Crux sa-1

by Moira Rogers

  Even thinking about touching him made primal satisfaction unfurl slowly inside her. She stubbornly headed it off. “Can you explain this to me again?” she asked in a low voice, wrapping her fingers more tightly around her bag. “Maybe thinking will help. Or distract me.”

  “Explain what?” His eyes didn’t leave the road. “The ants in your pants?”

  She let out a strangled laugh. “That’s one way to put it. You said Alec thinks it’s some…spell or something?”

  “Well, no. The spell would be what normally keeps you from getting this way.” He checked his mirror and signaled to pass. “It’s some sort of shapeshifter thing. The animal has to get out. When she doesn’t, you get restless.” He arched an eyebrow. “Sometimes really restless, I guess.”

  Mackenzie groaned as she slid lower in the seat and closed her eyes. Every instinct in her body screamed for action. Her vivid imagination provided endless scenarios for how she could soothe the hot need twisting her into knots. The scene unfolded behind her eyelids like an erotic movie—pulling off the road, finding someplace secluded… She could almost smell the clean scent of his skin, could imagine how it would feel under her lips when she slid into his lap and nuzzled her face into his neck.

  The earlier fantasies of long, hot lovemaking vanished. The frantic need inside her would be satisfied by nothing less than equally frantic sex. She wanted his hands and mouth on her skin, wanted to feel him writhing helplessly beneath her as she moved above him, driving them both into limp exhaustion.

  A tiny whimper escaped as she fought back the image of his face, eyes hazy with pleasure and lips forming her name as she rode him to completion in the front seat of the car. “Oh, God. You have no idea how restless.”

  He shot her a sharp look. “I suppose I… Hey, how about some music?” He cranked up the volume on the radio, and a song with a low, throbbing beat spilled out of the speakers. He stared straight ahead as he stabbed a button with his finger, changing the station to one featuring talk radio.

  Mackenzie stared out the window into the night and took a deep breath. “I don’t suppose you—I mean, it’s a bit of an odd proposition, but would you consider—” She snarled. “The sexual frustration is going to kill me.”

  Jackson reached for his phone, hit a button and slapped it to his ear. After a moment, he said, “Yeah, it’s me. Look, about what you said… Yeah, what can she do about that? You know, that won’t—” He paused, obviously listening. “Yeah. Oh no, uh-uh. Okay, yeah. Later.” He snapped the phone closed. “Sorry, no sex. The bottom line is that you could die, and that would suck. You also can’t take care of it yourself, because you could weaken the spell even further.”

  A tiny part of her curled in on itself in embarrassment when she realized Jackson and Alec had just had a discussion about whether or not she could masturbate. The rest of her just wondered if she could talk Jackson into taking the chance that she might not die.

  “Jesus Christ.” She closed her eyes again. “Can we pull over at the next town, maybe get some food? The close quarters aren’t helping.”

  “Absolutely,” he said immediately. “I think food is a great idea. We can walk around and stretch our legs too. Terrific idea, Mackenzie.”

  “Terrific idea,” she agreed faintly. Except we’re not even halfway there and I’m already losing my mind. It was going to be a very long night.

  The diner was small and cozy, and looked to cater mostly to truckers. Their waitress showed them to a booth without a word, setting two menus down before returning unprompted with a pot of coffee.

  Mackenzie glanced at it, but caffeine wasn’t something she needed to add to her system. “Have you got any milkshakes?” she asked hopefully.

  “Sure, honey. Chocolate or vanilla?”

  “Vanilla, please.” She glanced across the booth at Jackson. “You drinking coffee?”

  “Yeah. Got a lot of driving to do if we want to make it to Boca anytime soon.” He favored the waitress with a smile as he turned over his mug. “Fill ’er up, darlin’, and I’ll have an omelet as big as my head, with bacon, peppers and cheese, please.”

  The waitress’s bored expression melted into an answering smile as she filled Jackson’s cup, Mackenzie apparently forgotten. She seemed terribly impressed by Jackson’s easy smile, and set aside the coffee pot as she jotted down his order. “Anything else with that, sweetheart? Sausage? Pancakes? We got some of the best muffins in the state here, if I do say so myself. Bake ’em fresh every night.”

