“Great. So I’ll see you in the office later today.” She hesitated. “How’s the other story going? The one on the invisible people.”
Crap. He’d forgotten he’d mentioned the possible story to her in the first place.
“That depends on whether I get to cover the world series,” he hedged.
“Do you think you’re the only studly guy in the sports department?” Natalie asked. “You blew your chance. I’ve already promised the seats to Tommy Beech. Just finish up your work and check out of the hotel by noon. I don’t want to pay for an extra day.”
“And if I don’t?” he challenged, annoyed that she continued to treat him like an inexperienced cub reporter when he had credentials to prove he wasn’t.
“Then don’t bother coming in,” she replied, without missing a beat. “I can live without Halloween preparations and a B-movie interview. Can you live without a job?”
Click.
Good question.
He finished the write-up of Anton and Darcy’s interview and submitted it online to the paper. Then, he wrote a couple of inches about Haven Harbor’s Samhain celebration. He’d been told the celebration would be rather low key as the town had just sponsored a big September festival to celebrate the Witches Walk from Salem. For a town of witches, they celebrated Halloween much like everyone else with costumes and candy…except for the mysterious Samhain ball. No one really spoke about it, except to say it was invitation only.
He was leaving today and wouldn’t be around on Samhain, but he still would have liked to take Chelsea to the ball. He hadn’t forgotten the joy in her face when she learned of the dance. His imagination had her beautifully attired and smiling in her whimsical way, bathed in the glow of the hundreds of candles. She’d flow with the music while trapped in his arms. Lord, he’d love to see it.
“I’m sorry, Babe,” he murmured, as he typed the finishing lines to an article that did not do justice to his unforgettable experiences on this assignment.
Two stories down and now for the one that may or may not be submitted to the paper. He hadn’t decided. If Chelsea was to be believed, exposing an entire race of invisible beings could ultimately be dangerous for her. While he didn’t want to put her at risk, he did want to learn more about this incredible race. Writing a story on the Nevidimi would help him get his thoughts in order. At least that way he would know what he could expect if he and Chelsea were to get serious. There were, after all, newspapers in Los Angeles. After Natalie’s comment, he wasn’t so sure he had a future with the Press.
He started with the history of the Nevidimi, and for that he turned to Dr. Staveroski.
Chelsea stood in the hallway outside Brandon’s door wearing the hotel issued bathrobe and nothing else.
She hadn’t slept at all last night. She’d blown her only chance at being with Brandon and now he was leaving. Just a kiss good-bye wasn’t going to cut it, especially after he had her screaming his name last night as he made her come with just his tongue and his finger. She didn’t want him to leave without her completing what she’d set out to do. Closure. That was what was missing. If she returned to Hollywood without it, she would be in agony for months and months, just as she’d been before. She revved up her courage, straightened her back, and knocked.
The door opened.
“Chelsea?” She backed him further into the room before he could say another word. The door closed on its own accord. ”What are you doing here?”
She opened the robe and watched his jaw drop. “I know you already know what I feel like. I thought you should see what you’re leaving behind as well.” She pushed him back so that he fell on the bed.
She slipped the robe off her shoulders, then straddled him on the bed. His appreciative smile emboldened her, making the eager for the next step.
“Are you sure about this?” His hands slid up to her breasts, feeling their weight while exploring her sensitive nipples.
She pulled his tee shirt off with his eager assistance. His past history as an athlete was evident in the definition of his chest, which she’d appreciated last night. Her greedy fingers slid over his muscles before she pressed fully against him, seeking his lips.
Damn, he was a good kisser. This was far different than that kiss in the woods years ago, and she’d lived off that kiss for years. She didn’t want to think about how long it would be before someone kissed her again with such intensity. He set her aside a minute, then stood to shed the last of his clothes.
While she explored the curves of his back, she heard the rip of foil and knew he was protecting her once again with a condom. He turned and pinned her to the mattress.
“I’ve been dreaming of this since last night,” he said.
She spread her legs, to welcome him inside. “There’re no witches to stop us this time.”
It was so perfect being with him in this way. She felt protected surrounded by his brawn.
He slid deep inside, then after a moment, pumped to drive the sensation higher and higher. She grasped his back, holding on, wanting more and more.
She came first feeling a tingling throughout her entire body as if she were phasing, but she wasn’t. The next time she phased in Hollywood, she knew she’d be reminded of Brandon. He came after with a final thrust, then stilled while he held her tight.
“That witch was right,” she said. “This is definitely better than the cold ground.” Laughter rumbled through his chest and vibrated against her cheek.
“I like seeing you this way.” He squeezed her close, then scooted down until they were nose-to-nose. “Not that not-seeing you wasn’t extremely pleasant, but I prefer seeing your face, and holding you tight.”
“I very much like seeing you all naked and wrapped in the sheets.” She nuzzled his lips.
“Then stay,” he said. “New York City uses make up artists just like Hollywood. With the internet you can be anywhere with the click of a button.”
“You want me to stay?” It was a dizzying proposition, one that she hadn’t really considered or expected.
“You said yourself there have been sightings of a ghost in Hollywood. What will you to do when it becomes more than a sighting?”
