Angels of Bourbon Street (Jade Calhoun Series: Book 4)

by Deanna Chase

  “I can.” He stepped forward, invading my personal space but not touching me. “I told you before that I could sense you. Not like your empath gift, but your energy. That has never changed. And I feel you pulling away from me. I won’t force you to accept me, or what I have to give. That’s why I backed away. When you withdraw, I can’t force myself on you. I can’t be just a person you lose yourself in. It’s not who I am. And the woman who wants to get lost? She’s not who I fell in love with.”

  My heart started to hammer and tears rolled unchecked down my cheeks. I couldn’t deal with this now. My emotions were too raw.

  “Aw, sweetheart.” He brought his hand up and gently wiped the tears away. “I know you’re hurting. All I’m asking is for you not to shut me out. I can’t help you when you shut down.”

  Shaking my head, I stumbled past him. I’d heard him and understood what he was saying, but a voice in the back of my mind whispered, “You’re broken. He sees it. Eventually, he’ll get tired of the drama and leave just like everyone else.” I ran to my closet and pulled out a faded pair of jeans with ripped knees and a stained sweatshirt. All of my regular clothes were at Kane’s house.

  He didn’t follow, just leaned against the kitchen counter, watching as I tugged my clothes on. Once I was covered and feeling more secure, I wiped away my tears and raised my gaze to his unflinching one. “I think I could use a little time to…decompress.”

  His eyes stayed glued to mine, his attention searching for the emotions he must have known were struggling to come out. But I held them in, not wanting him to see me break down.

  He shifted his weight and took a step closer. I stiffened, not sure I could stand it if he touched me again. He stopped, let out a haggard breath, and inclined his head. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

  I gave him a short nod and held my breath as he left. The door clicked softly, and I let the air go, easing the pressure in my chest. Moving to the window, I ignored Meri’s curious stare and glanced down at the barren courtyard. The day was chilly, gray, and bleak, just like my mood.

  “Want to talk about it?” Meri asked softly.

  “No.”

  “Didn’t think so. I’m here if you change your mind.”

  Of course she was there. And while I appreciated that she was keeping me from being possessed, I resented the fact that I needed her. Resented the fact that she had half my soul and that if she’d never come into my life or my mother’s life, none of this would be happening. Knowing she was a victim herself didn’t seem to matter much anymore.

  Across the room, I heard the soft click of my bathroom door closing. I glanced back to the couch to find it empty. Finally some time to myself. But I knew it wasn’t enough. I glanced at the balcony and then back at the bathroom door. Surely the proximity was close enough I could climb outside for some air. The bathroom was less than ten feet away.

  Lifting the window, I peeked out at the gray skies. No rain. Yet. I grabbed the throw blanket from the couch and climbed out onto the balcony. New Orleans rarely got really cold, not like Idaho cold, but since I’d acclimated, I wasn’t used to the January chill. I wrapped the fuzzy blanket around my shoulders and sat on one of my plastic chairs, content with the courtyard silence.

  My anger and frustration seemed to seep away into the void as I sat there, not thinking, not feeling, only taking in the brick courtyard.

  Minutes passed. I forgot about Meri, my mom, my dad, Camille, everyone. I let my mind go blank, refusing to think or feel anything. I was blissfully numb.

  Then I heard Meri striding across my apartment, her footsteps echoing off the wood floors. “Jade?” Her voice sounded panicked.

  I stifled a sigh and stood. As I moved toward the floor-length window, I heard my door bang open.

  “Meri!” Pyper’s voice was high-pitched, frantic. The sound disturbed me on a cellular level. Something was off, and it wasn’t the desperation in her tone.

  “Where’s Jade?” Meri demanded.

  “This way.”

  I shifted to angle myself back inside, but the curtains were obstructing my view. Gripping the blanket with one hand, I swept the curtains aside with the other just in time to see the pair of them disappear out my front door.

  “Hey!” I called, but the door slammed a moment before my outburst. Neither of them had heard me.

