Heather spoke up. “Why do you want us?”
“Heather, you can’t possibly be considering this.” He looked at her, wishing he could get her alone so he could talk some sense into her. She was vulnerable. The ghost was preying on that.
“I’m not going to make any choices until I have the answer to that question.” She didn’t look at him, but at the ghost.
“Whoever helps me is going to have to be brave. The things we did then would turn the stomachs of most people and have them screaming as they ran out the door. I need people who can stick it out. When I saw the two of you…I knew I had my people.” “Interesting.” Heather chewed on her bottom lip.
“No, it’s not, and I’m not spending my days researching some murder that took place…when did you die?” He wished he didn’t have to ask. The more he spoke to this guy instead of destroying him, the worse this got.
“1955, August twenty-fourth.”
“Fine. I’m not going to be running around trying to figure out a murder that took place sixty years ago.”
“Oh, no one would expect that.” The ghost actually smiled. “You’re going to be my house guests.”
Like before, Braxton’s world went black. He hit the ground hard. Why the fuck hadn’t he just sent Pendleton to Hell the first second he’d seen him? Shit.
Chapter Five
Heather yanked hard on Jim’s arm. She needed him to wake up right frickin’ now. Her heart pounded against her ribs and she swallowed past her dry throat. Everything had seemed safer when Jim had been awake. Talking to the ghost, wondering if he could help her…she’d known she could ask anything she wanted because Jim could easily banish Pendleton to kingdom come. Now? She was alone with a floating ghost.
“There’s one more thing, Heather, my dear.”
Jim didn’t stir and she cradled his head in her lap on the floor. If she couldn’t wake him, she could at least make certain he didn’t get hurt. “What’s that?”
“If you don’t find my killer, you’ll never leave here. Ever. And I’d like to point out that if you thought it was hard to be considered insane in 2013, you should give it a try in 1955.”
Images of lobotomies and shock therapy filled her mind. “You know we didn’t agree to this. We didn’t say yes.”
“Well. Life is unfair. I’d think you would know that better than anyone. Remember, I’ll be watching you.”
He dematerialized in front of her eyes, leaving only a small movement of air where he had been.
“Damn.” She shook her head. What was she supposed to do now?
Jim stirred. He looked up at her, his eyes unfocused for one brief moment before he darted to his feet, nearly smacking heads with her in the process.
“You okay?”
She nodded. Her pulse settled a bit from its previous galloping pace. Jim being awake was a very, very good thing.
“What’s happening? Where did the ghost go?”
“He left us here after he threatened to make this our permanent home.”
Jim raised an eyebrow. “Explain.”
“If we don’t find his killer, we have to stay here. Wherever here is.”
She stood. Her muscles ached and she felt as if she’d run a marathon. Her head throbbed. A nap wouldn’t be out of the question if they weren’t in dire circumstances.
Jim rubbed his neck and even though he didn’t say anything she could see the lines of strain around his eyes.
“This is my fault. You kept trying to get me to stop talking to him and I didn’t listen.”
“This is Pendleton’s fault.” He held out his hand and she took it. His fingers were rough, covered in calluses. She wondered how he’d earned them. When she rubbed her thumb over one of them it sent a jolt up her spine. A nap was the farthest thing from her mind, all her inappropriate imaginings going from dreams to hot, sweaty sex.
Maybe she really was deranged…
“I really think I have to shoulder some of the blame here.”
Jim shook his head. “We can figure out the whys of all this crap later. For now we’re getting out of here.”
The door swung open and a man entered. It took about three seconds for Heather to realize it was Pendleton. Only the living version—circa 1955—the one she had seen when the ghosts had dragged her to the past to see how the man had murdered them.
He stared at them for a second. “Who put you two in here? You should have been escorted to your rooms by now.”
Jim opened and closed his mouth. “Are you not dead?”
She squeezed his hand. That had probably not been the best thing he could have said. Still, it was out there now.
Pendleton scratched his head. “They told me you were a…unique person, Mr. Braxton. But then you demon raisers always are. You’re an interesting bunch. I do hope you will be worth the money I spent to get you here.”
Jim cut a look at her and dropped his voice. “Do you understand what’s going on here?”
“No. But let’s go with it,” she murmured—when in crazy town, maybe being crazy would pay off. “How do you do? I’m Heather.”
“Yes, of course. I know all the guests who enter my home before they enter. Well, as you were not taken to your rooms I’m going to see that you are now. Change for dinner. We dress for meals here. This is not a casual place.”
With Jim’s hand in hers, she walked into the hall behind Pendleton. The living man walked just as the dead one had floated, with drama. He seemed to own the space he moved in, his arms and legs leaving no room for anyone to be anywhere near him.
Heather tried to take in the whole house. She’d walked through it just minutes before and it had been empty. Now it was filled with odd paintings, mostly of Pendleton but also occasionally, of an older woman who looked a lot like him. His mother, maybe.
Who decorated a home with nothing but pictures of himself and his mother? She shook her head. Was she focusing on small, ridiculous details because the odd truth that she seemed to have been transported back in time by a ghost to find his murderer was too weird to deal with?
