Dark Secrets: A Paranormal Romance Anthology

by Colleen Gleason

  “You’re relentless,” she chuckled.

  “That’s why I’m good at my job.”

  She eyed him and decided to take the opportunity he’d given her. “How long have you worked for CORE?”

  “Not talking until you answer me first,” he said, and cocked a dark brow.

  She shook her head. “Why do you care? It’s not like I’m all that interesting.”

  “A psychic accountant, who’s a baker, runs a diner, and owns more gnomes than should be legal? I’d say you’re interesting.”

  “Hardly, but since you can’t let this go, I moved back three years ago. My mom was diagnosed with cancer and it was too much for my dad and brother to handle. Eden was already in Chicago, so I came home to help. I wanted to anyway.” She drained her glass, then cleared her throat.

  “My mom passed away six months later and my dad...he couldn’t stand being here without her. Too many memories I suppose. It started out that he was going to Florida for a few months to clear his head, but he ended up buying a place and left Will and me running the diner.”

  He leaned forward with genuine sympathy in his eyes, and caught her hand in his. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  She curled her fingers around his, relishing his touch. Holding hands shouldn’t have caused the longing coursing through her, or the ache to be held, but it did. In that instant a hunger settled in the pit of her stomach, a need so fierce, and nothing she’d ever experienced before. She wanted him. She wanted to do more than hold hands despite what her head told her.

  She closed her eyes and remembered the quick image she’d had when he’d touched her at the diner. Picturing them naked, writhing and moaning, had her inner thighs growing damp and her nerve endings humming with need and anticipation.

  “Celeste?”

  She opened her eyes. Her face heated to the point that she wanted to fan herself. “Sorry, my mind was wandering.”

  “To where?” he asked, and inched closer.

  “I…you probably don’t want to know.”

  Keeping his gaze on her, he murmured, “The diner.”

  “I’m sorry, it’s just…when you touched me, I had a vision that included me. That’s never happened before, and I’m wondering if you’d felt…forget it.” She sighed, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut. “It was probably my imagination.”

  “I…” he began, then drawing away from her, stood. “Maybe we should talk about what happened today.”

  Grateful he’d changed topics before she made a fool of herself, she nodded. He obviously hadn’t felt what she had at the diner, and considering he didn’t believe in psychics, there was no reason to bring it up again despite the need he stirred in her.

  “Good. Let’s start with the car ride over to the dump site.”

  Although curious about the trance she’d gone through, a part of her was now afraid to know exactly what had happened. After all, when he left tonight, she’d be alone. Again. With nothing but her nightmares.

  “You know, before we get into all of that...”

  He turned away from the mantle and eyed her.

  “I understand your reluctance in using psychics. Not everyone is a believer, but I was wondering about your experience, as an investigator or whatever your title is.”

  Shaking his head, a slow cocky grin spread across his lips. “You want to know my qualifications?” he asked, as if shocked she’d have the audacity.

  Her curiosity in him multiplied. “Yes, that’s what I meant. You’re not a cop or a government agent. How did you and your company end up part of a murder case—”

  “In Podunk, Wisconsin?” he teased. “Honestly, I have no idea. I go where I’m told. But, as for my credentials, I joined CORE two years ago. And I’m not just an investigator, I’m a criminalist. I trained with the FBI for ten years before I left.”

  “Why’d you leave?”

  “Anybody ever tell you you’re nosey?” he asked with a smile.

  “All the time,” she echoed his earlier reply. “Honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t just tell me to look into my crystal ball if I wanted answers.”

  “Welcome back, Miss Sarcasm,” he said, and although he smiled, she caught a hint of regret in his eyes. “Besides, didn’t I use that line earlier today?”

  “If you did, I missed it.”

  “If I did, I’m sorry I was stupid enough to say it.” Rubbing the back of his neck, he turned to the painting again. “You have to understand my line of work. I do believe in hunches and gut instinct, but I have a hard time believing in psychics. During an investigation, solid evidence is what I rely on, and what will hold up in court. Hell, even then, it can sometimes be difficult to convict. The wrong person can be put on trial and sent to prison for life, while the other...” He turned to her. “Look, I’m not going to discount what you said in my car, or at the ME’s, but I need more to go on.”

