by Deborah Camp
“She’s exaggerating,” Levi said, sorting through envelopes. “It’s always a well-attended event.”
“I’m only repeating what was told to me,” Quintara said with a little sniff of affront. “And his sessions were full to bursting! It’s highly probable that he solved a murder case.”
“Really?” Trudy had been pulling things out of the refrigerator, but she stopped and looked from Quintara to Levi. “Was this in a workshop?”
He shook his head. “A private session. I agreed to do ten private sessions with my fee donated to the Chesterfield Scholarship Fund. In one of them, I channeled a young man who had been found floating in the Roanoke River. He showed me what had happened to him. He’d been robbed and murdered by two men . . . men he used to work with on a road crew. I got a good look at both of them and he called one of them by name. The police contacted me this morning and questioned me further about what I’d seen.” He picked up a small pile of junk mail and tossed it, unopened, into a trash receptacle. “Hopefully, they can question the man. Maybe make an arrest.”
“Good for you,” Trudy said, beaming. “I bet the people who paid for that session feel that it was money well spent. How much did you charge for a private meeting?”
“Three hundred.”
She almost dropped the bowl of chicken salad, recovering just in time to slide it onto the counter. “Is that your normal fee?”
He smirked at her shocked expression. “I charge anywhere from one to five hundred dollars, depending on the time I spend.” He slipped a couple of envelopes into his back pocket and threw away the rest. “Why? What did you think I charged?”
“For that kind of thing . . . at a paranormal seminar, I’d probably go with fifty bucks a session.”
Quintara and Levi shook their heads, looking like twin metronomes.
“That is a tragedy, dear! I know hobbyists who charge more,” Quintara scolded.
“I was raising scholarship money,” Levi explained. “Fifty bucks times ten is five hundred dollars. Hardly worth my time and that won’t even cover one semester. Three hundred times ten – three thousand dollars – now we’re talking.”
Trudy bobbed one shoulder. “You’re right. I’m still getting my head around charging for my services. I like receiving the money, but it’s awkward asking for it or deciding how much to charge.”
“We’ve gone over this,” he said. “You have a price sheet.”
“I know, I know.” She placed the roast and vegetables in the microwave to warm. Levi had helped her create a fee schedule, which she used, but sometimes she worried the charges were too much. However, after learning that he’d charged $300 a pop for a half-hour private session, her fees were a bargain. Of course, she wasn’t Levi Wolfe either. “You’re famous, so people expect to pay more, I guess.” She looked up from slathering chicken salad onto toasted bread to see him scowling at her.
“I charge what I charge because I’m good at what I do. It has nothing to do with being famous.”
“You’re the best at what you do,” Quintara amended with a proud smile. “Besides, there are mediums who charge a thousand dollars for a private session!”
Trudy held Levi’s gaze, seeing the remnants of hurt feelings that had nothing to do with their present conversation. There were bridges to mend, she thought. “You’ll get no argument from me. I’ll be the first to tell anyone and everyone that you’re magnificently talented and incredibly gifted. Whether you believe it or not, I happen to be the president of your fan club, Mr. Wolfe.”
His expression gentled by degrees and a smile teased the corners of his mouth. “Thank you, Miss Tucker.”
She handed off two plates with chicken salad sandwiches and potato salad to Quintara, while she carried a platter of pork roast, new potatoes, carrots, onions, and celery to the dining table. Levi had opened three cans of Diet Dr. Pepper for them, much to Quintara’s delight.
“So, who is Cedric Chesterfield? Did you know about him before you received his scholarship?” Trudy asked Levi when they had settled at the table and taken a few bites of their food.
“I’d heard of him, but I didn’t know him. I didn’t actually meet him until about three years ago at a psychic fair,” Levi said.
“Cedric was famous fifteen or twenty years ago,” Quintara chimed in. “Mostly in England, but he appeared on a few television talk shows here.” She dimpled. “I can’t say that he’s accurate. He’s always been more of a showman, I suppose.”