  I scrambled back into the apartment, dropped the blanket on the couch, and stuffed my feet into a pair of clogs before tearing out the door after them. But I wasn’t fast enough. At the top of the stairwell, the ice started to creep up my arms.

  “No!” I flailed, almost tripping down the stairs in panic. The ice took over, pushing me back into the far corners of my mind. Camille, stop this. Just tell me what you want, and I’ll do my best to help you.

  The image of the dead girl flashed through my mind. Rage mixed with deep-seated sadness flooded me. Camille took total control, straightened, and then headed back into my apartment. She paused in the middle of the room, glancing around. Her focus narrowed on the bathroom door.

  What was with that bathroom? Ghosts seemed to follow me in there. One had even joined me in the shower once.

  With a nod, she strode across the room with purpose. Behind her, a low growl snarled, vicious and mean. She spun and narrowed in on her stalker.

  Duke. My golden retriever ghost dog stood in the middle of the room, his hackles raised and teeth bared. If I’d had control of my body I would have shivered, he looked that scary.

  Camille stared him down, never breaking eye contact. The dog snarled louder.

  Good dog. Some part of me was relieved he knew I was possessed. He’d known when Roy was terrorizing Pyper, too.

  “Hush,” Camille demanded. “Bad dog.”

  Duke only snarled louder. I smiled inside.

  Camille gave a grunt of disgust and strode into the bathroom. She stopped in front of the mirror, inspecting my face, running her hands through my hair, and twisting to absorb all my features. Then her eyes narrowed as she took in my tattered outfit.

  “How awful,” she said in her high-pitched tone. “A lady would never wear such rags.” She ripped the sweatshirt off and stopped suddenly as she took in my torso in the mirror. She raised my hands tentatively and cupped my breasts. Revulsion overtook me, and I longed to hide my eyes, but I couldn’t. I was seeing through her but had no control over anything she did.

  Pressing my breasts together to create even more cleavage, she smiled. “These will do.”

  I wanted to throw up. She was touching me. Somehow that knowledge seemed even more invasive than the total body possession.

  She brushed my hair until it fell in soft strawberry-blond waves past my shoulders. With deft hands, she quickly pinned the mass into a fancy bun, leaving tendrils hanging on either side of my face.

  I hated it and longed to rip out the bun just to spite her.

  She smiled at my reflection and picked up a tube of bright red lipstick. By the time she was done, I was painted with rosy cheeks and bright red lips, my eyes shadowed in cinnamon and gold.

  With a nod of approval, she headed to my closet and proceeded to tear every last piece of clothing out. All the while Duke growled and barked, but she pretended to not hear him. It’s not like he could do anything. He was a ghost dog. He couldn’t bite me. He’d slip right through. Unless he could possess me, too. Except there probably wasn’t room for two ghosts.

  Piles of Mom’s, Gwen’s, and my old clothes grew up around her until finally she chose my black jersey pencil skirt. She stepped back, placed my hands on my hips and eyed the rest of the clothes in my closet, frustration seeping from her into my consciousness. Seems she didn’t like what I had to offer. With a disgusted sigh, she paired the skirt with my one clubbing shirt, the one with the deep V that dipped between my cleavage, the one I never wore because I had to use body tape just to keep it in place. What could I say? It had been a gift from Pyper not long after I started working at Wicked. She wanted me to feel comfo
rtable.

  The only way I’d felt truly comfortable was by not working there at all. The energy was just too much to take most nights. Well, at least while I’d been an empath.

  Camille stepped into the high-class, call-girl slut outfit, uncovered my strappy black heels, and checked my reflection out in the mirror one last time. Grimacing with what appeared to be disgust, she left the apartment and took off down the stairs with a lot more grace than I’d ever managed wearing those particular shoes. If she hated the way I looked so much, why did she choose the one outfit that could get us arrested if we suffered a slight wardrobe malfunction?

  Halfway down the stairs her demeanor changed and she practically sauntered, as if she’d lived her entire life in three-inch heels. When she reached the bottom, she glanced left and right, spotted the exit and took off.

  Oh hell, where was she taking me?

  She burst through the door into the courtyard and took off through the narrow alley that led to Bourbon Street.