He escorted them up a long staircase and down a dusty hall into a large bedroom, then left without a word. Heather took a long, deep breath. “This is bizarre, isn’t it?”
Jim shook his head. “That’s not the word I would use.”
He walked toward the maroon-colored bed and touched it between his fingers, letting the fabric linger for a second in his grasp before it fell back to the bed. She watched, transfixed. Who was this man who said so little but so fully captured her attention all the time?
“What word would you use?”
He smiled, then shook his head. “I guess I would say it’s fucked up. But I should find more polite ways of saying things when you’re around. Foy did teach us how to behave in society. I just never paid much attention.”
“I think however you talk is perfectly fine.” She scratched her head. Why did she have to be a doofus in his presence? Why couldn’t she ever manage to seem put together?
“Did you notice that he didn’t comment on our clothes except to tell us to change?”
“No. I hadn’t noticed. Do you think that’s significant?”
“Yes. I mean, he brought us here, right? Or he didn’t. The Pendleton of now—this year—shouldn’t know anything about this. His ghost sent us back. Pendleton told us to change for dinner, not that I have any idea how to make that happen since we didn’t travel with suitcases, but other than that, shouldn’t he have noticed how different we look from everyone else in this timeframe?”
“Maybe he’s not paying that much attention. He’s pretty pissed that he’s dead. Like he never expected to die. Ever. He’s walking around here feeling pretty invincible, demon hunter or raiser or whatever he keeps calling you.”
Jim laughed, throwing his head back, face to the ceiling. She jumped, her heart beating rapidly at the sudden sound she had not anticipated. Where had that burst of joviality come from?
“Sorry, it just took me b
y surprise.” He shook his head, the smile still on his face. “And for some reason it was really amusing.”
“I’m, um, glad I could be funny. It’s been years since I was. If I ever actually had a sense of humor.”
Jim walked toward her and took her hand. “Look, I have no idea what’s going on here. I’ve never been ripped through time by a ghost to solve his murder before. We’re going to have to make it up as we go along. I suspect Ivan will call for help and Master Foy will know what to do to save us. So let’s hang tight and see if we can make anything good from this craziness.”
He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles and she shivered. They were alone together in a bedroom. She swallowed. This was neither the time nor the place but, hell, neither had it been really appropriate for them to get together in the airplane bathroom.
She took a deep breath. How many times could she throw herself at the same guy before it got weird?
Jim touched the side of her face. “Heather.” Okay. Maybe he wanted her too.
She chewed on her lower lip. She wasn’t imagining his desire for her, was she?
Jim tugged her against him. “What is it about you? You make me forget all good sense.”
“Having sex on an airplane doesn’t count as sensible to you?” She drummed her fingers on his chest. She’d have to be really out of it to misinterpret his signs now. The heavy breathing, his heart pounding hard under her fingertips, or the way his cock pushed against her stomach.
“Will I ever get you out of my system? You cloud up my thoughts when I have other things to think about.”
“If it means anything, you do the same to me.”
“Good.”
Jim kissed her hard, a sudden pressure on her lips that told her gentleness had not been what he’d intended. She kissed him back, giving in to the claiming his mouth made on her own.
He plunged his tongue against hers and she gave up trying to breathe. Why should she need air when she could be kissed instead?
He hauled her up in his arms as if she weighed a lot less than she knew she did and placed her on the bed.
“I figure if we’re stuck here in this bedroom,” he waggled his eyebrows, “we might as well use the bed.”
“You have wicked intentions for me, is that it?”
“It’s like you read my mind.”
She raised her head until she was a breath away from him. Feeling bad, in the best possible way, she bit down on his lower lip. “Good.”
He yanked at her shirt and threw it over her head. His eyes were huge and his breathing raspy. She grinned. Jim must have really liked that she bit him. Maybe he’d like her to do that all over his body.
She bit down on his neck.
Braxton’s cock jumped to fully erect. His balls ached and sweat broke out on the back of his neck. Holy. Shit.
He wanted her more than he wanted his next heartbeat. Maybe that should be concerning to him but right at that moment he couldn’t form that kind of coherent thought.
Wanting Heather mattered more than anything else in the universe.
It took him two tries to get her bra off because of the way his hands shook. She didn’t seem to notice, which at least spared him embarrassment over being so completely inept.
Leaning down, he took one of her breasts in his mouth. She tasted sweet, like licorice. His mouth watered as he licked and sucked on her. He pressed against her harder, pushing her down on the bed.
She moaned and he sucked on her nipple. It peaked in his mouth and he swirled his tongue around it. With the hand he wasn’t using, he cupped her other breast, squeezing it until she arched her back.
Heather was such a responsive lover. He’d never wanted to give another person pleasure as much as he wanted to with her.
Braxton trailed his hand down to her bellybutton and cupped the beautiful curve he found there. Heather’s body took his breath away.
“Jim.” Her sultry tone made him grin.