“You suppose?” Levi repeated with a harsh laugh. He looked at Trudy. “He’s a fake, pure and simple. He used to plant people in the audience and then he’d ‘read’ them. It was all carefully scripted. And he made a shitload of money from it.”
Trudy half-expected Quintara to object, but she only smiled, her eyes dancing as she glanced at Levi. Trudy was reminded that Quintara and Levi shared a deep connection in which no words were needed. As they looked at each other, it was as if a conversation took place that only they could hear. After a minute, Quintara let go of a short laugh.
“Levi, you devil! We can’t all be blessed like you and Trudy. It’s true that Cedric had to tip the scales in his favor, but he always put on a grand show and captivated people.” She directed a wink at Trudy. “And he’s pretty captivating under the sheets, as well.”
“Oh-ho!” Trudy looked from Quintara’s twinkling eyes to matching twinkles in Levi’s. “So you two were lovers?”
“Not in the long-term sense,” Quintara amended. “When Cedric and I see each other at seminars and the like, we . . . catch up on old times. Like this weekend, for instance.” She smothered a giggle. “He might be pushing seventy, but he still has a lot of push and pull left in him.”
Levi’s laugh was rife with sin. “Sometimes I think he shows up at some of these gigs just because he knows you’re going to be there.”
Quintara patted her flame red hair and fussed with the beaded necklace hanging low on the front of her rainbow colored caftan. She batted her lashes in a failed attempt at coquettishness. “Our being at the same event is a happy accident, I’m sure.”
Levi grinned and Quintara wrinkled her pug nose at him before turning to Trudy and patting her hand in a motherly fashion.
“Levi didn’t want me to say anything . . . but he was a very good boy. In the past, he would have had a different woman in his room every night, but he’s a reformed man! He had women fawning over him all weekend, but it was as if he’d taken a vow of celibacy – or that he was in love with someone.” She flashed him a wickedly satisfied smile.
Trudy had never seen Levi blush – and she couldn’t tell for certain that’s what she witnessed – or if the color washing up from his neck was a sign of his rising temper. He stared at Quintara as if he’d like to throttle her.
Awkward! Trudy laid her hand on his and he jerked slightly as his gaze bounced to her. “Is everyone finished? We have ice cream in the freezer if anyone wants dessert. Oh, and there’s a bowl of fruit salad in the fridge, too.”
Levi dropped his napkin to his empty plate and stood. “I have some calls to make. You two go ahead.” Then he turned on his heel and left them.
Quintara made a tsking noise. “That was a lovely meal, dear. I think I will have some fruit salad, if you don’t mind.”
“Okay.” Trudy gathered up the dishes. “Quintara, I know you mean well.”
“And I should butt out?”
“No.” Trudy carried the plates and utensils to the kitchen and loaded them into the dishwasher. “He’ll tell me what he wants to tell me in due time. I don’t want to force him to say things he doesn’t want to reveal or isn’t comfortable feeling.” When Quintara made no comment, Trudy glanced toward her. The woman’s bright brown eyes twinkled.
“You know him well, don’t you, dear?” She craned forward, lowering her voice. “He’s besotted with you! Besotted!” Then she sat back with a cagey grin.
###
“Besotted?” Levi repeated as he stood in the bath
room and toweled off from his shower.
“That’s what she said,” Trudy called to him from the bedroom. He heard her yawn. “I’m glad she’s going to be here for a few days. With her at the cocktail party Tuesday night, I’ll have someone I know to talk to.”
He stared darkly at himself in the mirror as her words slashed through him. “I’ll be there.”
“Yes, but you’ll be networking with the other board members.”
“Believe me, you won’t want for company. You’ll be the most popular girl there.” He hung the towel on the rack and padded into the bedroom. Trudy’s green-eyed gaze caressed him from his toes to his appreciative smile. He slipped under the top sheet and stretched out with a long sigh. It felt so good to be back in their bed. She’d said the bed smelled of him, but he all he could smell was her.
“I’m sure your guests will be trying to figure out what you see in me.”