  Despite the overcast January day, plenty of tourists crowded the street. She wove between them, instantly losing herself among the partiers. Moving like she owned the street, she ignored the females, but interestingly she studied every male who came into view. A few she even went so far as to rub my breasts on their arms as she passed them. My insides churned with each stab of her disturbed pleasure. When I got control of my body again, she was so on her way to Hell.

  Both men gaped, until their significant others cast me a death glare and tugged their men out of Camille’s path. What was she doing? Sex-crazed much?

  She stopped abruptly and stared up at the Royal Sonesta Hotel. Squaring my shoulders, she nodded at the doorman and glided inside, heading straight for the bar. She stood in the middle of the room, scanning, and then settled on a stool at the bar, one that gave her a view of the room.

  “Good afternoon.” The bartender eyed me appreciatively. “Can I get you something?”

  Camille licked my tongue slowly over my bottom lip, ending with me biting my lip with seductive prowess.

  Seriously? The dude couldn’t have been a day over twenty-two. Camille was ninety-something years old. Sort of.

  Of course, he didn’t know that. All he saw was a twenty-something-year-old woman, showing off most of her assets as she practically gave him an open invitation. He leaned down on one elbow, staring down my shirt, getting more than a peek at the goods covered in a see-through lace bra.

  “I have a break coming up in ten minutes.”

  “Is that right?” She ran my finger over the rim of the ice water he’d set in front of me. “How long of a break?”

  “As long as it takes, sugar.”

  Oh, my God! She was really going to do this…use my body to have sex with some random stranger. For sex magic. Shit! But for what spell? What did she want so badly? The dead girl? Could a ghost come back from the dead? A shudder ran through my mind. Was that what she wanted? I had to do something—expel her, fight off his advances, something. Anything. But I didn’t have any control. I was helpless. At her mercy. Hatred coiled inside me. How was I going to get out of this?

  Camille gave him a soft giggle and followed up with a sigh. “I bet a man like you knows his way around…uh…”

  His eyes glowed with excitement. “Yeah. I know my way around.” His gaze fixated somewhere around my navel, the very spot the V ended on the halter top. “I know what to do once I get there, too.”

  “I bet you do,” she said softly, batting my eyelashes at him. The slut.

  “Jade?” a familiar voice called from across the room.

  My mind whirled. Ian. Thank God. He’d know it wasn’t me and find help.

  Camille turned, and her lips formed into a seductive smile. Her intense satisfaction seized me. Oh, no. What was she going to do?

  “Ian?” she said in a lower register and a bright tone. Her voice didn’t sound at all like me, at least not that I could tell, but Ian didn’t seem to notice. He was too busy staring at my chest. Damn Pyper and her need to make me “comfortable.”

  “Look at you, all dressed up.” His face eased into a relaxed smile. I had an intense desire to smack him silly. Why the hell was he looking at me like that? What about Pyper? Too bad I didn’t have use of my arms. “Going out?”

  Camille shook my head. “No.”

  Ian’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. “Working…at the club?”

  Camille stood and pressed my body up against him. Ian stiffened as if startled by my actions, but as he glanced down, straight into my shirt, he showed no desire to move away.

  “No work tonight.” Camille slid my finger lightly down the middle of his chest. “In fact, I was hoping to get a chance to play.”

  “Umm…”

  She giggled that high-pitched irritating sound, and once again, I wanted to smack the crap out of Ian for not noticing I wasn’t me. He did back at Bea’s shop. What was different now?

  “Don’t think, Ian. Just kiss me.” She tilted my head up, gazing into his pale blue eyes, imploring him to do as she commanded.

  Ian took a step back, but she followed, keeping my breasts in contact with his chest.

  “I know you want me.” She leaned in, so close he had to feel my breath on his lips.

  He clenched his fists as if fighting for control, but as she gently brushed my lips over his, he let out a strangled moan and crushed himself to me.

