Wicked Nights

by Nina Bangs

  Eric’s face was a lie. She’d guess his sinful mouth was more likely to whisper calculated lies than seductive words. He looked like a whatever-it-takes kind of guy.

  And his eyes would only warm with passion if it suited his purpose. But even recognizing the coldness in those eyes, she couldn’t control the sneaky slide of awareness that wondered what those eyes would look like during the heat of sex. They were the beauty of an ice storm that turned the world into a glittering wonderland at the same time it snapped branches and brought down power lines.

  His face was a weapon, and she wondered how many women had fallen for it. She also wondered where that analysis had come from and why it was important.

  Now that she could drag her gaze from his face, she realized he had other weapons. During the fantasy, the darkness and her fear had kept her impressions to a minimum. But now . . . He was tall and hard-muscled, his arms and chest showcased by his sleeveless black T-shirt. Worn jeans hugged strong thighs, long legs, and a spectacular ass. She knew he had something on his feet, but her vertical adjustment was stuck and she couldn’t move her gaze from his hot bod. As weapons went, his were pretty potent.

  “What’re you thinking?” A meaningless question since Eric was in her head and knew exactly what she thought of him. Her intuitive distrust of him wasn’t important, but it did intrigue him. No woman had ever seen him this clearly until it was too late. She could be a danger if she looked too closely at Brynn, Conall, or himself. He’d try to keep her focus on him so she wouldn’t think too much about his two friends. And, oh yeah, he thought she had a few weapons in her arsenal, too.

  “I’m thinking that I want you out of here so I can get some sleep.” She ignored him in favor of unpacking her garment bag that hung from the top of the closet door. “But if you’re determined to talk tonight, I have a few questions.”

  “Go ahead.” Fascinated, he watched her pull a short red dress from the bag. Red, the color of passion and heat. Interesting. She’d chosen that color just as she’d chosen the pale gold color of her hair. He smiled. The hair color looked natural, looked like it fit her, but he sensed a darker shade beneath it. She liked to control the image she showed the world. Her pale hair said cool and contained, but the red dress said something else entirely.

  She paused in the act of hanging a black suit in the closet. Black, a powerful color. If he didn’t see her as a threat, he might enjoy discovering what the black suit said about her.

  “What do you know about the owner of this place?” She glanced back at him. Brown eyes, the color of warm sweet chocolate. Right now, though, they had a calculating gleam.

  “Holgarth is the only one who knows the owner’s identity.” Holgarth, a sharp-eyed old snoop who insisted on living in the castle and greeting customers. “All we know is that, according to Holgarth, the owner is a he, she, or possibly it.”

  He caught her smile as she hung up a couple of blouses. “So does Holgarth have an office somewhere?” She smoothed her fingers over the last top she’d hung up.

  His enhanced senses reacted immediately with an image of her sliding her fingers across his naked body, lingering between his thighs, and skimming his arousal. “I doubt it. The owner has him on retainer, and the castle is his total responsibility. He’s here every night. I don’t think Holgarth comes cheap, so the owner must have deep pockets.”

  She finished with the garment bag and moved on to her suitcase. Eric caught a glimpse of panties and bras. Another chance to get a handle on who Donna Nolan was.

  “He sure throws himself into the wizard thing.” She laughed as she transferred the panties to the drawer of the antique dresser.

  He’s had almost four hundred years of practice. Holgarth had let that slip during one of their last poker games. They’d stopped inviting him to play when they caught him using his magic to cheat. “Wizards and lawyers. Sleight of hand and the creation of new realities. I guess they have a lot in common.” Black and white panties. Hmm. He wondered if she saw life that way. If she did, then the Castle of Dark Dreams would blow her mind. He frowned. Wrong. He couldn’t allow her to see beyond what any customer might see.

  On a more positive note, she didn’t seem to mind him watching her put her underwear away. That said a lot about her self-confidence. He liked strong women.

  “Okay, I understand Holgarth. What I don’t understand is the hostility I’m feeling from all of you. I asked Holgarth, and he danced around the truth.” She put her bras into the drawer beside her panties.

