Cimmerian Shade: A Limited Edition Paranormal Romance & Urban Fantasy Collection

by Kiki Howell

  Hmm, this is getting interesting. Don’t mind if I eavesdrop, old chap! I stand beside them.

  Sam knits his eyebrows. “Sure she hasn’t booked a room through another hostess?”

  “Positive.”

  “Hmm, that’s odd. She’s never been away for so long. It’s coming on a year in a couple of days.”

  I hadn’t realized Halloween was just around the corner. Goddammit! Clara has never been away so long.

  While Sam pauses to collect his thoughts, Jenny picks invisible lint on her Mistress uniform. It’s as if they were standing on a sleepy Garden District street instead of in the middle of a full-blown orgy. They go on, oblivious to what’s unfolding around them.

  “Do you think she’s on location? Maybe filming somewhere on the other side of the planet?”

  Jenny shakes her head. “Her PA told me she’s not.”

  Sam screws up his face and shivers run down my spine. What happened to Clara?

  “You think we went too far last time, don’t you?” Jenny suggests.

  “I might’ve spooked her a bit, yes. She’d never been with a woman before and I dumped you on her.”

  “She didn’t complain though.”

  Jenny is so right. And Sam shares my opinion. “You’ve got a good point there. Still, she hasn’t come back in almost a year. L.A. isn’t that far, damn it! I also didn’t want to spoil things for her. She likes it here.”

  “I know, right? That’s why I worried. She’s never been away so long.”

  Sam nods. “Plus, she never misses Halloween. She says it’s her favorite holiday.”

  I always smile when I hear that, selfishly proud I’m the reason Clara loves Halloween.

  Jenny remarks, “When I called her office, I couldn’t tell the PA about Club Desire, so I pretended I worked for the art gallery that shares our address. He said he was going to put me through, but he didn’t. After a while, he picked the phone up again and told me Clara had left the office. He said he’d tell her that I called, so I gave him my name and cell phone number. She never called me back.”

  “And that was when?”

  “Three days ago.”

  “Fuck! That’s so not her. Something’s happened.”

  My thoughts exactly. I could punch somebody right now. I don’t need telepathic powers to read Sam’s mind. The flash in his eyes and the anger in his voice say it loud and clear that he’s just as frustrated.

  Then Jenny comes up with a plan. “We should ask Fran if she knows anything.”

  Chapter Six

  CLARA – 2017

  “Where has the year gone? Before we know it, it’s gonna be Christmas time again,” Henry comes into my office wearing the brightest grin I’ve seen in a long time.

  “You sound happy about it. What am I missing? You were not that high-spirited when you picked up Peter’s call.”

  “Correct.”

  “What’s changed?”

  “You’re gonna snatch his head off.”

  “And that makes your day, huh? I’m aware how much love you and Peter have for each other,” my ironic remark doesn’t go unnoticed.

  Henry’s grin grows wider.

  I have to ask, “What gives?”

  “Remember Beyond Forever? You told Peter last year, in no uncertain terms, that you would not commit to a franchise whose plans involved releasing at least nine movies, correct?”

  Hairs in my nape standing up, I sigh. “Yeah. And we put that behind us. They wrote a huge twist in the plot of the second movie changing Simone’s appearance, my character, so they could cast another actress. Peter screwed that up?”

  “Well, the second movie opened a couple of weeks ago to abysmal box office numbers and a shit storm of bad comments on Instagram and every other social media outlet that’s trending with the fan base at the moment. They’ve been bashing Mirna Higgins, saying she looks nothing like Simone’s descriptions in the book. Plus, you nailed Simone’s personality to a T in the first installment, so the comparisons aren’t in your substitute’s favor. To say they’re not happy with Mirna’s Simone 2.0 is the understatement of the year. Not surprisingly, the studio execs went berserk. Now they want you back for the next movies and Peter’s just too happy to oblige since apparently nobody does Simone as well as you do.” At my raised eyebrow, he hastily adds. “You know I’m of that opinion, but it’s the peeps on the internet saying it, not me. I swear. Anyway, thing is Peter’s promised the studio staff he’d try to convince you to reconsider, hence his call a few moments ago.”