  “Thank you. And I promise not to interfere in your investigation. Honestly, John, I only want to help.”

  “I know you do.” His dark eyes softened. “But I’m, um, hell, I’m worried about you.”

  The aching loneliness, the misery of the nightmares was suddenly overshadowed with a ridiculous sense of pleasure and relief. Warmth and hope spread through her. He might not believe in her, but he wasn’t looking at her as a kooky fortune teller, either. And he cared. She suspected as much with how protective he’d been today at the ME’s, but to hear him say it out loud? Then again, maybe she was reading too much into this. All he’d said was he worried about her.

  “I’m fine. Really,” she said, stressing the last word when he shook his head.

  He pushed away from the mantle, and moved toward the couch. Kneeling, he gripped her hands. “I don’t believe you.”

  “You don’t believe in much, do you?”

  She caught the regret in his eyes before he looked away. “I honestly don’t know what to believe anymore. I came here to do a job, and ended up…”

  “Ended up what?” she asked.

  Heat simmered in his eyes as he moved closer. “You said you had a vision when we touched at the diner. Tell me about it.”

  “I told you, it was probably my imagination.”

  His breath quickened, as he dipped his head. His mouth, those lips she’d admired, only inches from hers. “I don’t think so.”

  “W-why do you say that?” she asked, drifting her gaze to his tempting lips.

  “Because you made me feel something I’ve never felt.” He moved impossibly closer. His masculine scent enveloped her, his warm breath, laced with the sweet remnants of wine, caressed her mouth. “You made me feel alive,” he whispered, then captured her lips.

  She gasped into his mouth as their lips melded and fused. As he eased her against the couch, her body exploded with need. With pure hunger, she held onto his broad shoulders and kissed him with all the desire bursting through her pores. Their noses smashed together, teeth collided, as their tongues mated. She’d considered herself a good kisser, but finesse had no place here. Not now. Not when all she wanted was to be closer to him, crawl into him, show him exactly what she wanted.

  He didn’t seem to care, either. Instead, he deepened the kiss, speared his hands through her hair and held her head in place. Drawing in a deep breath, he tore his mouth from hers, peppered her jaw and neck with opened-mouthed kisses only to cup her cheeks in his warm palms as he drew her back to his lips.

  This time, he slowed the pace. He nipped her lower lip, pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth, then ran his tongue along where he’d bitten her. “You taste so good.” He untwined his fingers from her tangled curls, then moved his hands over her body.

  His large, warm hands plundered and took. Slid under her shirt, caressed her bare back, then ran lower over her hips and bottom. He gripped her there, and pressed her against his muscled thigh. Too many layers of clothes prevented her from the contact she desired. Unashamed, she pushed her heat against his hard thigh, the friction of his jeans against
her sweatpants stimulated and rushed through her. Close...so close. God, she needed more.

  “You’re so hot,” he whispered, then took possession of her lips again. She lost herself in his passion. Hushed gasps and quiet groans echoed throughout the room as she hung onto his shoulders and rode his thigh.

  He shifted and settled his erection between her legs. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, about touching you.” He nuzzled her ear, his hot breath puffed at the curls framing her face.

  “Then touch me.” She took one of his hands between their bodies then placed his palm to her breast. Releasing a soft moan, she urged him to massage her, to take what she offered.

  Through her cotton t-shirt, he rolled her stiff nipple between his fingers, then muffled her cries with a hungry kiss. She tore her mouth away, delved her hands through his hair, cupped his head and urged his mouth lower.

  He took the cue, shoved her shirt over her lacy bra then lowered his head. His soft stubble teased her flesh as he opened his mouth over one, lace-covered peak.

  “Oh, John,” she gasped.

  He kissed her taut nipple, cupping her breast with his hand. Liquid desire flooded between her thighs and she couldn’t stop herself from grinding her heat against his arousal.