  “He said he wants an omelet.” At first, Mackenzie didn’t even realize she’d spoken. Her voice barely sounded like her own, low and dangerous with a hint of menace. Color flooded her cheeks, and she avoided Jackson’s eyes, wishing she could sink into the booth and disappear.

  Jackson choked on his coffee, but recovered quickly enough to throw his head back with a laugh. “Now, now, sweet tart, I’ll stick to my low-carb diet, but the nice lady’s just doing her job.” His smile turned sheepish. “That’s what I get for marrying a health nut, I guess.”

  The woman turned back to Mackenzie, her expression cool. “And what would you like with your milkshake, ma’am?”

  The urge to snarl at her again was so overwhelming Mackenzie dug her teeth into her lip and flashed Jackson a pleading look.

  “She’ll have a couple of those muffins,” he said quickly. “Damn hypocrite’s what she is, huh?”

  As soon as the waitress retreated, Mackenzie folded her arms on the table and dropped her forehead to rest on them. “What in hell is happening to me?” she demanded, though she wasn’t sure she wanted an answer. The intense desire to slide across the table and rub herself against Jackson to warn off the waitress was too disturbing for words.

  “Well, you seem to be getting possessive there, darlin’.”

  She raised her head and glared at him. “No, really?”

  “Look.” He leaned forward earnestly. “This isn’t any more fun for me than it is for you, but it’s going to be one hell of a long trip if we can’t come to some kind of understanding about what I can and can’t ignore. The wiggling around on the car seat like a cat in heat? I can ignore it. But I can’t let you make some poor waitress’s life miserable just because I’m a charming bastard. She can’t help that.”

  A powerful need to strangle him replaced the urge to climb into his lap. Her scowl deepened as she inched out of the booth. “I’m going to the restroom.” Maybe to run my head under some cold water.

  Jackson unlocked Mackenzie’s door and swiped a hand across his forehead. They’d managed to finish dinner without further incident, and he had to credit his purposefully conceited comments with distracting Mackenzie enough to make it possible. “Watch the muffins,” he told her as she climbed into the car.

  The look she gave him as she deliberately threw the muffins roughly into the backseat was hot and challenging, but at least it wasn’t inviting. She seemed capable of switching back and forth between lust and rage with startling speed, but she’d been having a lot more success controlling the anger.

  Thank God for that. Jackson rounded the car and opened his own door. It would be a lot easier to deal with her hating his guts than to smack her hands away from the button-fly of his jeans when she started feeling randy again. “All right, buckle up. Miles to go and all.”

  She took another of those deep breaths that seemed to be the only thing holding her together. “Damn it, I’m hungry.” She twisted in her seat and reached for the bag of muffins.

  Her shirt rode up when she stretched out her arm, revealing the smooth skin of her side and stomach. By some stroke of bad luck—or her own subconscious design—it happened just as she brushed against his arm.

  Mackenzie froze, her skin still pressed to his, and moaned, low and needy and desperate. “I want you so badly.”

  He snatched his hand away and slammed his forehead on the steering wheel. “Okay, woman. You have got to have a little pity on me, here. Fucking around in the backseat could kill yo
u.”

  She crowded against him suddenly, her body soft and her breath hot against his ear. “Right now I feel like not fucking around is killing me too.” As if that wasn’t bad enough, she ran her tongue lightly along the shell of his ear.

  Jesus God. He flattened himself back against the car door and batted her away. “Am I going to have to put you under?” he demanded.

  For a moment—just a moment—something flashed in her eyes. The Mackenzie he’d been slowly getting to know stared back at him, and she looked terrified. Her fingers curled in his shirt. “Help me,” she half-sobbed. “I don’t want to—I can’t—”

  He framed her face with his hands, breathed a word against her forehead and she shuddered.

  The spell took effect, but not nearly as quickly as it should have. It seemed as if it had quieted the frantic battle inside her without putting her to sleep. Her blue eyes slowly cleared, and the hands clutching at his chest relaxed.

