To Date A Disaster (Southern Sanctuary - book 6)

by Jane Cousins

  No, she just wasn’t that imaginative, no way could she have dreamt up Erik Valhalla, the tight butt, the chiselled jaw, the engaging smile that made you want to smile too. And those eyes, the depth of the blue was unlike anything she’d ever seen before, pools of sparkling cobalt, tempting her to swim in their depths.

  Of course, with the current unstable state of her wacky curse… no, not curse… magic, if she spent any time with Erik, one or both of them was bound to end up in the hospital. Or at the very least completely stark naked… hmm, if it were Erik… Merda Cara, snap out of this silly schoolgirl fantasy. You have absolutely no control over your powers and you will end up killing someone if this keeps up… and if Erik was the one to get hurt, well, it didn’t bear thinking about.

  So, shoulders back, deep breaths, forget the man, he was officially out of her life as of this moment.

  Her sensible low heels sounded loud as she clicked her way across the tile to the front reception area. Time for her to head home, there was a cup of pot noodles calling her name, not to mention the stack of books on Ancient Egypt she’d borrowed, waiting to be read. Hmmm, it didn’t sound a particularly exciting evening… but at least it would be safe.

  She froze in the archway of the reception area. Erik Valhalla was waiting for her, leaning with his back up against the checkout desk, his head bent as he frowned at something on the plush carpet. Merda, would the man leave her no pride?

  No doubt he was going to gloat and leer. Tease her about having seen her naked. God, Cara felt the colour that had only just started to recede from her cheeks, flood back. Low down in her body, between her legs she felt the small molten ball start to spin, draw power… oh, no, no.

  “Took you long enough.” Erik shot her the briefest of glances before turning to head for the door. “Come on, I’ll make sure you get home safely.”

  Cara’s mouth dropped open as she watched him walk away. Where was the predatory gleam? The teasing? The gloating? The ‘I’ve seen you naked’ leer? Just like that the molten ball of lava was snuffed out, reverting back to the low level - barely perceptible - buzz that she could easily ignore.

  So that’s what it took to turn off a man of Erik Valhalla’s calibre, let him see you naked. Wasn’t that just fine and dandy… and hurtful.

  Cara found herself stomping after him, happy that as she hit the marble staircase her heels sounded like bullets being fired out of a gun. Good, because she was imagining each one hitting Erik in his tight, annoying, unpredictable ass… jerk.

  At the very base of the stairs Erik turned right, heading for the rear of the building, where the car park was located. He was moving at such a fast pace she had no hope of keeping up. Shooting Thom, the guard on duty, a hesitant smile, Cara paused, her place wasn’t all that far away. Yes, it was dark out, and a little on the cool side but she had her humiliation and anger to keep her warm, she’d be fine walking home.

  “Night Thom.” Determinedly she turned in the opposite direction Erik had taken, heading towards the front doors of the building.

  Erik, who no longer appeared capable of looking her in the eye probably wouldn’t even notice she was gone, in fact, he’d probably be grateful. He didn’t want to drive her home, he was just doing it to be… polite… or chivalrous… or some other more suitable, less noble word that could be equated to men who were jerks.

  She had just opened the large glass door, shivering as the chilly night air wrapped around her when a hand shot over her head to slam the door shut.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Erik’s voice sounded low and a little bit angry.

  What did he have to be angry about? He wasn’t the one humiliated this evening. He wasn’t the one who’d had to put up with all those cruel catty taunts about being fat and overweight. He wasn’t the one who’d been sprawled naked and dazed on the floor… in public. He wasn’t the one who was insulted to their very core by the fact that a person of the opposite sex, who’d considered them worthy enough to flirt with fully clothed, after seeing them naked, couldn’t even manage to make polite eye contact with them.

  Cara kept her head bent, pulling futilely at the door. “I’m going home.” She managed to grit out.