  “He wanted to use you as buffer, huh?” Irked, I scroll my contacts for Peter’s number. He’s never tried to pull off something like that on me because he knows how much of a control freak I am. Plus, he’s always respected my decisions. I’m pissed. “Too bad for him I’m not in the mood,” I whisper to Henry as Peter’s phone rings.

  “That was quick, Clara,” Peter’s unapologetic chuckle fuels my foul mood.

  “Seriously, man? What the fuck’s wrong with you? I’m not doing another Beyond Forever movie. Period. Get that through that thick head of yours.”

  “Sweetheart, the fans loved you. They’re clamoring for you to come back.”

  “I’m an advocate for fan-based decisions in the industry. True fans. You know it, so don’t play that card on me. If the studio execs didn’t want me in the film, we wouldn’t be having this conversation now, would we?”

  Silence. The pause goes on for so long I wonder if we got disconnected, when Peter offers, “All the more reason for you to rethink. They’re desperate. And when those sharks despair, they tend to be flexible. They’ll basically agree to anything you ask at this point. I mean, they might have just turned the most lucrative book series since Harry Potter into a box-office flop. They’re dying to fix it.”

  “Don’t be overdramatic. Beyond Forever books aren’t that big and the movie franchise isn’t that much of a disaster,” I scoff.

  His turn to offer a derisive retort. “What rock have you been hiding under?”

  Irish mixed with French blood, plus red hair to top it off, I’m a quick draw. My temper flares. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe that cave you call a studio editing my debut film as a director. Remember?”

  His sigh reaches my ear loud and clear through the phone line. I can’t tell if it’s out of impatience or frustration. Either way, he chooses the worst kind of argument to try and convince me. “Clara, it’s a shitload of money we’re talking here.”

  “Don’t. Give. A. Fuck. Got way more money than I need as is.” Guilt cuts through me like a surgeon’s knife, stabbing my conscience and blowing away my anger as a deflating balloon. I sigh and level my tone, “Thanks to you, who believed in me when I was a nobody. I appreciate all you’ve done for me. You know that.”

  “No doubt about it, honey. But this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Now, legally, I can’t negotiate any of that with the studio. That’s between you and your agent, I won’t meddle. I just promised the studio heads I’d put in a good word with you. See how the idea would sit with you.”

  “So, you’re just lobbying for them then.”

  “You say it as if it’s a bad thing. You know I always have your best interests at heart.”

  “That I do. Never doubt it. But, I’m not that naïve wannabe fresh off a bus from Louisiana that you took in, Peter. Rookie days are gone and have been for too long. I value your advice and your knowledge of this industry. However, I’m putting my foot down on this one. I will not agree to another movie in the Beyond Forever franchise.”

  “What if they agreed to let you direct it?”

  “I’d still have to act, correct?”

  “That’s the whole idea behind you returning to the franchise.”

  “Answer is still no.”

  A hollow thud followed by muffled crashing sounds on his side of the phone line worry me. Before I have a chance to ask what is going on, Peter quickly remarks, “I see. I gotta go now. Let’s do lunch sometime this week?”
/>   “Love to.”

  “Cool. Bye.”

  “See y-” He hangs up as I’m saying my goodbye. Despite his mellow tone, that behavior isn’t Peter’s.

  Henry, who stayed in the office during the call, eyes me.

  “What?”

  “You tell me. What’s bothering you, Clara?”

  I hesitate, not for lack of trust, but because I don’t want to worry him. Henry’s much more than an assistant to me. I’m fiercely loyal to those who are loyal to me. That’s why I’ve kept Peter as manager for all these years, which tend to be a rare thing in Hollywood. With Henry, things are more complex. He’s an efficient personal assistant in the office and a willing kinky partner in the bedroom, on occasion. No strings attached. No deep feelings involved either. I sometimes get a craving for dominance that goes well with his need to submit.