  “Thank you.” The words were a barely audible whisper, and her eyes fluttered shut. When they opened again she looked dazed, as if her body was fighting sleep and losing. She leaned closer, her lips touching his cheek and then sliding to the corner of his mouth. “Thank you,” she breathed again.

  She kissed him. It wasn’t frantic or desperate or aggressive like her earlier advances had been. Her lips were warm and soft, her kiss heartbreakingly gentle.

  He relaxed into the caress, but she sagged against him, dragging him back to reality. Kissing her while she was in this condition was no better than doing so while she was drugged, so he pulled his mouth from hers and moved her back onto the passenger seat. “Sweet dreams, Kenzie.” He pulled the seatbelt across her body and fastened it. After another moment’s thought, he reclined the seat and brushed her hair from her face.

  His phone rang, startling him, and he fumbled for his headset. “Hello?”

  A rich voice filled his ear. “I know you’ve got a good reason for leaving fifteen frantic messages on my voicemail and scaring the living daylights out of me, don’t you, Jack?”

  “Damn straight I do, Mahalia.” Jackson started the car and spared Mackenzie’s sleeping form another glance. “I’ve got a cougar trying to climb in my pants.”

  “Is that some sort of clever euphemism?”

  “I wish to hell it was, May.” He gritted his teeth as he pulled out of the parking lot. “I’m on the way to your place right now. Tell me you’ve got some experience with spells meant to keep the animal at bay.”

  “Some, but not much. You’re coming to Boca Raton?”

  “Yeah. I’ve got a woman here who’s in a bad way. Some extremely well-connected asshole has been stalking her across the country, trying to convince her to have his babies. She’s never shifted, and now she’s getting…frustrated. Besides which, there’s something weird about her parents and a deadly house fire that maybe wasn’t deadly at all…” He trailed off and exhaled roughly. “It’s a fuckin’ mess, May, pardon my French.”

  “A house fire?” Jackson could practically hear the gears turning in her head. “What was the name? Do you remember?”

  “Evans. Why, does it ring a bell?”

  She didn’t answer. “Get here as fast as you can,” she commanded. “I’m calling Steven.”

  “Hang on just a minute,” Jackson protested. “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t have time to explain, Jack. Just get your ass down here.”

  She hung up, leaving Jackson perplexed and frightened. Any situation that could put that edge of fear in Mahalia Tate’s voice was serious enough to make a grown man piss his pants.

  Jackson had to recast his spell twice before they hit Boca Raton, and it was becoming evident a fourth casting might be necessary. He drove as fast as he could toward the quiet subdivision where Mahalia had decided to live out her retirement.

  Mackenzie started whimpering again, a clear sign she was struggling her way free of the sleep spell. Under normal circumstances, it took eight or more hours for a person to wake from a single casting. He’d had to repeat the spell four hours after leaving the diner, and again three hours later.

  It had barely been an hour since that last one.

  “Jesus, Mary and Joseph.” He cranked the air conditioning in Alec’s car as high as it would go to counteract the waves of heat wafting off Mackenzie’s skin. He wasn’t sure what would happen if the spell collapsed entirely, but he didn’t want to wind up wrestling an upset, out-of-control cougar while driving down I-95.

  And that was the best-case scenario.

  Alec called when they were half an hour from Mahalia’s, and Jackson snarled at him. “I hate you. I hate you, and you should die.”

  “The girl okay?” Mackenzie whimpered again before Jackson could respond, but she didn’t sound aroused anymore. She sounded pained.

  Alec swore loudly in his ear. “How long has she been doing that?”

  “Since just outside of Orlando,” Jackson said shortly. “That’s her crawling out from under a third sleep spell, by the way.”

  “Christ. How far away from Mahalia’s are you?”

  “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” He stomped on the accelerator. “She called her friend, the cougar I met before. It sounds like she’s already figured out what we’re dealing with here.” He hesitated. “I think she knows something about Mackenzie’s family, but she’s being remarkably close-mouthed about it.”

  “Do you want me to come down there? This is starting to sound a lot bigger than a guy who can’t take no for an answer.”

