Lightning

by Taryn Kincaid

  Campbell stilled. He appreciated but resisted his brother’s ire on his behalf, even though he also resented the way Lily had disappeared without a word. Had sex with him been that bad for her? The encounter might have made him insecure in that respect, except for the resulting side effects that elicited such pleased moans and shivers of delight from his partners ever since. Better than pleased. Better than delighted. Swooning in satisfaction, more like.

  But none of them had been Lily. No question he’d wanted to throttle her for leaving him. But he wanted to fuck her more. All goddamn night.

  His face must have reflected the raging war within him and the amount of control he exerted to keep from flattening Sean, because his brother quickly changed the subject.

  He shoved the blueprint onto the drafting desk and unfurled it to cover Camp’s latest sketch. “Let’s get back to work, man. We’ve got paying customers. I want to bring the Belmont mansion in on time and under budget. I want that bonus. And Her Royal Highness is talking about ripping out all the bathrooms again. All nineteen of them.”

  “My spidey senses are tingling.”

  “Sure it’s not your cock, you asshole?” His lips quirked in the easy smile that had some of the most beautiful women in the city falling into his bed. “I know it’s been awhile but—” He surveyed Campbell’s profile and apparently thought better than to give voice to the rest of his thought. Instead, he smacked his brother’s shoulder. “Sometimes I wish you had been bitten by a radioactive spider instead of whatever the fuck happened to you that night.”

  “Ah. But I wouldn’t be the brilliant architect I am today.”

  “I guess that’s true. Maybe you won’t take any risks in your personal life, but your designs are bolder and more daring than anyone else working today. And for a guy who was clueless about spatial relationships when he took the SATs, you can sure put a schematic together like nobody’s business now. Buildings that give new meaning to scraping the sky.”

  “Not to mention my ability to stick my hand in an electrical outlet and not get fried. Or fall off a girder ten stories off the ground and walk away without a scratch.”

  Sean did a double take, scanning the penthouse area.

  “No one overheard me.” Impossible to hide some things from his brother. But even he didn’t know the half of it.

  “Yeah, but it creeps me out when you mention those things so casually. As if they’re normal.”

  “This is my new normal. Time you got used to it.”

  “You’re still my brother.” Sean shrugged in defeat. “Okay, so what are your spidey senses telling you?”

  “That maybe it’s time for Peter Parker to go find his girl.” He unpinned an invitation from the corkboard next to his drafting table and tossed it to his sibling.

  Sean read the words aloud. “Ten-Year Reunion—Henrik Hudson High School.” He stared at Campbell in shock then laughed. “Heard they were tearing that dilapidated place down.”

  “Yeah, heard that, too. Something about some developers putting a new, gated waterfront community in there.”

  They grinned at each other. “Ka-ching.” Sean rubbed his hands together. “Another By Jones enterprise.” His expression turned serious. “You’re really thinking of going?”

  “Well, no.”

  “Didn’t think so. I mean, if you went, you might have to actually mingle with people. Something the secretive Campbell Jones has apparently forgotten how to do.”

  “But I’ve been reconsidering.”

  Sean’s jaw dropped. “No shit?”

  He shrugged.

  “I think you should go, football hero. Everyone will wonder what the fuck happened to you, if you don’t. Not like they don’t wonder already.”

  “So I was thinking I’d go stag…maybe see if—”

  “See if Lily Night dares to show her face?” The glimmer in his brother’s gaze was annoyingly knowing, his comment annoyingly accurate.

  Camp’s eyebrows veered downward, and he offered his sibling his darkest scowl.

  Sean back pedaled. “See if everyone you used to know is married with children?” he asked. “Maybe sporting a few receding hairlines and pot bellies? Hell, no.”

  “None of us’d be older than twenty-eight, bro.” He ran his fingers through his thick dark locks. “Twenty-nine, tops. Too young for receding hairlines and pot bellies.”