  Through the lace, he tugged and pulled at her nipple. She longed to feel the contact of his hot, wet mouth on her bare skin. Reaching between them, she grazed her palm along his hard shaft. His cock surged. She rubbed him through the rough denim, wishing they were naked. Naked and in her bed, or on the floor...at this point it didn’t matter. She wanted him, plain and simple.

  The doorbell rang.

  Breathing hard, he raised himself above her. “You expecting someone?”

  Damn. Damn. Damn. “No.”

  She stood and began rearranging her shirt and sweatpants. “It’s probably Will. He lives in the room above my garage, and uses it as his studio.” She blew out a frustrated breath, then gave him a half-smile. “Sorry.”

  He tucked in his shirt. “Don’t worry about it.”

  Don’t worry about it. Yeah right. She was about to orgasm, possibly have ultra hot sex, and now the mood was ruined. She stomped to the foyer then swung open the door.

  “Hey, saw your lights on. Hope you don’t mind my dropping by so late.” Deputy Dan Malvern stood in her doorway wearing an uncertain grin on his freckled face. He poked his head around the corner, keeping his hand on his gun belt in that casual police stance he liked to use. “Bad timing?”

  Duh. “No. It’s okay, what’s up?”

  “Jesse told me about what happened at the coroner’s and I thought I’d do a drive by before logging off for the night. When I saw the car...well, I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

  “She’s fine,” John answered, as he moved to the foyer.

  Dan straightened. “That your car?”

  “I’m sure you recognized it from earlier.”

  Dan kept his hand on his gun. “Roy know you’re here?”

  “Planning on telling on me?” John asked and folded his arms across his chest.

  “Knock it off, both of you,” she scolded them like the children they were acting, then offered Dan a smile. “Thanks for stopping by, but as you can see, I’m okay. But since you’re here, why don’t I save you a trip to the diner tomorrow and give you your order of kalachkis now.”

  Dan relaxed his hand, and eased it off his gun belt. “Really? That’d be great. My wife loves ‘em, and we were just about out of the last batch you’d made.”

  “What are kalachkis?” John asked her with interest, while still frowning at Dan.

  She adored a man with a sweet tooth, and hoped John had one. She loved baking and experimenting with recipes but Will hated sweets and made for a bad guinea pig. “They’re cookies, filled with either fruit preserves or cheese.”

  “Don’t forget the powdered sugar,” Dan added.

  “You know I wouldn’t since you’re always asking for extra.” Despite the tension and testosterone radiating from both men, she offered Dan a smile. Dan had been caring for his sick wife who suffered from some rare disease—she couldn’t remember the name except that it had more consonants than vowels—but wished she could do more than give them a free box of cookies. Especially after how she’d cared for her own mother. “They’re already boxed. Just let me run to the basement kitchen and grab them.”

  When she returned with a dozen strawberry and lemon kalachkis, she rolled her eyes. Since when did her house become Grand Central Station?

  “Hey, Will,” she said.

  Her brother didn’t respond. He darted his eyes between John and Dan, then raised a questioning brow at her.

  “Celeste.” John turned to her. His eyes were unreadable, distant. “Looks like you’ve got a houseful. I’m going to head back to the inn.”

  Nodding, she tried to keep the disappointment from her face. She didn’t want him to leave, not yet. Not without more of his kisses. Then again, maybe this was for the best. His kisses could become addictive.

  She followed him off the front porch, then onto the brick pathway leading to where he’d parked his car. When they reached his rental, he stopped and turned to her. The light from the porch and solar lamps cast shadows across his face, but she still caught the desire, the raw, hot passion in his dark eyes.

  “Maybe we could pick up where we left off tomorrow?” he asked, his tone husky, promising.

  She hugged herself, warding off the cool, night air, and him. Although she wanted to finish what they’d started, she knew where it would lead. Another dead end. He’d leave, and she’d be stuck where she was, dreaming of more. “Sure, sounds good.”

