Honey House

by LAURA HARNER

  It turned out that I didn’t have to talk. David brought pictures. I just looked and listened as he remembered their childhood, their half sister, their parents, a loving home. He felt guilty at the separation of the last few years. Not one of intent, but a separation of neglect. They’d both been busy living their lives, secure in the knowledge that they would always be there for each other.

  After dinner, I walked David to the door, and he thanked me for the evening. I was very glad to have brought him some comfort, but I was desperately tired and needed to be alone.

  “Thank you, KC. I don’t know how I would have made it through this night without you.”

  “My pleasure, I’ll see you in the morning. There will be lots of coffee, plus a light breakfast, if you’re interested.”

  “I could be interested in a lot more,” he whispered softly, and lowered his mouth to mine.

  The kiss was a brush of lips, our bodies not touching. It was a tempting offer. I felt emotionally bruised from my contact with Quinn. David was battered from the news of his brother’s death. We could offer each other a gentle loving, and the comfort of another’s arms. But he wasn’t the man I wanted.

  I kept the kiss casual and pulled my hips back from the more intimate contact. David pulled his head back, his response showed an immediate awareness that I wasn’t interested in other activities.

  “I’m sorry, KC.”

  “No need. It was a lovely thought. I’ll see you in the morning, David,” I said and brushed another quick kiss against his mouth.

  He quirked a grin at me, so much like his brother’s that it made my heart lurch a little. “You know where to find me, if you change your mind.” He smiled.

  I closed the door behind him. It disturbed me to realize that since I’d lived here, I’d been alone in my apartment with three different men and each of them had sexually responded to me. It wasn’t a matter of false modesty. I was attractive enough to garner my share of passes, but I wasn’t anywhere close to irresistible. Three for three seemed a bit much.

  Shaking off my thoughts, I practically ran to my bedroom in my desire for bed, for sleep. It had been a very long day after a miserably long night. After the debacle with Quinn yesterday morning, I hadn’t the heart to even go to my room last night. Instead, I’d tossed and turned on the couch, between fitful bouts of sleep.

  Now, I stripped naked, pulled the crystal from my pocket, and plopped onto the bed. Suddenly, I was surrounded by the scent of Quinn, and our loving. I breathed in deeply of the musky smell. I told myself I was too tired to change the sheets. I lied.

  The crystal began to heat and it was much hotter than it had been in my pocket. I was so tired I couldn’t even reach the nightstand to set it down. I let the crystal slide out of my hand to land beside my pillow, closed my eyes, and I was asleep within seconds.

  ****

  Quinn’s mouth was on my breast, pulling at my nipple hard enough that it pressed against his upper palate. A straight path of desire flared from my breast to my pussy. A moan of hunger escaped my throat and my legs fell open in invitation. His tongue trailed along my ribs, across my belly, lower, reaching between my legs. Hot, wet velvet spread me open, pierced me, and lapped my flowing juices.

  I threw my head back, whimpering with the pleasure and Quinn rumbled low in his throat. His tongue glided over me, spreading my moisture, and he slipped a finger inside.

  “Mmmmore,” I moaned, and pushed against his hand as he slipped another finger inside my pussy. He moved his mouth to my clit, and lightly flicked his tongue against the hard nub. Then as he began to thrust his fingers rhythmically, he rubbed harder with his tongue, and the edges of the world began to blur.

  “Don’t stop,” I gasped. “So close, oh—”

  The sounds of an alarm split the air just as the waves of pleasure began to reach for me, to pull me over that ledge, and give me release. I tried to make sense of it, tried to tell myself that the noise was a klaxon warning of pending orgasm. Unfortunately, my consciousness dragged me back from the edge, and left me hanging by a thread.

  Damn! It was time to get up, time to see to the business of the day.

  My heart was pounding and my breath sounded harsh in the early morning stillness. I moaned against the pent up desire and tried to still the nudge of anticipation that came with knowing Quinn would be downstairs in just a little while. It was a foolish and uncharacteristic thought.