  His cock had started to take a real interest in this unpacking thing. Once again, her bras were mostly black or white. There was hope though, because she’d thrown in a red one. Size? They looked like they could cup a woman with full tempting breasts.

  “You’re problematic. I’ve listened to your program, and your audience seems to be open to all possibilities.” Too open. “Everything people think they see here is just high-tech and great makeup. But some of the people who listen to your show might think it’s something more. Those women who called in about having wild sex here are cases in point. You don’t want to know how many women have shown up here wanting to get it on with our ‘creatures of the night.’ ”

  She abandoned her unpacking to sit down on one of the room’s ornately carved chairs. He had her interest. “I’d think you’d be happy with all the free publicity.”

  He tried to control his sudden spurt of anger. She didn’t know what he was, so she couldn’t know the danger she brought with her. “You don’t think that you broadcasting from here each night, trying to play up how spooky it is so you’ll up your ratings, won’t attract every weirdo who listens to your show? We don’t need people running around trying to drive a stake into a vampire’s heart or kill a werewolf.” Okay, he was diving off the extreme end of his emotions, and she had no idea why he was steamed. He wanted to stay here. He didn’t want anyone chasing him away with a media blitz.

  She was mad. He didn’t need to touch her mind to know that. Narrowing her gaze, she proved that warm sweet chocolate could change instantly to permafrost. “I have some of the most intelligent listeners in the world. Guests on my show are recognized experts in their fields of interest. And no, I’ve never had a vampire hunter as a guest. Every talk show has a few callers who’re over the top, but I guarantee hordes of my listeners aren’t going to descend on your precious castle.” Standing, she flung the last of her things into the drawer and slammed it shut.

  Time to back off and change the topic. If he made her too mad, she might purposely say things to energize the fringe elements of her audience. He glanced around the room.

  “I see you inherited Sweetie Pie and Jessica.” He knew his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

  “Who?” She followed his gaze, and then stared, puzzled.

  “The plants. Holgarth says the owner’s into plant research, and the two you’ll be sharing your room with are favorites. You should feel honored the owner is entrusting them to your gentle care.” The enjoyment he felt at the thought of telling her Sweetie Pie and Jessica’s secret worried him. Eric didn’t want anything about her to bring him joy. Except sex. He thought he’d like sex with her just fine.

  She walked over to take a closer look at the plants that rested on the floor beneath the arrow slit that passed for a window. “They look kind of limp and wilted.”

  He lay back on the bed and clasped his hands behind his head. “That’s because they were in the Wilsons’ room all last week.”

  Her narrowed gaze told him how she felt about him making himself comfortable on her bed. In a perverse way, the angrier she grew, the more he wanted her.

  “What did the Wilsons do to them? And I’ll have to tell Holgarth I don’t water plants.” She walked over to the bed. “Get off my bed. Go sit in a chair. Better yet, leave.”

  Eric had thought he’d just stay long enough to give her a brief warning. But he was dragging it out too long and having too much fun. Warning flags were popping up everywhere. So instea
d of arguing, he rose and walked toward the door.

  “Tell me about the plants before you leave.” She sounded surprised that he’d obeyed her.

  He paused and looked back at her. “The owner’s research has shown that plants respond to external stimulus, especially from humans. They pick up on emotions and things like that. The Wilsons did nothing but fight the whole week. I guess it depressed the plants.” He offered her his most sensual smile, and half meant it. “The owner claims the plants get all green and bushy in a room where the humans have sex a lot. I guess you’d better figure out something to keep those plants happy. You don’t want to tick the owner off.”

  He’d finally succeeded in shocking her. She stared at him with wide eyes.

  “You’re kidding.” She glanced back at the plants.

  “No.” He pulled the door open and stepped into the hall.

  She firmed her lips. “I guess they’ll have to make do with a really big box of plant food.”

  4

  “So did they talk about sex?” Sparkle leaned over the counter to stare at Deimos. She’d closed the store an hour ago, and then waited impatiently for him to report.

  “Don’t think so. Couldn’t hear too much. They left the door open, and I had to stand back far enough so they wouldn’t see me.” Deimos ran his hand across his shiny scalp and then flexed his impressive biceps. “Whatta you think of my new form?”