  Why wasn’t the stupid door opening? Oh, because Erik was still leaning his weight against it, his body behind her, so close she could feel the heat rising from him. Damn, and now she could smell him; red oak, spicy rum and moss. Using both hands now, she tugged at the door handle, it didn’t budge an inch.

  “I said I’d drive you.” He muttered through clenched teeth, his warm breath blowing across the sensitive skin at the back of her neck.

  “I’m perfectly…” Tug. “…capable…” Tug. “…of making it home on my own.” Stepping back to get better leverage, she instantly froze as her rear made contact with the front of Erik’s jeans and the very hard, very impressive length of his cock that all but seared her flesh through the material of her skirt.

  The molten ball went supernova sized in a split second and then just as fast fizzled out of existence as Erik leapt back… as if she had cooties.

  “I said I’ll take you home.” His voice was lower still, almost a series of growls.

  Gah, she wanted to scream. His lower body might have moved but because of his superior height and strength, even with just his fingertips pushing at the glass door, she was never going to get it open. “Fine.” She whirled out from underneath him and started walking fast across the marble, back the way she’d come. Giving Thom another smile as she passed by, what must the man be thinking?

  This time Erik remained behind her, a respectful five foot distance but she could feel him back there, herding her. She came to a stop just outside the exit door, unconsciously wrapping her arms around her upper body as a strong gust of chilly night air hit her.

  “Problem?”

  Cara rolled her eyes heavenward, how dare he sound pissed off and at the end of his rope, she was the one who should be angry. “I don’t know which truck is yours.” She considered the four sturdy work vehicles available in the lot, they all looked the same to her.

  “The silver one.” Erik grit out, pointing to the two door model to the right, with its large, currently empty tray-bed.

  “Right.” Cara nodded, hurrying towards it, eager to get out of the cold night air and home as quickly as possible so she could bid goodbye to Erik Valhalla once and for all. As he unlocked it with his remote key she all but dived into the passenger seat, dismayed to find that enclosed together in the confined space Erik’s scent once more battered her senses. Merda, she needed to get away from this man… now.

  He must have been feeling the same way about her as he peeled out of the car park like they were fleeing a fire, jerk.

  Silence descended with a thud between them. Cara could have cared less. She was too busy clinging to her seatbelt and imagining increasingly nasty things to do to Erik Valhalla. She read a lot, it was kind of hard to make a decision. Currently she was tossing up between the idea of staking him out in the desert, covering him with honey and letting the ants have at him or death by a thousand paper cuts and dipping him in lemon juice.

  As Erik turned the vehicle onto Beach road, heading away from the main shopping area, the wind swept off the ocean and slammed into the truck. Damn, she’d forgotten how windy the nights had been lately, she was kind of glad she had a lift home. She’d only just recalled that Erik didn’t know where she was staying when he slammed on the brakes in front of her cosy little cottage. She dismissed it as no big deal, it was a small town, probably everyone knew where she was staying.

  Cara reached for the door handle, but it wouldn’t give. “Um… the door lock…” She tried again, nope still locked. “Erik.” She finally looked at him, his full attention appeared to be caught and held by something across the road, he was frowning… huh, like he’d done anything else in the last fifteen minutes.

  Cara whipped her head around to stare across the road at the strip of park that butted up to the san
dy beach. Trees dipped and swayed as the gusty wind tore at their branches, but as far as she could see, the park, and the beach beyond, were empty. Hardly a shocker on this blustery cool wintry night.

  “Did you see it?”

  “See what?” Cara pushed her glasses up her nose and looked around again. Nothing. No one. The street in both directions was empty and all the houses nearby had their curtains drawn except for her cosy open planned cottage, where a security light showed clearly that her place was empty of inhabitants.

  “I thought…” Erik shook his head. “…must have imagined it.” He finally looked at Cara, his frown if possible deepened. “You getting out?”

  “The. Door. Is. Locked.” As if she wanted to spend another second with this jerk.