  “You’re not going stag. I have a much better idea.” The younger man pulled out his cell and forwarded a text message to Campbell’s phone. It chimed. “That’s your password. Use it. You’re gonna have a night to remember. On me. For once in your life. A night you can remember, I mean. And now that I think about it…your high school reunion is the perfect occasion. Slay those demons haunting you once and for all.”

  Campbell glanced down at the numbers and letters on the BlackBerry screen. “1NS? What the hell does that mean?”

  “1Night Stand. It means you may not be going stag to the bash, bro. But you are going to do a whole lot of rutting while you’re there.”

  Chapter Two

  Lily sat at the dark hotel bar, nursing her second Sex on the Beach. The combination of orange and cranberry juice was probably not doing her churning stomach any good, but the peach schnapps soothed her and the vodka anesthetized her nerves. She was already a little buzzed for this ginormous leap into the unknown. Maybe that was for the best.

  Madame Evangeline had refrained from providing her with the name of her date. The 1Night Stand e-mail cryptically advised, your heart will know him. She’d also been instructed to wear gardenias, so she’d carefully stuck a cluster of fragrant blooms in her hair, above one ear.

  She sipped her drink, her thoughts whirling, imagining a chorus line of Chippendale dancers, adorned with gold chains and satin shirts open to the navel. The gorgeous men were vying to escort her to the reunion. 1NS wasn’t an escort service of course, and the expense and exclusivity of the dating service argued against such a tacky scenario, but she indulged in her fantasy, anyway. She pictured her date sauntering through the door in a gold lamé G-string, slinging her over a brawny, well-oiled shoulder and carting her off to a room upstairs for a night of mindless debauchery.

  Lily giggled into her glass and glanced at her watch again. Cheesy or not, her mystery man was already fifteen minutes late. Despite the calming effects of the cocktail and her silly fantasies, her mood darkened.

  Why the hell did I agree to this?

  Because she didn’t want to go to the reunion alone? Or with an incubus who would immediately ditch her to glom onto every woman she’d gone to high school with the moment they walked through the door? She sighed. On the other hand, siccing an incubus on a few of them might be pretty decent payback. And then, there was the alluring promise of a decadent, no-strings, sex-filled night.

  Willing to do or dare anything. Would that be so bad, she wondered? For just one night? With no emotional commitment, maybe this time she wouldn’t generate so much sexual electricity and have to summon paramedics to scrape her partner’s body off the floor. Maybe she’d be able to indulge herself with mortals once more.

  Madame Evangeline ran extensive background checks on her potential clients, screening them with more care than a presidential candidate vetted his prospective running mates. Her date wouldn’t be a risky bar pick-up. Not an ax murderer or serial killer lurking behind a sexy façade. 1Night Stand had a spotless reputation and Madame Eve’s matches were perfect fits. Satisfaction guaranteed.

  A man’s large hand suddenly clamped down on her bare shoulder, interrupting her thoughts.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting, sweetness,” a deep voice said behind her.

  Very. Close. Behind. Her.

  The gruff sensuality of the voice, the maleness of the roughened hand against her flesh, sent a tiny lick of pleasure racing through her. Taken by surprise, her reaction sparked immediate shimmers of electricity. Ozone crackled, brief as a spent match, a mere flicker in the air before her eyes.

 
The man seemed not to notice her charged reaction. Fingers, strong and firm, meandered up the side of her neck, holding her in place. Small bursts of sizzling arousal popped across her nerve endings. A broad masculine chest grazed her backless cocktail dress, the soft fabric of a dinner jacket and crisper texture of the shirt beneath shocking against her bare skin, setting off a string of firecrackers that jump-started her heart. At least, she guessed dinner jacket and dress shirt, since she couldn’t see him. She struggled to tamp down her natural response to the virile male. The defined muscles beneath the man’s formal attire remained undisguised.

  And at the lower curve of her hip, a thick, insistent jab. Already hard.

  At least one of them wasn’t hiding anything.

  Was this her date? Or should she leap off the stool and clock him upside the head with her purse for accosting her in such a weird way?