  “I don’t think it’s age appropriate. And if you’d kept your cat form, you would’ve heard everything. Cats can hear someone opening a tuna can a block away. Now tell me what Eric and Donna talked about.” Next time she chose an apprentice, she’d do a better background check on him. She didn’t know if Deimos was going to work out. He already had a major strike against him. Deimos was a virgin. The concept of a male virgin was obscene.

  “I hated being a cat. Every time I tried to jump, I landed on my face. I want to be an action hero.” He stuck his bottom lip out in a sulky pout.

  “Hate to break it to you, babe, but action heroes do a lot of jumping. And I think you should rethink your new form. You were created four years ago. Four-year-olds don’t look and sound like Vin Diesel.” How the hell had she saddled herself with a virgin, for crying out loud? It was probably too late to give him back, and besides, she couldn’t take the total embarrassment. After all, she was the maven of all things sexual. She had to uphold her reputation among the lesser cosmic troublemakers. How would she look if she kicked Deimos back into the newbie pile? A failure, that’s what.

  “They didn’t say much. Sounded like they were mad at each other.” His expression had turned mulish. “And I’ll be an action hero if I want to be. You can’t stop me.”

  “Knock yourself out. Now tell me what you did hear.” She was talking through gritted teeth.

  He shrugged and turned to stare out the store window into the night. “Eric told her about the plants needing sex to grow right.”

  Deimos actually blushed when he said the word sex. Sheesh. Sparkle had sent him home with a pile of sex manuals, sort of a Remedial Sex 101, but she didn’t think it’d done him much good. Bad enough that he’d never had sex, but even watching or talking about it embarrassed him. Fat lot of help he’d be in her quest for the perfect sexual setup.

  He paced back to the counter. “Donna said the plants would have to be happy with plant food.”

  He scuffed his toe back and forth nervously. Sparkle could tell him that action heroes didn’t scuff their toes. As for Donna Nolan, by the time Sparkle finished with her she wouldn’t need plant food to make Sweetie Pie and Jessica bushy and bright.

  “Do I have to sneak around again tonight checking which guests are getting it on with each other? I hide my eyes so I won’t see, but I can still hear them. Can’t I do something important?” He looked hopeful she might order him to lay waste to all of Galveston.

  Important? The little snot didn’t think what she did was important? Sparkle allowed herself a resigned sigh. “It looks like if you want something done, you have to do it yourself. From now on, you watch the store while I take care of business in the castle.” Yes, Donna and Eric would be better off in her expert hands. They deserved the best, and that would be her. She hoped Sweet Indulgence wouldn’t lose money with Vin Diesel behind the counter. The best she could hope for was that he wouldn’t throw anyone through the store window. “I’ll need a disguise. Hmm. Got it. I’ll be the ghost of Lola L’amour, infamous madam of Texas’s most notorious bordello, the Cock Crows at Dawn.”

  Deimos’s expression said he didn’t care if she turned into a bowl of pudding. “Watch the store? Jeez, action heroes don’t sell candy. I want—”

  “Shut. Up.” Sparkle narrowed her eyes to pinpoints of amber menace. “You’ll do what I say or I’ll stuff you in a box with a Return to Sender sign on it.” Kids. Sometimes you just had to put your foot down.

  Deimos swallowed hard and backed up a step.

  Sparkle softened a little. “Look, I’ll keep my eyes open for a girl you’ll like. I know you were created full-grown, but you have a lot of maturing to do. Once you have some sexual experience, maybe you can help me more.” She watched him perk up a little. “There is one other thing you can do for me. Asima is here.”

  “Asima?” He walked around the end of the counter and stole a handful of jelly beans.

  Sparkle frowned. Thoughts of Asima always made her frown. “She’s the messenger of Bast. Bast is the Egyptian goddess of cats, the moon, sexuality, physical pleasure, and on and on. Asima always takes the form of a Siamese cat. I don’t know why she decided to stick her snooty nose into my game. Probably just to piss me off. She thinks she knows more about sex than I do just because she has goddess connections. Ha! See me laugh. Anyway, I want you to keep an eye on her when you’re not busy in the store.”