  “Nah. I’m going to wait and see what Mahalia and her friend say. You could hop a plane and get here in a few hours, if need be.”

  Mackenzie fidgeted next to him, her breathing unsteady, and moaned in discomfort. Alec obviously heard, and swore again. “Call me when you get there, okay?”

  “I’ll try to remember, but we might have our hands full.” Jackson hung up and looked over at Mackenzie again before signaling his exit from the interstate. “Well, darlin’. Looks like we might get you fixed up yet.”

  Chapter 9

  She burned.

  Inside and out, every inch of her, every nerve was on fire. Jackson’s solid presence next to her presented a challenge and a seductive temptation. She could hear the way his heart beat too fast, could smell the tangy scent of sweat slowly overwhelming the clean smell of his soap.

  He was scared. Some part of her that was still human knew that was bad—he was scared for her, scared she would hurt herself. That she might die.

  The rest of her wanted to roll in the feeling, to stake her claim. He should be scared. He should be wary. She was strong, fast, powerful—and she wanted him.

  She needed him.

  She tried to tell him to run, to get away from her, but the word came out as a tortured whimper and he whispered soothing words. The rasp of his voice skittered down her spine like a hot caress, and she moaned again, bringing her knees to her chest in spite of the restricting seatbelt.

  Pain spasmed through her, wiping away desire in a rush of stabbing agony. It felt as if every muscle in her body had seized at once, and she struggled for air, struggled to breathe—

  She didn’t realize the car had stopped until the passenger door opened and a cool hand brushed her forehead. The world stood still, and she felt utterly, absolutely at peace. She bumped her cheek against the hand, and she heard a man’s voice as if from a great distance. “We don’t have much time. I can’t keep her calm for long. She’s too strong.”

  The seatbelt slipped away, and she felt herself being lifted by a pair of strong arms. They cradled her to a chest that didn’t smell like Jackson. Underneath the scent of aftershave and sweat was something familiar, something that made her curl closer as the frantic energy inside her focused.

  This is what you are, came the purring thought, wrapping around her as she relaxed against the unfamiliar chest with a gentle sigh. Home. You’re home.

  “I’m home,” she murmured softly, the words bar
ely audible. With the rumbling inside soothed, it felt as if nothing in the world was more important than sleep. She gave in to it, drifting into oblivion with the stranger’s gentle voice chasing after her.

  “You’re home, Jessica.”

  It had been five years since Jackson had seen Steven Donovan, but he looked almost exactly the same. His face was as impassive as Jackson remembered, but when he glanced up, his brown eyes were worried. “Let’s get her inside.”

  Though she was dead weight, Steven managed Mackenzie easily, taking long strides across the lawn toward Mahalia’s Spanish-style home. Jackson snatched Mackenzie’s bag from the backseat along with the ridiculous sack of muffins.

  Mahalia laid a hand on Jackson’s arm as they followed Steven. “You did the right thing by heading down when you did.”

  “It was Alec’s idea.” The confession pained him. “I had no idea what was wrong with her.”

  Her dark eyes were sharp, astute. “Why would you have had a reason to, Jack? Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

  He held the heavy front door open for her and tried not to look too bleak. “We almost didn’t make it, May. It’s hard to pat myself on the back for that.”

  Steven moved confidently through the house in the direction of the guest bedroom, but he spared Jackson a glance over his shoulder. “You have no idea what you’ve stumbled into the middle of, son. You should be patting yourself on the back for keeping her alive and getting her here.”

  “Yeah, about that… Anyone want to tell me what’s going on?”

  “Later.” Steven elbowed open the bedroom door and sat on the bed, keeping Mackenzie close to his chest. “We’ve got to deal with this now. The spell that’s holding everything in wasn’t meant to last this long. The man who cast it was supposed to remove it when she was a teenager.” Steven’s eyes met Mahalia’s, and Jackson had no trouble reading the guilt that passed between them.

  He wanted to argue, to demand that someone tell him what the hell was happening, but he looked at Mackenzie and saw the truth of Steven’s words; she didn’t have time for that. So he glanced at Mahalia, whose normally dark skin had taken on a pallor. “What do I need to do?”