  I forced my fuzzy morning-brain to face reality and remembered everything I stood for. I didn’t fuck men I didn’t like, and I definitely didn’t like Quinn. He was arrogant and bossy, and worst of all… he was a cop.

  Then I ignored my sensibilities, closed my eyes, and conjured a picture of Quinn, hard and firm above me. I remembered his eyes sleepy with the heat of desire, his heavy testicles slapping against my skin. I slipped my hand between my legs and let the memory of Quinn finish taking me. When my release came, Quinn’s name was hot against my lips.

  Chapter Eleven

  Quinn was drinking a cup of coffee when I raced into the dining room, a little late from my extracurricular activity.

  “Thanks for making the coffee. It smells good. Just what I needed.” I ventured a smile.

  “Why’s that?” he asked, without looking up from his paper. “Were you up late fucking David?”

  I blinked. A really slow blink. The smile slipped from my face, and I felt a slow burn creep up my cheeks. He didn’t even do me the courtesy of looking up when he insulted me. I swallowed a sigh. I knew what he was doing. It was another stupid cop trick to find out more information. I refused to take the bait and issue a denial.

  “I was up late, as a matter of fact,” I said. A slow smile curved my lips and my voice was morning-husky. It was up to him whether he wanted my comment to confirm or deny his supposition.

  I left Quinn to wonder about my answer while I retrieved the trays of food from the kitchen. It was quick work, since the coffee was made and both of the large carafes were already in the dining room. Maybe Quinn wasn’t completely useless after all. Good to know.

  “Quinn, how’d you get in?” I asked, pouring myself a second cup of coffee and taking my usual seat. Every morning, we were the only two people in the dining room, and yet we never sat near each other.

  “The door unlocks when I get here,” he said, still looking at the paper.

  “Seriously? Is that something I should get fixed? Or is that part of the magick?” Yeah, I was fishing to see just how much he knew about the House.

  “Part of the magick. When Joanne was here, the door opened at five every morning. I could always hear the lock click as I walked up. Now it waits until six-thirty. If I arrive earlier, nothing happens.

  I sent a silent thanks to the house and scooped out the last drop of my yogurt while I pondered my list of things to do. I needed to meet with Jason’s editor, clean out Jason’s room if Quinn was finished with it, and get the scoop on TWTW Ranch. Gregory and Owen were coming for dinner and a soak in the hot tub.

  The hot tub made me think of Ted Sparks’ new business, Rapture. I would go there this morning, I decided, as soon as I spoke with Merkham.

  “Quinn?” I asked, my curiosity temporarily overruling my good sense. “What do you know about Rapture?”

  “I assume you’re referring to Sparks’ and not something more biblical?” he said. He was such a smart ass.

  “Yes, I mean the business owned by Ted Sparks. Did Jason go there?” I asked.

  Quinn gave a sigh. “I can’t find any proof of a visit, if he did. There’s no record of phone calls and with his notes missing, no way to prove he was investigating them.”

  I thought about it for a minute and realized things would go a lot easier if I could keep Quinn talking to me, rather than piss him off. I decided to ask him about my idea rather than just tell him what I was going to do.

  “I want to go to Rapture and look around.” I put up a hand as he started to protest. “I don’t mean look around like you
would. I mean, look around as though I’m new in town. I own the Honey House, and I want to collect information about local attractions for my guests.

  “It’s a perfectly reasonable excuse for me to go there. Maybe I could meet with the manager, and have a heart-to-heart about how badly Jason’s article hurt me, see if she was expecting any fallout from the series. I won’t do anything stupid.” Then I added, “You know I’m good at making people believe me. I won’t have any problem.” It came out sounding more bitter than I expected.

  Quinn looked at me for a long minute. I could almost feel him weighing the advantages of having me ask questions, rather than telling me to stay the hell away from his investigation. Curiosity won out.

  We discussed strategy and I promised to tell him everything as soon as I came out. I also promised not to try anything dangerous, just go in as a fellow business owner, talk for a bit, and then right back out. We were discussing how soon I should leave when a voice broke into our conversation.