  “I, ah,” he sighed, and looked over her shoulder toward the opened door where Will and Dan stood. “I meant, we never had a chance to talk about your trance, and your other visions.”

  “Right.” Stupidly disappointed, she dropped her gaze and focused on a gnome in a perpetual state of mooning someone. Of course this was business. Dan’s arrival had doused cold water on a huge mistake. While her body didn’t think kissing and maybe even sex were bad things, her mind knew better. Apparently John did, too.

  He raised her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. “Don’t, Celeste.” He caressed her jaw. “I will see you tomorrow. Sleep tight.”

  She watched him climb into his car then drive away. “With you by my side, maybe,” she mumbled, then headed toward her house filled with unwanted guests.

  Chapter 9

  THE ONLY DECENT thing about the Chippewa Inn was the free cable TV, John thought as he absently flipped through the channels. Reality shows, infomercials, news programs and B movies blurred together. None of them worth settling on, none of them enough to distract his thoughts from Celeste.

  That kiss still had him hard. Hungry. Edgy.

  He wanted more. He wanted her moans, her soft curves filling his hands, her hard nipples against his tongue. He stroked his arousal hoping to alleviate the pressure. He wanted to strip her naked and bury himself between her firm thighs. Feel her heat, her slick desire as she screamed his name and burned with the same hunger he couldn’t seem to control. He would have, too, if Dan and her brother hadn’t shown.

  Releasing a frustrated sigh, he turned off the TV, then glanced at the clock. Nearly two a.m. He needed to crash. Tomorrow would be another busy day.

  Horny and restless, he tossed on his side, trying to find at least one part of the mattress that didn’t have a lump or a spring. But as he lay on the shitty bed, he couldn’t stop his mind from racing or his body from aching for her.

  Damn if she hadn’t nearly made him come in his jeans like a teenager copping his first feel. Never in his life had he experienced anything hotter than kissing Celeste. As their lips had met, as their mouths had fused, he’d tasted her hunger, her raw, naked need. Her…trust.

  He’d denied believing in her psychic gift, yet she trusted him. If only she knew how much that meant to him.

  Dur
ing his last months with the FBI, his reputation had been in shambles. Close friends and coworkers had taken the deeds of a dead woman and lost faith in him.

  Yeah, trust had become a bitch of a thing.

  Muttering a curse, he shifted on his side again and stared at the clock. Maybe he was reading too much into this. Maybe his body still hummed and ached with need because he hadn’t been with a woman since Renee. That’s what this had to be about, that’s what made sense. He was reacting to a beautiful woman, a trusting woman who had been as greedy and hungry as he’d been to have sex. Just like Renee.

  He’d never loved her, and she hadn’t loved him. They’d been friends, partners, who shared the same job, the same day-to-day bullshit. Sex between them had been more of a way to blow off steam, because neither of them had time to find a real relationship. But he’d trusted her, and she’d betrayed that trust.

  He pushed thoughts of Renee where they belonged—six feet under—because he knew deep in his bones whatever was between him and Celeste was different. Renee had manipulated him, used him. Although he didn’t know Celeste well, and he’d like to hold onto the logical assumption that his attraction to her was solely based on sex, he knew it was a lie. She wasn’t like Renee in any way, shape or form. Literally. The two were polar opposites. Renee had been hard, her body, her mind, where Celeste held a softness that had him thinking of puppies, babies and a frickin’ white picket fence.

  She was unconventional. A psychic accountant and baker who had a plethora of gnomes surrounding her should have had him running in the opposite direction. Instead she had his head spinning and his body craving.

  And where would it lead?

  Nowhere.

  He doubted she was the blasé affair type, and he wasn’t, either. But he wanted her. The touch of her lips had given him a perpetual hard-on and had made him want to claim her, protect her, keep her all to himself.

  But he had no right to even consider pursuing anything with Celeste. He’d leave when his time here was finished. She needed a man who’d stick around, and he wasn’t that guy. He had a life in Chicago, his work. While Wissota Falls offered a simplicity he sort of liked...what the hell was he thinking?