  Chapter 18

  Camille placed my hands everywhere. In his hair, on his thighs, cupping his ass. He met her fervor, right there in the bar of the hotel. A few catcalls faded into the background as I curled into my mind, horrified by what was happening with my body and friend’s boyfriend. Once I had control again, I was going to kill him, carve him up as if I were Dexter and feed him to the alligators out on the bayou.

  The fucking bastard!

  Kane would kill him for me. I wouldn’t even have to lift a finger. Panic took over as I envisioned Kane walking in on this scene. Would he know it wasn’t me? Would he stick around long enough to find out? I doubted I would. I hadn’t the time I’d caught him with Lailah. Meri had been in control of him then. Surely he’d understand I was possessed. That wouldn’t help Ian, though. Not only was he touching Kane’s fiancée, Ian was cheating on Kane’s best friend.

  Ian is a dead man walking.

  Rage filled every last crevice of my mind, almost but not quite blocking out the interaction I had no control to stop. I didn’t want to know Ian in his lust-filled haze, nor feel the heady desire and excitement Camille was generating.

  Someone would stop them before clothes started to come off, right?

  Ian broke away, breathing heavily. He stared down at me, desire and wonder swimming in his eyes. He grabbed my hand and tugged. Camille followed, all too willingly.

  “Where are you taking me?” she asked, huskily, her high-pitched tone gone.

  Ian paused in the hallway, glanced down at me, and then pressed me up against the wall. His lips met mine, and I could sense Camille’s thrill of being devoured by his kiss as he leaned into her, his body hard and alive with excitement.

  She nipped at his lips, sighing with desire.

  “Jesus, Jade, I’ve dreamed of this night after night.” His hands came up, cupping my breasts, kneading them with his long fingers.

  I recoiled in my mind, trying and failing to think of anything I could do to stop the pair of them. Saying no was impossible with Camille in charge, and it was clear she wasn’t going to do anything of the sort. She leaned into his touch and ran my tongue over his neck, biting and nipping until she closed in on his ear. Then she lifted my leg through the long slit of my skirt and wrapped it around his waist, pressing into him.

  “Take me,” she growled.

  He pulled his head back but didn’t allow any space between our tight bodies. “Right here?” he asked in a strangled voice.

  “Anywhere,” Camille said breathlessly as if she’d die if he didn’t obey her command. “I’ve been waiting
far too long.”

  Something settled over him, and he stiffened again, this time jerking back out of Camille’s grasp. “Wait. What?” he glanced around the hallway, blinking to regain his focus. “What’s going on?”

  A tiny seed of hope blossomed. Ian had come to his senses. If it were possible, I would’ve breathed a huge sigh of relief.

  Camille sauntered up to him and ran my fingertip down his chest once more. “We’re doing what we’ve both been dreaming about since the first night you took me out to that club. You remember, don’t you? I never got my kiss, and I’ve been dying for it ever since.” My hand came up, and my index finger caressed his lower lip.

  What the hell? How did Camille know about that night? Could she read my mind? Or was she reading Ian’s? I hadn’t thought I could feel more violated. I was wrong. She’d taken everything from me and now maybe my private memories.

  A low moan escaped Ian as his eyes once again glazed over with lust. “This way.” He wrapped an arm around my body and whisked me into an open elevator a few feet down the hall. As soon as the doors shut, he was on me, taking my hips in his hands and yanking me to him.

  Effing Camille! She’d somehow turned Ian into a total slime bucket. My rage slowly turned to terror as the reality sank in that I wouldn’t be able to stop whatever happened between them. She was about to force me to cheat on Kane, and I couldn’t do anything about it. Would he think to use protection? What if he got me pregnant, or worse?

  Camille’s desire started as a faint tingling at the edge of my mind then slowly wound its way through my body into each cell, sparking to life with each heightened moment of lust between them. Heat pooled at my center.

  The odd sense of arousal and disgust sent me reeling further into my mind.

  A bell rang, and the elevator doors slid open. Ian’s hands and mouth were everywhere as he maneuvered me backward through the hall until he pressed me to a door. A second later, he whipped out a cardboard key and pushed us into the empty room.

  The door slammed closed with an ominous click I was certain no one but me heard.