  “Good morning, sorry to interrupt. I’m Edwin Merkham. I am… I was Jason’s editor.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Merkham, please come in. I’m sorry for your loss,” I said. He was a big man, with salt and pepper hair, leaning to salt. He was large, but soft. Like a former athlete who no longer took time to care for himself. His pallor and black framed glasses gave the distinct impression of a man who was now more at home behind a desk than out in the real world. He looked out of place and time wearing blue jeans and a yellow polo.

  Quinn surprised me by sitting back and staring at the man. No introduction, no barging into my conversation. Just stared for a minute, and then turned back to his newspaper. Interesting.

  After Edwin filled his coffee and grabbed two muffins, we sat and began to speak of Jason. Even though Jason hadn’t been with the paper long, Edwin was full of praise for Jason’s future. This paranormal series would have been his big break, possibly big enough to merit his own byline. I didn’t know much about newspaper publishing, but I knew enough to realize that was a big deal.

  He looked nervously over at Quinn, leaned in closer, and dropped his voice even lower. “I wonder if I could see his room? To see if any of the newspaper’s property is in there, I mean.”

  “What kind of property?” I asked, not bothering to lower my voice to match his.

  “You know, computer, notebooks, research. Things like that,” he said.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Merkham. The police still have the room cordoned off. I don’t know when they will release it. Let’s ask.

  “Quinn, I don’t know if you heard, but this is Mr. Edwin Merkham, from the Phoenix Chronicle. He was Jason’s editor, and he’d like to see if any of the newspaper’s property is in Jason’s room. Do you know when you might release it?”

  Merkham looked a bit panicky that I’d asked the sheriff right in front of him. With a predatory smile, Quinn delivered the bad news.

  “I’m afraid if that’s the only reason you came to town, you’re out of luck, Merkham. Once the evidence techs finish with the scene, my office will turn over all personal effects to Mr. Brill’s next of kin. You’ll have to contact the family in Ohio for more information.”

  Well, wasn’t that an interesting answer.

  “Oh, yes…well thanks, I will.” Merkham looked at me then, a long, searching look, before his gaze flicked to Quinn, then back to me. “I wonder if I might stay another night or two. There are a few loose ends I need to tie up so we can finish Jason’s series.”

  “Oh, I didn’t realize you were still running the articles. Did Jason finish all of it?” I asked.

  “Most,” he smiled, but didn’t elaborate.

  “Well, of course, your room is yours as long as you like. I’m sure Gabrielle went over the rules of the House when you checked in yesterday. Clean towels and linens are in the laundry room if you want more, breakfast every morning, but I clear it by nine. The dining room, great room, and library are common rooms, and your room key will give you access if the front doors are locked. Any questions?” I asked.

  “No thanks, I’ve got it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some errands to run this morning.”

  Quinn looked at me after Merkham left. “You didn’t touch him,” he observed. “Why is that?”

  My back stiffened. “What the hell does that mean?” I asked.

  He put his hands up in a conciliatory gesture. “Back down, Katie. I simply meant, every time I’ve seen you meet someone, you shake hands, or lay your fingers on an arm, some physical gesture or touch. You didn’t touch Merkham. I was wondering if there was a reason.”

  Okay, that was disconcerting. He’d called me Katie and he noticed about my touch. I did touch most people. It was a sense of grounding for me, a way of connecting my space and theirs. There was no real way to explain it, except it gave me a sense of the energy floating around them. It had gotten stronger since I’d been here in Juniper Springs and I wanted to ask Amelia about it, if she returned. I’d begun to think it was a form of reading someone’s aura, except I wasn’t really sure what that meant.

  I answered his question slowly, as I struggled to find the words to explain it. “I didn’t think about not touching him, really. It’s instinctual with me, to reach for people. Sometimes, there is a…barrier? A sense of wrongness or I don’t know, something I don’t want to get on me. I didn’t want whatever I was feeling from him to touch my skin. He didn’t scare me or make me want to run screaming, but no, I didn’t want to touch him.”