That possibility bothered her more than anything. She could run…again, but one of these days that might not be an option. “New York is no safer than California in that regard,” she said.
His fingers drew gently down the side of her face. “Yes, it is. I’ll be there to protect you.”
His offer was sweet but no single person could protect her. Her parent’s constant moving had taught her that. She slipped her hand down his side hoping to persuade him for another go. They’d both be heading their separate ways soon so time was short.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Go away!” Brandon yelled toward the door. “It’s probably Jimmy,” he explained in softer tones. “We’re supposed to meet at noon to grab a bite before driving back to the city.”
A moment passed while they waited to see if Jimmy would leave or persist.
“Oh, hell,” Brandon said. “Let me tell him to go on. I’ll catch up with him later. Can I borrow your robe?”
She nodded, mourning the moment he left the bed. It immediately felt cold, lonely and unfortunately familiar. Chelsea wrapped the sheets around herself, then looked around the room, intent to sear the memory on her brain. She’d be reliving this glorious morning for quite some time. She noted his laptop, his phone, a stack of papers that extended to the bedside table. She perused the papers covering a book. One word was visible on the spine: Nevidimi.
“That’s odd,” Brandon’s voice carried back to the bed even though he, himself, remained out of sight by the door. “Not Jimmy at all. It’s an envelope with tickets to the Samhain ball. The one they hold on Halloween. Hannah had said it was an invitation only event.”
Chelsea pulled the book by the so-called Dr. Vladimir Staveroski out from the pile of papers. White hot fury and disgust shoved away all the wonderful feel
ings she had experienced minutes ago. This name was familiar to her. She’d heard time and time again from her family that Staveroski was no doctor at all. He was a quack, pure and simple. She held the book, cover out, waiting for Brandon’s return. He was using her, exploiting her, probably for some story for his paper. He’d betrayed her and then had the gall to offer “protection.”
He walked back toward the bed. One glance was all it took. His eyes widened and his face reddened. “Shit! I can explain!”
Chapter 9
Chelsea’s face twisted in absolute disgust. “You’ve been writing an article about the Nevidimi this whole time,” she accused. “You know the dangers. I told you the dangers!” The book came sailing straight at his nose. He ducked. It bounced off a suitcase.
“I admit that I was tempted to write something right after we met,” Brandon said, holding his hands up to block any more flying objects. “But I didn’t. I didn’t because you convinced me that no one would believe it. Then as I got to know you again, I knew I couldn’t write an article. Not if an article would put you in danger.”
“I don’t believe you,” she raged. “Why should I? You have a book called The Scourge of the Nevidimi. The scourge!”
“I was curious,” he said. “You’re the most unique person I’ve ever met. I did some research about your history, that’s all. Believe me.”
“You could have asked me about my history, but you snuck behind my back,” she accused. “What was last night? More research?”
Tears formed in her eyes. The catch in her voice tore at his heart. “I knew you’d feel this way if you saw that book in my room. That’s why I didn’t invite you back here last night, even though I sorely wanted to.” Lord, did he want to. Still, he approached her cautiously, not wanting to frighten her any more than the book already had. “Chelsea, I would never do anything to hurt you. I swear it. What can I do to prove it?”
“You can leave and never contact me again.” She stood, looked about then snagged his tossed tee shirt. He shrugged off the robe to offer it to her but she’d already slipped the tee over her head. Her magnificent body disappeared beneath his favorite Boston Red Sox shirt which hit her mid thigh. His shirt never looked better. She pushed past him, then headed for the door.
“Chelsea!” he called after her. He swept his jeans off the floor and ran after her. “You don’t understand.”
Tears blurred her vision so badly she wasn’t certain she’d be able to find her own room. She’d trusted him. How could she have been so foolish! She’d handed him the keys to expose not only her but any other descendants of the Nevidimi. When she thought about how she’d thrown herself at him this morning, tears welled up once again. She was a fool, fool, fool!
She banged on the door to her room. Damn! She should have taken the robe when he offered. Her room key was in the pocket.
“Darcy, it’s me. Open up!”
A naked Brandon did a one-legged-hop down the hall toward her door as he tried to simultaneously chase her and still manage to pull up his jeans. She pounded on her door with more urgency. “Darcy!”
Brandon reached her just as the door opened. He braced the door with his arm. Damn. No chance to slam it in his face.
But instead of Darcy, Anton stood on the other side of the door. “We’ve been waiting for you. Come in.”
“Where’s Darcy?” Her heart jumped to her throat. Anton wasn’t one to answer a door if another could. She barged into the room.
Darcy sat on the far side of her bed, her face turned to the window, her back toward the door, her arms crossed in front of her as if she was holding herself together.
This was not good. Chelsea’s anger and bluster dissolved, leaving concern for her friend. “Darcy? What’s wrong?”
“He forced me to tell him, Chelsea. I tried not to, but he forced me.”
Fear and dread lumped in her stomach. “Tell him what, exactly?”
She glanced at Anton who sat on her hastily made bed, surrounded by photographs. His leer made her very conscious that she was naked beneath Brandon’s tee shirt. There were times when she wished she could turn invisible in broad daylight. This was one of them.