  I need to give him some kind of reply. “Something is off with Peter. I can’t put my finger on it though.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “He can be stubborn at times. Oh, wipe that smirk off your face. He is a reasonable man.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I’ve known him for much longer than you. I know what I’m saying.”

  “No need to play the age difference card. I know how loyal you are to Peter,” he almost sounds hurt.

  I ignore his reaction to avoid getting distracted by yet another problem. One issue at a time, please. Focusing on out-of-character manager here, will deal with out-of-character assistant later. I just gawk at him for a moment, shake my head lightly and respond, “So, as I was saying, something is either bothering or worrying Peter. And if it’s gotten to the point that it’s affecting his professional life, it must be huge.”

  The phone ringing prevents Henry from replying and when he exits my office for his desk to get the call, I can’t help but wonder, not for the first time in the last months, what’s the matter with Henry. Our original arrangement was a non-exclusive sexual relationship, as it’s common between many Mistresses or Masters and their subs. That is not to say we don’t care for each other. On the contrary. Relationships between Dominants and subs must be based on mutual trust, if they have any chance of working out. One doesn’t get to trust another if he or she doesn’t care for that other person. Henry and I have had that kind of relationship for a while. Mutual respect, but none of the demands nor emotional blackmailing, as I often describe what goes on between vanilla couples. The ones society view as normal, you know.

  However, I think Henry’s getting too clingy lately. His quip just now saying I’m using our age difference to hurt him. That was uncalled for. Henry and I don’t do that kind of thing. We don’t need that shit. I don’t need that shit. It’s bad enough my manager is going rogue, my debut directorial movie is sucking the life out of me and I can’t seem to get a certain ghost out of my mind. I don’t need a sub adding to my aggravations.

  LATER, HENRY RETURNS to my office just when he should be getting ready to leave. I keep the focus on shutting down the computer as I inquire, “Forget something?”

  As I don’t raise my stare to his, I also don’t realize Henry comes to stand behind my chair. Massaging my shoulders, he startles me, “Not really.”

  But his expert fingers knead the tension away from my neck and shoulders. “Hmm, that’s not bad. Not bad at all.”

  Leaning my head back, I rest it on the top of the chair and close my eyes. For a moment, I relax into his hands and indulge in the calming effects they produce on my stiff muscles. I need the pampering.

  When he speaks into my ear, “Going upstairs to your room? I could do a much better job if you were lying on your bed.”

  Muscles tense up again and I sit up. Opening my eyes, I resume closing the laptop.

  “Tempting, but not tonight, naughty boy,” I chuckle to get the sting out of the rejection. I don’t want to hurt his feelings more than I apparently already have. “I’ve got too much going on as it is. No time for sex, I’m afraid.”

  His hands slip inside the low-cut top I’m wearing and cup my breasts, squeezing them lightly over the thin bra to make his point. I grip his wrists and kiss the inside of his forearm, but effectively stop his hands from moving further. Reaching up, I rest a palm on his cheek and stroke his full lower lip with my thumb. He captures it and sucks my digit. In the past, that would get me moaning. Not today though.

  “Precisely because you’ve been overdoing it, you should find time to relax. What better way to do that than having glorious, kinky sex? With me, I mean.”

  Before I get a chance to say a word agreeing or disagreeing, Henry swings the chair around so I face him and dips his head to capture my mouth in a sizzling kiss. Caught by surprise, I don’t react. He reads that as consent, so he pulls me up off the chair and into a tight embrace. It’s been so long since I’ve had a warm hand touching me, other than my own, I instinctively sag against the hard contours of his body. It’s good to feel wanted and Henry’s hard-on poking my belly is strong evidence of how much he wants me. I never doubted that. It’s just that Henry’s tongue swirling around mine, his teeth nibbling my lips and his fingers twisted in my hair don’t seem to be enough anymore. I’ve tried and failed many times in the last couple of months.

  I slowly disentangle from Henry’s embrace. Kissing his cheek, I whisper against his lips, “Not tonight, hon. Sorry.”