Irritation firmed his jaw. Would she ever see herself the way others saw her – the way he saw her? He folded his arms against his chest and glared at her. “I thought you were going to work on your self-esteem.”
She sat on the bed, her back to him and heaved a small, heart-tugging sigh. He rolled onto his side and let his fingers sift through her soft, silky hair. She wore one of his t-shirts. God, he loved the way she looked in it. “When they see you, they’ll know why I can’t get you out of my mind. But they’ll have to talk to you, get to know you a little more before they’ll understand why we’re together.” He kissed the nape of her neck and she scrunched up one shoulder and giggled.
“That tickles.”
“What about this?” He moved his hand up to her breast and pulled her back against him. Her nipple pearled under his fingertips. “Does this tickle?”
“Sort of.” She hitched in a breath. “But in a whole different way.” Turning sideways, she hooked a hand at the back of his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. “Want to bury the hatchet?” she asked against his mouth.
“Yes, please. Now I’d like to bury something else in you.” He sucked on her delectable upper lip before easing back from her, glad she didn’t want to quarrel or rehash their earlier disagreements. “Are you nervous about Tuesday night?”
“No. Well, yes.”
He swept his thumbs across her cheekbones and let himself drift for a few seconds in the green pools of her eyes. “The guests have known me for a few years, so they’re curious about you. You’ll see them a lot because I have them over quite often to discuss strategy, fundraisers, and that sort of thing. I hope that you eventually get involved in Rehome.”
“I want to.” She scooted into his lap. “I think it’s wonderful what you’ve done. Whatever I can do to help, count me in.”
He nuzzled her ear and closed his eyes as the aroma of her shampoo and body wash consumed his senses. She smelled like spring – a delicate perfume of new blossoms and clover. “Did you remember anything else about your bad dream?”
She shook her head.
“Do you think it was a nightmare or a psychic connection?”
“I don’t know for sure.” She traced his collarbone with her index finger and watched its journey. Her touch was delicate, innocent, but his cock stiffened, nonetheless. “But I was screaming when I woke up, so I think it was something that had nothing to do with me.”
Screaming? Jesus. All thoughts of his emerging boner evaporated. He held her closer and kissed her forehead, her eyelids, the tip of her nose. Did she tell him that when she’d called . . . that she’d been screaming? He couldn’t remember. Her call had awakened him from a fitful sleep. What he did remember was that he couldn’t go back to sleep after her call. “I wish I’d been here for you.”
“It’s okay. I have to learn to deal with this on my own.”
He angled back to look into her eyes. “Why? Are you planning on being alone?”
She stared at the base of his throat. “I will be alone some. After Thanksgiving.”
“Hey.” He nudged her chin with his knuckle and made her meet his gaze again. “Did you know that I hardly slept while I was away? I’d drift off and then jerk awake because I’d reach for you and you weren’t there.”
“You broke your own rule,” she said, her lower lip jutting out in an adorable pout. “You stayed away for more than two nights.”
He nodded. “When you called, I thought it was because you weren’t sleeping, too.”
“I didn’t sleep well,” she admitted. “I was lonely.”
“Me, too. And I was surrounded by people most of the time.” He ran his finger across her plump lower lip and then tapped her nose. “One night I tried to recall the exact location of each freckle on your nose, but I got it wrong. I thought there were about a dozen, but I count fifteen.”
“Stop!” She pushed at his shoulders, pressing him to his back so that she could lie on top of him. “Stop,” she murmured, dropping open-mouthed kisses on his lips.
He moaned as her delectable tongue wet his lips and ravished his mouth. When she clutched handfuls of his hair, the blood in his body rushed to his groin. God, he loved it when she did that, and that, and oh, God yes! That!
Rolling onto her, he pushed up the t-shirt so that he could kiss her breasts and tongue her nipples. She wrapped her legs around his waist and made purring sounds that unleashed his libido.
He made slow, sweet love to her, taking his time, reveling in the long strokes of her hands and her whispery sounds of pleasure. When he seated himself deep within her, the word home entered his mind and stayed there with each slow, measured thrust of his hips against hers. As he lost himself in her and her cries of release mingled with his own, he held her head between his hands and kissed her deeply, reverently.