  Her ability to make rational decisions rapidly fled. He’d all but imprisoned her, not allowing her to move. The sensual heat of his presence seeped into every one of her cells, engulfing her in a heady daze, soothing her, melting her. Whoever the hell this guy was, the megawattage he put out made the small buzz she’d gotten from the Sex on the Beach look like a blip from a fizzing quadruple-A battery.

  Her awareness of him zoomed into hyperdrive. The guy stood so close she smelled his aftershave—fresh, clean, citrusy—and his arousal—erotically musky and male. An undefined something else…. Low voltage hummed through her.

  I’m a succubus. A creature of carnality. I can control myself. I can control him. I can handle this.

  This. Mere. Mortal.

  “Mmm, gardenias.” The man’s low murmur shot arrows of anticipation through her, his breath tickling her ear as he inhaled her scent in turn. “Love gardenias.” There was something achingly familiar about the voice, something that struck her heart like a gong. But much deeper, more resonant than the voice that echoed through so many of her memories.

  She shook away the unwanted recollections. He had to be her 1Night Stand date. No one else. Your heart will know him, the e-mail had said, and sure enough her racing ticker seemed to be playing his tune, like a radio with only one station. But the man denied her the opportunity to turn around and check him out. How would she know him? By his voice? His touch? His scent? The crazy frequency of Radio Free Lily? Talk about calling an audible!

  “Sorry, sweetness,” he said. “But I’m going to have to blindfold you. Madame Eve’s instructions.” His tone notched lower. “You are a 1Night Stand client, right?”

  Lily nodded dumbly. He had to be the one. But she needed to make certain. “Are you taking me to my date?”

  She’d thought he’d escort her to the reunion before they went upstairs and fucked like monkeys—getting horizontal—or vertical—or acrobatic—or wet. But why would that require a blindfold?

  As if sensing her bewilderment and concern, the man bent still closer instead of drawing away, trailing a line of gentle kisses across her jawline, over her throat. Hot little licks of pure flame, made her belly clench. Curling tendrils of desire spiraled through her, wrapping her in sensual vines of need. His lips were gentle, perhaps, but they most definitely promised wilder, more wicked things.

  “I am your date, baby.” His sensual whisper blazed through her like a jolt of electricity, doing tantalizing things to her heart and mind. “Last chance to back out. If you want to.”

  As if.

  A ripple of pleasure danced along her nerve endings, and she leaned back, her body tightening in response. Her nipples hardened, jutting like small stones against the silky bodice of her short cocktail dress. Since the dress was backless, she hadn’t bothered with a bra. What was the point, when she’d be shedding her clothes so swiftly? If he turned her around, he’d be able to see how much her breasts ached to be touched. By him.

  As if he’d read her mind, the unknown man slid a hand sensuously up her side and across her chest. His palm cupped her, the warmth of his hand seductive through the slick fabric. And in public! The flick of his thumb over her pebbled nipple nearly made her cry out.

  Great goddess! She was already so aroused by the guy she envisioned herself jumping him, pushing her dress up, her panties down, and screwing him right on the bar.

  “I’m supposed to go to a high school reunion.” Her voice was high, reedy thin, and cracked a little. Damn it. This simpering virgin was so not her. But the man’s proximity, the skilled stroke of his hand, mesmerized her, left her short of breath and raging with need.

  She grasped for the inner steel that had gotten her past the Campbell Jones fiasco and through college and grad school. That had more than met the challenges of the sex-crazed incubi willing to satisfy her errant urges.

  What would her sister Zena do? She nearly laughed. Zena would already be off the bar stool and on her knees in front of this guy, with his zipper down and his cock in her mouth. While Lily might fantasize, her sister would act.

  “We can go to the reunion, sure.” Her date reached for her glass and tossed back the rest of her Sex on the Beach as if to demonstrate both his impatience with the silly cocktail and his thirst. “Or…we can have fun. Your call, sweetness. In or out?” He paused and let a mischievous beat or two tick away. “Or in and out?”