  Different from the other times, he looks pissed. “What’s going on? If I weren’t your personal assistant, working from your home almost every day, I’d say you’ve got a new man in your life.”

  “Nonsense. First, remember we’re not exclusive,” I notice the hurtful effect my words have on him, but he’s pushed the wrong buttons and set off my temper, so I don’t really care. “Second, I don’t have time for other men and you know it. Lastly, it’s been a couple of months since we last had sex. No big deal. It’s happened in the past when I was away filming on location.”

  His appalled expression would be comical if I weren’t so pissed. “A couple of months you say? It’s been almost a year.”

  “No!”

  It can’t be, I tell myself.

  “Last time was on that couch right before your annual pilgrimage to New Orleans for Halloween.”

  There was no mistaking his bitter tone. Not even Henry knew about Club Desire. He just knew I travelled to my hometown every chance I had and every Halloween like clockwork. He had no idea why. His accusatory words would normally inflame my otherwise already lousy mood, but shame hosed down my fiery comeback. I must be honest here. He is right. We haven’t had sex since last Halloween.

  Oh, my God! I hadn’t put two and two together until now. What’s wrong with me?

  Marcel is what’s wrong with me. Every time Henry touches me, I cringe because he isn’t Marcel. That’s not fair and I pride myself on being fair.

  Shit! How do I get myself out of this pickle?

  I cup his face in my hands and pull his head down until our noses touch. “I hadn’t realized it had been that long,” I rub his nose with mine, then plant a chaste kiss on his lips. “I’m sorry I’ve been so insensitive. It’s not on you though. All me. My head’s been somewhere else entirely.”

  He fists my hair and tugs at it gently. My body doesn’t react as it used to, but I don’t let him notice the lack of spark. His lips run up my neck and he whispers into my ear, “Let me fix that. Please. I miss you, ma’am,” his wet tongue teases my senses as it travels around the contours of my ear before his teeth sink into my earlobe.

  Henry is skilled, I must give him that. Ordinarily, my sex would be pulsing in response to his touch as his fingers cover me over my tight leggings, insinuating his intentions as they play with me. I feel almost an involuntary reaction down there. I close my eyes and try to surrender to it, let it grow into full-fledged sexual stimulus. Big mistake. Deprived of the sight of concrete reality, my mind flees to its favorite spot of late: the illusion of an unreal, impossible dream. Behind closed lids, Marcel’s ima
ge pops up in my head, complete with the minimal details. It feels as if he were here, except he is not. That realization sinks my heart and catches my breath.

  Throat tightening, I make an effort to utter the words that come out of me as a barely audible whisper, “Not happening, hon. Sorry.”

  Defeat written all over his gorgeous face, Henry lets go of me. “Despite our initial no-strings-attached agreement, I’ve grown fond of you. It’s true it’d hurt me seeing you with another man, but, I’d understand it, if that made you happy. Tell it to me straight, then. I can handle it.”

  Shaking my head, I offer him a sad smile. “I wish that were the case. It’s not, though. I haven’t fallen for another man.”

  I’ve fallen for a ghost and that’s killing me.

  Impossible as it was to tell Henry that, I resigned myself to patting his cheek then letting my hand fall on his broad shoulder. I squeeze it and smile into his deep set brown eyes, hoping he wouldn’t read my true feelings. I wouldn’t be able to explain them, anyway. I drag my hand down his strong arm and squeeze his hand before I turn to leave. “Lock up when you leave, hon? Good night.”

  Without waiting for his reply, I climb the wide marble stairs to the third floor. The master room occupies a third of the floorplan and its door dominates the end of the corridor to the right of the staircase. It’s never felt so far as my feet drag along the corridor. Millions of bits and pieces of memories of all the moments I’ve spent with Marcel threaten to overpower my grip on reality. Recently, these snippets of past events have been sneaking up on me when I least expect. Before I know it, I’m daydreaming about things that happened or wishing for others that just will never be.

  Silly expectations as these have no place in my life. Never had. I’m practical and down-to-earth. I’ve even been called ruthless on many occasions.