Anton glanced from her to Brandon and back. Man, she wished she could wipe that smug smile off his face. “I can see what you two have been up to.” He made a dismissive wave toward Brandon. “This doesn’t concern you. Why don’t you go back to your room and finish dressing.”
“I’m not going anywhere without my shirt,” he said.
His shirt? Seriously? She frowned her displeasure.
Then he added, “Or the girl wearing it.”
Like that would happen. She quirked a brow at him.
“What? It’s my favorite shirt!” He grinned like a puppy wanting to play catch. She wanted to kill him.
“Chelsea can take the shirt off here,” Anton said. “Which I’m sure we’d all enjoy. Or she can take it off tonight under the moon. Then we’ll all be equally entertained.”
Uh-Oh. This wasn’t good. She watched Anton pick up one of the photographs, pretending to closely inspect it. He turned and leered her way. “Much like you were last night.”
Cold dread filled her chest and raised goosebumps on her arms. She turned toward Brandon, her fists clenched tight. “What the hell did you do?”
“Me?”
“At least you have the decency to look surprised,” she scoffed.
“Wait a minute!” He raised his hands in surrender. “I didn’t have anything to do with this, whatever this is.” He snatched the photo from Anton’s hand. His face reddened while his jaw slackened. “Jesus!”
She had a bad feeling about this. Darcy tried to hold her back, mumbling something, but she marched around the bed to take the photo from Brandon’s hand to see for herself. She held photographic evidence of last evening when she was not visibly present, yet obviously she was. Flames from the bonfire obscured much of Brandon’s crouching body, but the position of his hands and tongue made it clear that he was holding someone or something against the boulder for the intent of giving pleasure.
“Olsen,” Brandon said with murder in his voice. “He’s a dead man. The minute I see him I’m—”
“He’s gone,” Anton interrupted. “I’ve already paid him for his services. I have the memory card, just in case you wondered.” He smiled victoriously. “He figured you’d be upset once you saw the pictures so I paid him more than enough to rent a car to drive anywhere he wanted.”
“Wait!” Chelsea said, her head spinning that so many people were privy to not only her unique abilities, but her private activities as well. She turned toward Brandon. “Isn’t Jimmy Olsen assigned to you? You must have told him where we’d be.”
“I had nothing to do with this,” Brandon insisted, raising his voice. She hated to admit it, but she was starting to believe him. Either he was telling the truth or he was clearly the best actor in the room. “That son of a bitch was acting on his own.”
“Not exactly on his own,” Darcy said, calmly. She stood on the other side of the room, her arms crossed, her eyes raised in pain. “I’m so sorry, Chelsea. Anton hired that photographer to follow you last night and take photos without you knowing.”
“You knew about this?” she said incredulously.
“Not until he brought these photos to the room this morning.”
Brandon stepped in front of her and crossed his arms like some immoveable rock. She suspected he thought he was trying to protect her, which was admirable. But there was no protection for her once someone seeking to capitalize on the discovery knew the truth. She’d have to run again, which given her current state of undress could be a problem.
“So you’ve got a bunch of embarrassing photos of me naked. These prove nothing,” Brandon challenged.
Anton grinned like a man who held all the cards. “Forgive me. I forgot to play the soundtrack.” He pulled a digital tape recorder from his pocket. He pushed a button and they all could hear both Brandon’s and he
r voices as they cavorted around the fire.
“How did you know?” she asked cautiously. The more she considered his motivation for hiring Olsen in the first place, the more she suspected something else must be in play. “Or did you hire Olsen in the hopes he’d get some spicy photos, but got so much more.”
“I knew,” Anton said. “I’ve known for some time. I suspected back in Hollywood when those articles about a ghost started to appear. I knew it must be Nevidimi, but I didn’t know who. Bystanders said the ghost was that of a woman. Then, there was that photo.”
That’s right. The person who spotted her the first month, hid with a camera hoping to catch her again. It took a month, but a blurry photograph appeared in the paper. So Anton knew of the Nevidimi which was surprising in itself, but how did he identify her?
“We take photos of everyone we consider for the production crew,” he continued. “Your picture looked a lot like the woman in the photo.”
“You hired me because you thought I was the ghost?” Her tone clearly showed her skepticism.
“I hired you because Darcy told me you were good. You’re very talented with special effects which was exactly what I needed for my movie.”
“I’m sorry I got you into this, Chelsea,” Darcy said from across the room. She swiped at her eyes. “I thought getting away from Hollywood would be a good thing.”
“After I saw those ghost photographs, I had my suspicions,” Anton continued. “What I lacked was proof. Then Darcy insisted that you come with us on this site inspection and I decided to watch to see if the Hollywood ghost sightings would continue. As you know, they did not.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” Brandon said. He was trying to defend her. She realized none of this was connected to him. She was wrong to accuse him in the first place. She promised herself she’d make it up to him somehow.
“I knew I had a limited amount of time this month to find what I searched for, so I stacked the deck in my favor,” Anton said.
“Wait,” Brandon interrupted. “How did you know you had limited time?”
Blame the Moonlight (Bound by series Book 2) Page 6