  “Wow, think I’ll see any action?” His eyes glittered with excitement.

  “Mess with her, and the only action you’ll see is Asima’s foot as she kicks your butt into the Gulf.” Sparkle allowed herself a grim smile at the mental image. “Don’t engage her, just watch what she does.”

  Ignoring her disgruntled assistant, Sparkle prepared to launch her first offensive. Could a late-night talk-show host find sexual ecstasy with an eight hundred-year-old vampire? Definitely a yes when Sparkle Stardust was in charge.

  Okay, what was her problem? She’d tossed and turned for hours. Lifting her head, Donna glanced at the clock. With a disgusted groan, she lowered her head and tried to punch her pillows into more comfortable lumps. Almost four in the morning. Even though she didn’t usually get to sleep until about six, she would’ve sworn nothing could keep her awake tonight. Wrong.

  Finally giving up, she turned onto her back and stuffed her two pillows under her head. The only thing that would usually keep her awake when she was this tired was worry. Had she taken care of everything on her to-do list? Her brain didn’t think so. It hummed happily along.

  She’d made her ritual call to her parents listing her newest reasons for them to stay together. Then she’d called her brother and threatened him with a slow and painful death if he canceled the cruise in favor of a family trip to a Yankees game. Last, she’d called her sister to pass on a rumor she’d heard about Trish’s hubby-number-three hopeful. Basically, everyone told her to mind her own business, but maybe they’d at least think about what she’d said. There, she’d taken care of the home front.

  Her job? She’d ask Brynn to be her first guest, and then Phil Hughes, a ghost debunker, would talk to her listeners by phone. Donna didn’t have a chance to run any more plans for tonight’s show through her mind, because without warning her door slowly swung open. Her heart and lungs took a coffee break while her ears registered the soft swish of the door scraping over the carpet, and every hair on the back of her neck stood straight up and shouted, “Serial killer!”

  The quiet click of the closing door signaled she was no longer alone. Donna’s heart and lungs got back to work with a vengean
ce. Her heart pounded at jackhammer speed while she sucked all the oxygen from the room with a few horrified gasps.

  Say something. Her radio mission statement had always revolved around the belief that talk freed the truth. Okay, talk followed closely by screaming and running.

  “Who are you, and why are you in this room?” Throwing back the sheet, she swung her feet to the floor at the same time she reached for the lamp.

  There was no sound of footsteps, no heavy breathing, but suddenly a large male shape materialized out of the darkness. The bed and her heart sank as he sat down beside her.

  Donna knew. She didn’t need to hear his voice or turn on the light. It was as though in the unrelieved darkness her senses grew more acute. His heat and scent were familiar. They bypassed her civilized veneer and spoke directly to the primitive in her. And what they said was pretty scary. Hot sensual male looking for like-minded female. Desires to have sex in interesting locations using creative positions.

  She shook her head. Panic was making her stupid. “What’re you doing here, Eric?” Donna had ruled out the serial-killer angle. More likely he was here for an after-midnight snack. Chomp, suck, aah. Another talk-show host drained dry. She mentally slapped her own face. Even if she believed in vampires, that would be a sick thought.

  “You sent me a note.” His voice was smoke and darkness. “I came.”

  “I didn’t send you a note.” Once again she reached for the light and fumbled around for the switch. “I locked the door before I climbed into bed. How’d you open it?”

  He tensed beside her. “The note said you had important information to pass on, and you’d leave the door unlocked. It was unlocked.”

  Donna paused in her fumbling attempt to find the lamp’s switch to think about what he’d said. Without warning, a shape shimmered into view at the foot of the bed.

  Glowing, transparent, and floating a foot above the floor, it slowly took a recognizable form. A woman. It was the Pillsbury Doughboy in female form. Old, gray-haired, with chubby cheeks and an apple shape, she was the quintessential grandmother prototype. “Hello, dearies. I’m so happy my note worked.” She smiled at them, a cozy sweet smile that made Donna think of hot apple pie and Norman Rockwell paintings.