  He licked her neck this time, his tongue hot, suggestive and rhythmic against her flesh, until her toes dug into the butter soft leather of her strappy, high-heeled sandals. As he’d no doubt calculated, the devilry of his words and the sexy stroking of his tongue sparked delicious erotic images.

  And suddenly all thoughts of caution and fear ebbed away. She wanted this man. Whoever the hell he was. Lightning be damned. She wanted to straddle him, climb him, ride him, feel his weight on top of her, his lips at her breast, his fingers working their magic everywhere, his cock inside her, filling her, satisfying her.

  There was no real danger.

  Well, except for the possibility all the lights would go out.

  Why not? Why the hell not? No mortal man had ever made her feel that way. Not even…Campbell.

  “Blindfold me.” Her dare emboldened her, the aggressive taunt more satisfying and characteristic than the weak simper she’d managed a moment before.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Aren’t you?”

  She sensed his amusement when he offered one last devastating stroke before leaving her breast, as if he found her challenge too delicious to deny. A length of silk, sensuous as a caress, descended over her eyes, blocking out the dim light in the bar. The electric hum within her abruptly vanished as the man tied the luxurious strip of fabric at the back of her head. Instead, her blood pounded with her heightened sensory awareness, fueled by the thrum of sexual promise. She had never felt so beautiful, so hot. As if this guy could—and would—fuck her silly. And cherish her at the same time.

  A low chuckle met her eager words. “Impatient, doll face?”

  “Oh, yeah. Most definitely. Are you sure you’re ready for me?”

  “Baby, you have no idea how ready I am.”

  She had some idea. She’d already felt the hard, thick, insistence of his cock when it jabbed her hip.

  “Kiss me.” She tilted her head, offering him access.

  He spun her around and pulled her closer, his embrace all but swallowing her.

  Fulfilling his earlier promise, his lips were soft at first as they met hers, sweet with a hint of peach schnapps and fruit, but increasingly harder, more demanding, more commanding. More…manly. The touch loosened another shower of sexy sparks within her, but the strength in his arms, the masculine heat of the muscular body pressed against hers somehow contained them, like summer fireflies in a bottle. He coaxed her mouth open, his tongue tracing the seam and outline of her lips, teasing, tantalizing, making her crazy, before at last slipping inside, as if to demonstrate the sexy, masterful skill with which he’d thrust his cock into her later.

  She gasped, her bones melting while delicious prickles of pleasure darted to her farthe
st recesses from the hot, deep, wild sensuality of his kisses…and the thought of what else he would soon do to her. And what she would do to him. Starting with kissing him back.

  Her thoughts whirled as she slung her arms around the stranger’s neck, drawing him down to her. There was something about his kiss, something that struck a long forgotten chord within her. But she could not name the elusive tune. Her blood sang a new song with every caress of his lips, every bold stroke of his tongue. His scent washed over her, sexy and compelling. She wanted to drown in his masculine essence. She tugged him to her, the dark power of his virility thrilling her. Parting her lips wider, she mashed her open mouth against his. Intoxicating? Oh, hell yeah. Their quickening breaths mingled, setting her ablaze. He deepened the kiss, melding his mouth with hers. Hungry. So hungry.

  Desire consumed her. She wanted—needed—more and more of him, as if he were a drug. Delight shot through her when she tore a throaty growl of pleasure from him.

  “Let’s get out of here.” Lust shook her so badly she could barely form words.

  He helped her off the bar stool and took her hand with a firm, self-assured grip she found wildly attractive. Well, hell. She found everything about this mystery man wildly attractive—his scent, his stroke, his voice, his kiss—oh, dear sweet goddess, his kiss—and she’d yet to even see him.

  Whistles and shouted innuendos did not escape her ears as he guided her toward the door, their steps in unison. Once or twice he halted, jarring the pace they’d naturally fallen into together, as if someone slapped him across the back in a male show of encouragement. Little did they realize she needed no urging. She was on fire from his kiss alone. She wanted more. Much, much more.

  Then the grate of concrete rasped beneath her shoes. The sultriness of the late spring breeze bathed her burning face, so different from the forced air conditioning inside the bar. They were outside.