“Do you have any idea what a picture you make lying there? You’re so beautiful.”
She really, truly was. With her hair spread out on the bed and her naked torso, chest, and neck available for his caress, she was the image of perfection.
“Thank you.” She blushed and he reached out to touch the color on her cheeks. A caress of heat met his enquiry. Could she be any more adorable?
“Jim.” She spoke his name again and he realized he’d interrupted her earlier. “I’d really, really like to be able to touch you too.”
Yes, he wanted that. Her hands on him. Right that second. Braxton threw his shirt off, discarding it to some unknown place on the floor. His cock throbbed and his balls were so hard they hurt.
Would every time with her regress him to his teenage years? He prided himself on control and she made him feel as if he’d never had any.
Heather reached up and stroked his chest. What did she see when she looked at him? She was out of his league, he knew that much. Not that he planned to tell her that when they were trapped in the past and he was about to find happiness between her legs.
Her hands roamed all the way down to the waist of his pants. He grabbed her wrist before she could proceed any further.
“If you do that, this will be over before it starts.”
“You’re that turned on?”
“Heather.” He smoothed the hair out of her face. “You make me so unbelievably turned on.”
Words were useless and he’d never been very good at using them anyway. Either she would understand how he felt or she wouldn’t. Now would not be the time he’d come up with romantic words. If he ever could.
Her skin glistened with sweat and he grinned. He made her hot. That much was obvious. Maybe she didn’t need flowers and romance. Maybe this was enough.
Maybe she’d be satisfied with this heat between them and not need him to be more, to be better.
“Where did your head go?” She stroked his cheek. “Because you’ve got the most serious look on your face.”
“Sex with you is a serious thing, sweetheart.” He kissed her, caressing her mouth with his own.
She tasted like apples. He wanted more of it, needed to drink her in, to own her, if only for a few seconds, as his own.
He pulled at her pants. “Off. Now. Please.”
The last word was an afterthought. Heather might prefer not to be ordered around. She nodded and slipped them down her shapely legs. They were even longer than he’d remembered in his fantasies.
With shaking hands, he rid himself of the rest of his clothes. She stared down at his cock, which only made the aching worse. How could her gaze alone make him feel so caressed?
“Condom.”
She raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“I have them.” He darted to where he had thrown down his pants to retrieve his wallet. He’d thrown some in there just in case.
“Really?” She smiled, showing a dimple in her left cheek. “Do you always take condoms with you when you travel through time?”
“In your presence, Heather, I’m always going to want to get lucky. I’m not going to pretend otherwise. We left the apartment and I hoped that somewhere down the line you might want to fuck.”
“Well.” He watched the muscles in her neck clench. “All right then.”
He pulled down her panties, exposing her beautiful mound of curls. “Promise me you won’t ever shave or wax this.”
Braxton had spoken the words aloud because he wanted her to hear them, to agree to what he asked. Her blush took him by surprise. Heather’s whole body turned a shade of pink.
He raised an eyebrow. “We fucked on a plane. This embarrasses you?”
“I’ve never discussed my…hair…with anyone before.”
Braxton smiled. “Good.”
He had no idea why that pleased him or what to make of the strange, cavemanesque possession flowing through his bloodstream. All he knew was that it made him want to fuck her. Hard.
Well, fuck her harder than he’d intended to bef
ore she’d turned red.
His sexy lover still had enough innocence left in her to blush. Wonders never ceased.
“So will you?”
“Will I?” Her voice sounded breathy.
“Promise me?” Why wasn’t she following this conversation?
Heather nodded. “If you promise never to bring this up again. Ever.”
“It’s a deal.”
He moved to sheathe himself and she stopped him. “Let me do it.”
Braxton sucked in his breath. Could he handle the sweet torture of letting her touch him? He was so hard it might shove him right over the edge. She stared up at him, her eyes huge. How could he ever deny her anything?
He gritted his teeth and moved onto the bed, lying down next to her so she could touch him. When her small hand maneuvered the condom onto his cock, he nearly jolted off the bed. Sweat pooled on the back of his neck. It seemed to take an eternity to get him covered up. Or maybe time had simply ceased to exist in that moment. With everything happening to them, he wouldn’t be surprised.
Braxton growled—he couldn’t help it, the sound erupting from him in a feral moment he didn’t want to examine too closely. Rolling Heather over, he slipped a finger inside her. She was so damn wet. He loved it.
Finding her clit, he massaged it gently. Although a frenzy threatened to take him over, to push him to plunge inside her and say goodbye to the cares of the world when he lost himself in the pleasure that could only be found between her legs, he controlled the urge. He would make sure Heather found her pleasure first. Always.
She gasped and clutched the bed sheets. The quilt had long since become a mess somewhere on the floor. Heather would never know how beautiful she was in that moment, about to come around his fingers, her head thrown back, the picture of perfection in ecstasy.
Wetness surged from inside her, where he was desperate to be, and he took the chance to move until he was in position to enter her warmth.
Haunted Years (Shadow Promised Book 3) Page 5