  She’d barely finished gritting out the words when the door gave way and she all but fell out. The strong wind grappling at her hair, tugging at her clothes, sand pelting her bare legs, drifts of it under foot making it difficult to stand upright. Her situation compounded by the fact that the moment she slammed the door shut, Erik drove off… fast.

  Wobbling for a moment, trying to recover her balance, Cara couldn’t help but think a thousand and one nasty thoughts about Erik Valhalla… annoying, frustrating, remote, bossy… asshole. She glared up the road at his disappearing tail lights, blinking for a moment as the street lights played havoc with her eyesight, for just a second it looked like a glittery trail of red lights had just shot out of her and hit the back of Erik’s truck. She blinked again as a loud whump filled the air, and Erik’s truck instantly listed to the left, as he slammed on the brakes.

  She wanted to jump up and down with glee, hah, that’s karma for you. No one deserved a flat tire right at that moment more than Erik Valhalla. Feeling better for the first time since she’d tumbled off the dais, Cara turned and hustled inside. She had a hot date with a pot of noodles and a book about Egyptian death rituals waiting for her.

  Chapter Six

  Three flat tires! Three! And not all at once… Goddess no. That would have been far too easy to deal with.

  Erik had suffered his first on Beach road, moments after he’d all but abandoned Cara by the side of the road. Easily dealt with, he had a spare after all.

  The next one occurred immediately after he’d made the turn off onto the road heading towards Reverie Valley and the third flat tire happened when he was barely five minutes away from his house.

  His second cousin, Hamilton, who owned a garage, had thought it as funny as hell. Bastard was lucky Erik hadn’t picked up the over-used jack and beaten him about the head and face with it.

  Stepping out of his truck in front of his house he wasn’t at all shocked or surprised to note that the fourth tire was looking suspiciously low, fuck, he didn’t care. He didn’t care about any of it, he needed, had, to get to his studio. If he didn’t, he was going to explode with the build-up of pressure that was beating at his bones.

  It had taken every atom of his will-power to lock down the raging wildfire need that had sprung to life the moment that Cara Devigne had tumbled to the floor.

  The image of her… naked, dazed, breathless… it was burned into his retina. Everywhere he looked he saw her; the way her mouth had parted, ever so slightly, as she’d drawn in a shocked breath. How her eyes had drifted half shut, as her mind had sought to catch up with what had just happened to her. Sprawled there… naked, for just a split second she’d looked like a woman mindless, sated, dazed with passion.

  And it was as if his inner artistic eye had taken a snap shot. He couldn’t seem to dislodge the image, no matter how many times he blinked or closed his eyes… she was there.

  Acres of golden tantalising skin. The waterfall spill of red-gold curls both hiding and highlighting those soft luscious curves; full breasts, hard nipples the colour of newly budded roses. Goddess, the bend of her knee, the dip of her collarbone, the tiny birthmark on her left hip… it was as clear to his mind’s eye as if she was lying right in front of him at this very moment.

  Charging into his studio he headed immediately to the storage area, he knew exactly what he needed. He’d had it for over five years, a block of creamy marble shot through with veins of minerals that glittered like gold. There… at the back. Erik shouldered aside other blocks, not caring as one crashed to the ground, a large hunk breaking off. He didn’t bother with the lifts or the dolly, there was no time. He barely remembered to pull on gloves, grunting with the effort it took to carry the precious marble slab out into the main studio, kicking aside the current project he’d been working on for the last week, uncaring what happened to it as he picked up his chisel and hammer and circled the creamy marble block.

  Shit, he felt unnerved. His hands were trembling in excitement at the idea of starting, of creating… of bringing her to life. Cara… what had she done to him?

  Dismissing the art students, cleaning up, setting the domed room back to rights. It was if he was moving underwater, in a dream. Nothing had felt real… normal. Until she’d stepped into the library reception area wearing that damn light blue sparkly cardigan that clung to her lush curves like it was spray painted on and made her eyes spark with challenge behind her glasses.