“Mine,” he whispered. “Thank God, you’re mine.”
He knew it pleased her, but he also knew it wasn’t what she most wanted to hear. Those words burned in his mind and smoked in his heart, but his throat closed around them, refusing them passage.
Not ready, he thought, driving deeper and deeper into her. Never close enough. Never totally secure in his feelings for her or hers for him. He didn’t know why. She was everything good. Everything beautiful. Why couldn’t he give her what she wanted?
Relaxing in her arms, his breath soughing against her moist skin, he felt unworthy of her open heart, her candid affections, and her frank declarations. He wanted to come to her as a whole man, not as a broken one, pieced together with paste that might hold and might not. She deserved that – and so much more.
“Are you okay?” she asked as if sensing the war going on inside of him.
“Yeah.” He kissed her shoulder and the tops of her round, perfect breasts. “Better than okay.” Reaching over to the light panel, he switched off everything but the starry night array over their heads. The soft light glittered in her eyes and released dancing shadows across her heart-shaped face. He kissed her lips and then rolled onto his side. She came into his arms, her curves filling his contours.
“I’m so glad you’re home. My heart hurts when I’m too far away from you.”
Yes, he thought hazily. Home. He’d never known that word to mean so much to him. Probably because before he’d only had a place to live in, to crash in, to eat in, and sleep in. But never, until now, a home. And a woman waiting for him, keeping the home fires burning for him, keeping that lamp lit in the window to show him the way back to her.
When he’d stepped off the elevator and Trudy had been waiting for him, her eyes shining with excitement, her smile as bright as the sun, pure pleasure had infused his heart. And then she’d said it – Welcome home – and he’d felt it in every part of him. He wasn’t just back in Atlanta . . . back in the penthouse. He was home.
He closed his eyes against the intensely tender feelings that swamped him. Christ! She had a way about her! Realizing he was holding his breath, he let it out in a long sigh of pure contentment. The woman continually unearthed feelings in him that he’d never known existed – and it scar
ed the hell out of him.
Chapter 12
As he was arranging the black-and-silver paisley square into his suit’s breast pocket, it occurred to Levi that Trudy had never mentioned what she planned to wear for tonight’s cocktail party. Any other woman he knew would have asked for his opinion of this dress or that one or even if she should buy something new for the event. Quintara had bent his ear during the plane ride home from Seattle about the palazzo pants and sequined top she planned to wear.
Curious, he straightened his pearly gray tie against his black linen shirt before he moved from the full-length mirror in his closet and went through the bathroom to Trudy’s closet. The folding door was pushed open and he spotted her standing in front of the three-way mirror. His breath caught in his throat.
Staring at her, he realized that he’d never seen her all decked out. The fanciest dress she’d worn in Key West was a summery, casual number. This was not summery or casual. This was jaw-dropping, balls-tightening, passion-pumping, sexy sophistication.
The turquoise dress was simple and there wasn’t anything overtly provocative about it. The woman in it gave it all the provocation it needed. The hip-hugging, scalloped-edged skirt stopped in the middle of her knees and the bodice was softly shirred, gathered in a wide band of gold fabric that accentuated her graceful neck. The long, sheer sleeves ended in wide cuffs of gold. The back of the dress dipped into an oval shape, showing off her beautiful back. As he watched, she stepped into gold, kill-me-now-or-fuck-me-blind high heels.
Levi ran a hand down his hot face and released a shaky breath that got her attention. She looked up, catching his gaze in the mirror, and she smiled.
“Oh, my! You look good enough to eat, Mr. Wolfe.”
He was on her in two strides, his arm hooking her waist, his other hand cupping her chin as he directed her mouth to his. She made a sound of surprise, but molded against him with a sigh. He plundered her mouth and tasted her lipstick. He was ruining her makeup, but he didn’t care. Her hands curved along his shirt collar and then inched higher into his hair. She bowed into him and he slanted his mouth one way, then another, drinking her in.
