a way, but it was never as satisfying as finding release deep inside the tightness of a woman.
Gavin threw his arm over his eyes and breathed in and out, trying to block the lust and need in his body and the sounds in his head. Just as he reached down to ease himself, he heard it. Not another moment of silence, but the soft sounds of footsteps near him.
It should not surprise him that the scent his body gave off had called a local woman to him. It had happened before. No doubt, it would happen again. It had happened again. Whatever controlled the power within him to hear the truth and to reveal the truth hidden in the thoughts and hearts of others made certain that his growing need for sex was filled.
It seemed not to matter if he wanted a woman or if he did not, his body threw out the call and women answered.
Now, in spite of the herbal brew dulling his senses, it had done so again.
Gavin moved his arm away and forced his eyes open to see what his visitor looked like…and he lost his breath.
An angel or a Valkyrie, he could not decide, stood hovering above him. Curling locks of long blond hair flowed over her shoulders to her hips, and eyes of a glowing dark blue were the first things he noticed about her.
With both the drugs and the lust flowing through his veins, he watched as the light pouring into the cave outlined her womanly figure. Full breasts pressed against the costly cloth of her tunic, and he could not miss the hips and legs that promised him a soft ride. But he found himself lost in the appealing fullness of her lips.
She stood close enough that he could touch her, and he struggled to reach out to her. Gavin managed to clasp her ankle and then slid his hand along the well-worn leather of her boot until he touched her skin. The gasp that filled the cave made him smile.
“Valkyrie, am I to die?” he whispered, knowing the true mission of those fabled servants to the old god Odin. Death would be the ultimate release—from the pain and the curse of his powers. “Am I for Valhalla?”
Gavin knew that the beliefs of old were gone, but this woman stood as proud as one of the legendary choosers of the slain would. She shook her head in reply, and he watched as the action caused her hair to swirl around her like a halo. He slid his hand higher, touching the soft skin of her leg, the back of her calf.
“An angel of the Christian God then?” he asked, watching as small gasps escaped when his hand moved up her leg, pulling her gently closer to him. “Come to offer me salvation, sweet angel?” he asked. Salvation came in many forms, and at this moment relief from his lust would serve him well. His soul was lost, so he need not worry over that.
His angel lost her balance as he tugged on her leg, falling onto him. His breath was forced out of him, but the feel of her breasts against his chest was worth it. And now, as she lay on top of him, he was able to explore her more thoroughly.
And he did…wrapping his arms around her and drawing her up so that her hips and belly rubbed against the hard length of his cock. It was a glorious feeling, and his flesh swelled and readied itself for her body. His mouth watered as he grasped her shoulders and lifted her closer…closer to his lips.
The angel’s own lips parted ever so slightly, giving him hope that the moment when he could taste her was close. Her eyes widened as she noticed his erection for the first time, and her wriggling movements—was she trying to climb off him?—simply made him harder.
Gavin fought off the sedating stupor of the healer’s brew and rolled with her to his side. Smiling at her, he gazed into those dark blue eyes and saw something that looked like innocence shining back at him. The sight of it entranced him. His own soul and body were so far from that state that he hungered to touch it once more.
To touch her.
And be sure to look for A DARKER SHADE OF DEAD
by Bianca D’Arc, coming next month!
“This blows.”
Dr. Sandra McCormick’s voice echoed around the morgue. Well, it wasn’t really a morgue. At least it hadn’t been. The large room had been a perfectly good laboratory until the senior team members had decided to perform tests on cadavers. Now it was a morgue.
The temperature had been dropped to near freezing, and Sandra shivered in her lab coat. She’d donned her heaviest jacket under the lab coat she had borrowed from one of the men on the team who wore a much larger size, but it still wasn’t enough. She was cold, dammit.
Cold and miserable and all alone on night shift because she was low man on the totem pole. The science team had been together for a few months, working for the military on ways to improve combat performance. Specifically, they’d been trying to come up with substances that, when injected into people, would improve healing and endurance in living tissue. They were at the point now where they’d graduated from in vitro testing in petri dishes to something a bit more exotic.
They weren’t ready to try in vivo testing on living animals or people. Instead, the senior scientists had decided to take this grotesque step, administering the experimental regenerative serum to dead tissue contained in a whole, deceased organism. Personally, she would’ve preferred to start with a dead animal of some kind, but only human cadavers would work for this experiment since the genetic manipulation they were attempting was coded specifically for human tissue. They didn’t want any cross-contamination with animals if they found a substance that actually worked.
As a result, she was stuck in a freezing cold lab in the middle of the night, watching a bunch of dead Marines. It was kind of sad, actually. Every one of these men had been cut down in their prime by either illness or injury. They had all been highly trained and honed specimens of manhood while they were alive. Some of them had been quite handsome, but their beauty had been lost to the pale coldness of death. They were here because they had no next of kin—only their beloved Corps—and their bodies had been donated to science.
The room was dimly lit. Sandra only needed the individual lights over each metal table on which the bodies rested to do her work. She’d holed up at a desk in the far corner of the giant lab space, entering the data she collected hourly for each body into a computer. Her fingers were already numb from the cold, and it had only been three hours. Five more to go before the day shift would release her from this icy prison.
She heard a rustling sound in the distance as she blew on her fingers to try to warm them up. Her chair swiveled as she lifted her feet, placing them on the runners of the rolling office chair.
“That better not have been the sound of mice scampering around in here.”
Unlike most medical researchers, Sandra had never really been comfortable with mice. Little furry rodents still made her jump, and she shied away from any lab work that required her to deal with the critters.
The room was dimly lit. The only illumination came from the computer screen and desk light behind her and the single light over each table. The whole setup gave her the creeps.
Deciding to brave the walk to the bank of light switches on the far side of the room near the door, Sandra stood. If she had to sit here with
a bunch of dead bodies all night, the least she could do was put on every light in the damned room. Why she’d ever thought the desk light would be enough, she didn’t know.
She’d gone on shift at midnight and was slated to take readings every hour until 8 a.m., when her day-shift counterpart would relieve her. Scientific work sometimes required a person to work odd hours. Experiments didn’t know how to tell time. When they were running something in the lab, she usually got tapped for the late-night hours. Normally she didn’t mind. The lab was usually a peaceful, comforting place.
But not now. Not when it had been turned into a morgue. Or maybe it was more like Dr. Frankenstein’s dungeon, only without the bug-eyed servant named Igor. She’d definitely seen that old Mel Brooks movie one too many times in college. Thinking about some of the funnier lines from the comedy classic made her smile as she walked down the aisle of tables toward the door and the light switches.
“It’s alive…” She did a quiet imitation of Gene Wilder from the scene where he’d given life to his monster as she walked, chuckling to herself.
One either side of her were slabs on which the cadavers rested. A breeze ruffled one of the sheets that had been pulled over the body on her right.
It must’ve been a breeze. The sheet couldn’t move on its own, right? She quickened her step, a creepy feeling shivering down her spine as the smile left her face.
A hand shot out of the dark and grabbed her wrist. She screamed. The fingers were cold. The flesh was gray. But the grip was strong. Too strong.
It pulled her in. Closer and closer to the body she’d checked only forty-five minutes before. He’d been dead at the time. Immobile. Now he was moving and—oh, God—his eyes were open and he was looking at her. His stare was lifeless as he drew her closer.
She did her best to break free, but the dead man was just too strong. She beat against his fingers with her other hand. When that didn’t work, she tried pushing against his cold shoulder. Nothing seemed to help. She hit his face, his chest, anyplace she could reach, but he wouldn’t let go.
The Naughty List Page 29