  It had been all he could do to issue the invitation to drive her home when every fibre of his being sizzled with the need to find out if any bruises marred that perfect golden skin. No, he had no rights when it came to Cara Devigne and he was sure - to his very soul - that if he touched her right at that moment a fire would ignite between them that could never be extinguished.

  He couldn’t be trusted. His powers were sparking uncontrollably, he hadn’t been this… driven, since he was a teenager and his magic first made itself known. Fuck, he couldn’t even trust his eyesight. Not with that image of Cara burned into his mind’s eye, over lapping everything… he could have sworn. No, he’d already lost the plot tonight, there was no way he’d seen a shadowy blob on the beach, moving restlessly at the edge of the grass. It was the trees and the wind… no other explanation made sense.

  Yeah, because so much about tonight was making sense, his reaction to Cara, all the accidents, the nude image burned into his frontal lobe… all those fucking flat tires The sheer frustration all but consuming him with the need to get back to his studio and start turning the vision in his head into a reality.

  With that in mind, he gripped the chisel and hammer tighter, still circling the block of marble. Letting out a deep breath, he rolled his neck and then raised the chisel, his eyes drawn to the perfect place to start… there… she was waiting for him there.

  Erik’s next thought was that he was thirsty. His throat felt rough as hell. Damn, his eyes ached, his hands were cramped and it felt as if marble dust had worked its way in to his very pores.

  Goddess, what had just happened? What was the time? He looked blurrily towards the metal clock sculpture he’d created and frowned… that couldn’t be right. That meant he’d been out here working for almost twenty-four hours straight. Shit, he hadn’t had an artistic fugue since he was a kid, when he first came into his powers and couldn’t resist the pull of finding the hidden shapes in any piece of metal, wood or stone he passed.

  He tried and failed to swallow, his throat too dry. He forced himself to look down at what he’d been working on - the need to swallow, breathe, drink, eat, sleep - all of it faded for just a second. He’d made hellacious progress on the piece, the legs, the buttocks, the hips… creamy golden curves that his fingers itched to caress. Thankfully the cramp in his hand as he mindlessly reached out bought him thudding back to reality. He had to get out of here, grab something to drink, eat, shower… sleep, man he was tired.

  He averted his eyes from the unfinished marble, not wanting to be re-captured by the mysterious spell it held over him. Dropping his tools he shuffled out of his studio, every muscle in his back and shoulders aching. His entire body feeling too heavy and leaden as he made his way slowly and carefully up the internal circular staircase to his house proper.
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br />   Opening the locked door he stepped into the hallway and blinked for a moment, damn, had he left the lights on? No, there was someone in his house. Goddess, no, he was so not in the mood to deal with her.

  * * *

  Next thing he knew, Erik was waking up in his own bed, something… something was on his face. Blindly he reached up and grabbed for it, staring at the yellow post-it note that had been stuck to his forehead. Two words were slashed across the paper - Call Me - he recognised his mother’s handwriting, shit! He tried to remember what had happened last night.

  Sitting up he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, pleased to see that he’d showered before getting into bed. Nothing worse than waking up with marble dust in every nook and cranny after a sculpting binge. C’mon, think man.

  He screwed up the post-it note and threw it across the room, aiming for the brass wastepaper bin. A split second later the balled up post-it note shot straight back out of the bin to hit him right between the eyes. Bloody hell, he batted it away, ducking as it zoomed back his way.

  Shit! His mother was really pissed at him. Immediately his phone began to ring, his mother’s ring tone. Goddess, damn it, she must have booby-trapped the post-it note. The minute he’d touched it she’d known he was awake.

  Fuck, he grabbed for the flying wad of paper as it came for him once more, missing, as it pinged him once more between the eyes… in a flash it all came back. Oh shit, no, no, no. He was in so much trouble.

  Ignoring the attacking post-it note, he began pulling on clothes, jeans, a dark t-shirt and his work boots. Grabbing a gym bag he threw a few more extra t-shirts and jeans in. In the bathroom he swept his toiletries into the bag, pausing only long enough to brush his teeth and club back his hair with a black rubber band.