  Quinn stood, then just looked at me another long moment, before he said, “Maybe you’ll fit in better around here than I thought, Miss Carmichael.” Then he turned and left.

  Well, at least Quinn was back to being mysterious and I was back to being Miss Carmichael.

  ****

  “How do you do, Melissa?” I said and shook the woman’s hand. It was a limp, fingertips-only grip that left me wanting to wipe my hand against my skirt. I’d dressed to appear business-owner chic and lend credibility to my request.

  Melissa Bowman wore white from her shoes to her turban and everywhere in between. Her make-up was applied with a practiced hand, which meant it didn’t look as though she was wearing any. I think she might have been in her mid-forties, but she was so skillfully put together that it was hard to say for sure. She felt and looked like a blank slate.

  “I’m not sure I understand what you’re asking, KC,” she said when we were seated in her office, sipping tea from paper-thin white china teacups.

  “I admit, Melissa, I’m not sure myself.” I frowned, as if searching for words. “I’m feeling the need to gather those of us involved in bringing the spiritually needy to the divine abundance of Juniper Springs. This is a special place…powerful. The recent newspaper article and murder…” I gave a little shudder, as if it were all too awful to contemplate. “I believe we need to work together to counteract any negative atmosphere brought by those who simply don’t understand our work. We need to present a united front, to show support for each other.

  “Since we’ve just met, and I’m new to the area, I’d like to start small. Perhaps with a mutual exchange. You could provide me with brochures that describe the services offered here at Rapture. In turn, I’d provide a brochure to each of my guests, and make them available in the library of the Honey House. I’d even be willing to offer a discount on lodging for people who travel to Juniper Springs to participate in one of your events.

  “The Honey House could probably accommodate five guests at a time. I know it’s not many and you primarily use one of the chain hotels available in Sedona. If you had an especially important client who would benefit from personal treatment…well, I think we could arrange whatever personal attention was necessary.”

  There is always a point when conning a fellow con artist when you can tell whether things will fall your way or theirs. We were at that point now, and I was very good at playing the game. It was time to do my thing.

  Never ask a mark to make a big decision. Th
e bigger the stakes, the smaller each decision needs to be. Don’t believe me? Go to any car dealer and look at the most expensive vehicle on the lot. A good salesman won’t ask if you want to buy the forty-thousand dollar top-of-the-line model. He’ll ask if you want to take a test drive. Once your senses are full of the new car smell, he’ll ask if you want it in blue or gold. Not only is it a much smaller decision, but he’s given you the right answer. Because he wins no matter which color you select.

  Rapture and Ted Sparks specialized in bringing the spiritually hungry to their door, and taking a great deal of money for their services before they let them go. Most of their clients would be white females, of average income and intelligence. Couples and men would come, too, but mostly lonely women. People who needed the promise of a better tomorrow, so they could get through the pain of today. They would return year after year until their cash or their credit limit ran out.

  There would also be clients for whom money was never an obstacle to their quest for healing. They didn’t see themselves as pathetic seekers of a better future. No, the wealthiest clients would convince themselves that the spiritual cleansing was a necessary part of their continued success and they would expect very special treatment. I was offering a unique twist. Something they hadn’t tried before.

  Melissa was wavering, and she was ready to go my way, but I was better at the game than she was. I wasn’t ready to let her make her decision yet. I wanted her to create the plan in her mind and suggest it to me, so I changed the subject. Our Melissa was definitely a con, there was no doubt in my mind about that point. She just didn’t know very much about the psychology of the cheat.

  “Melissa, would you give me a tour? I’d love to be able to tell my guests what your facilities look like first hand.”

  “Oh,” she breathed a sigh, releasing the tension that had been building within her as she’d been preparing to say yes. “Sure, come with me.” She led the tour in her professionally rehearsed manner, visibly relaxing with each familiar step and memorized word.