When the right time arrived, they would be together. Soon. She would be drawn here to this bar where it all began. The memories of her previous life grew stronger with each passing year, along with the sexual need, guiding her back to him. Until she did, there was no choice except to wait.
His nights remained the same, but so many other things had changed over the years. The name of the bar, the furniture and decorations, along with the building, were new. Even his surname had changed to keep his immortality hidden from the humans.
After the prediction of his love’s rebirth, Michael had quietly purchased the club. He remained anonymous, leaving the details of managing the business in the hands of his attorneys. His only stipulations—the doors would remain open regardless of financial success or loss, and there would be live music each night. The same as it had been when they were together.
His patience would soon pay off. Michael detected a distinct shortening in the thread running between him and his love. Their connection snapped and crackled as she moved closer.
Michael’s heart pounded and his cock hardened in eagerness. Years of darkness would soon come to an end. Perhaps it would be only a matter of days before he held her in his arms again. What a heady prospect.
That’s right. Come to me, my heart.
Chapter Two
“Ooh, you’re a naughty girl, Lis.”
Elisa Wilde chuckled into her cell phone. Her sister was right. She’d become very naughty and damn if it didn’t feel great. Still, something was missing from her life and Lis had no idea what that could be.
Vivid dreams had invaded her sleep for years, each one more intense and tangible. Dreams of the same man, Michael, her lover. Hot and sexy visions encompassing every sexual act in the book, along with a few they invented, each more explicit than the last. Dreams that left her body aching for his. But all the dreams took place in a time long before she’d been born. With the steady progression, each dream became more profound than the last, almost as if she were reliving distant memories long buried in her subconscious.
She had to figure out what the hell the all-too-real memories of a time before she’d been born were all about. They all took place in Manhattan. The clothes, music and the way people acted in the visions made her believe the events had taken place in the forties. The idea her dreams were real was impossible and yet it compelled Lis to do something. Taking action became a critical, driving force within her. Giving up her stubborn disbelief, Elise felt her determination to explore the past and investigate the possibilities seize her.
Memories from the previous night’s slumber had clinched her fate and brought new life to her quest. In it, Michael had said they needed to talk but the physical demands and frenzied needs of her body would not be contained. He’d been in the same state of hunger. In the dream, she’d pushed the leather jacket from his shoulders, never breaking the heated contact between their lips. They’d ripped at each other’s clothes, making love while still half dressed.
He’d fucked her with unrelenting force. Stretched her. Completed her. He brought her to shattering ecstasy that no other real lover had come close to providing. Michael had managed to hold back his release until she found hers then he’d filled her with a hot eruption of semen. Lis had felt his pulsing erection expand and contract, the delicious friction bombarding her with convulsive aftershocks.
She had to have him.
She had woken drenched in sweat, the sticky residue of her cum coating her inner thighs, and reached a decision. Organized to a fault, she considered all the angles, devised a plan and set it in motion. At the very least, during this trip she would find a sexy stud to scratch the incessant itch stirred up by all the amazing wet dreams. Her first call had been to Shan.
Nervous, waiting for her flight to take off, she hadn’t been able to resist once again calling to check in with her sister. “Is everything set up with the club?”
“Hey!” Shan sounded hurt. “Have I ever let you down?”
“You’re the best, sis.” The captain spoke over the intercom, but Lis didn’t pay attention to the typical pre-flight welcome. “We’re getting ready to take off so I have to run. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
“I can’t wait. This is going to be a blast.”
After turning off her cell phone and tucking it away in her carry-on bag, Lis sat back in the plush leather seat. As the plane taxied down the runway, she considered the past year. During an interview for what had become her final ghostwriting project, a spark had been ignited and grew into a raging inferno. The answer she had given the woman was still ingrained in her mind.
“One small event, a chance meeting, and your entire future heads down an unexpected path. I pushed past societal imposed restrictions of proper behavior and found a world full of passion beyond my wildest dreams.”
It thrilled her to write edgy stories of dominance and submission, suspenseful tales with daring heroes, and steamy westerns about hunky cowboys. She’d even crossed over into the paranormal. Vampires, werewolves and shapeshifters of all kinds…oh my!
Writing tales of erotic romance fulfilled Lis and pushed her boundaries as an author. Considering she had previously ghostwritten biographies of other people’s lives, penning erotic tales had been a huge leap. Her latest idea, sparked by her dreams, had grabbed hold and would not let go. A wicked burst of inspiration had her flying off to New York on the spur of the moment to conduct “research”. That’s what she’d told Shan anyway. There was no explaining to her sister what she herself did not understand.
But the biggest change had begun within Lis herself. She cut her long hair into a fun and flirty shoulder-length style, bought a saucy new wardrobe and uncovered the joy of research trips. First-class travel to exotic locations was now commonplace. A few weeks spent soaking up every detail of the culture and ambiance. The sweet life.
Well, for the most part. Now she desperately needed to find a research partner—a gorgeous stud to try out various sexual positions and games with. Too bad she didn’t have any prospects.
When the seatbelt sign chimed, Lis grabbed her laptop and opened the file. There wasn’t much in it, just a one-page document outlining the story idea that nagged at her. Not that she needed the reminder. The erotic tale never left her mind, forever expanding and teasing her imagination with each new dream of Michael.
Candyman.
The title alone had the power to circulate shivers through her body and heat her blood. Created from her own dreams, the story stepped back in time to the romanticized era of big bands, swing dancing and USO clubs where the girls all dressed to catch a GI’s eye. A simpler time, when it was okay for a woman to be soft and gentle.
At times, Lis felt as if she had gone insane because of the lucid memories. She’d studied enough paranormal happenings to recognize the phenomenon of past life regression and wondered if the explanation fit. Particular songs or phrases would trigger what appeared to be memories from a distant past. Only they couldn’t be her memories unless she’d been reincarnated. She hadn’t been born until 1972. Yet the memories felt real and tore her heart out over the man she’d loved beyond reason.
Edith. Her name had been Edith, but everyone called her Edie. And his name was Michael. The mere thought of him propelled her back. Way back. More than sixty years into a past she remembered like it was yesterday.
“Hurry up, Gert, or we’ll be late.”
Edie pulled on her friend’s arm as they raced along the sidewalk on Sixth Street, darting around slower-moving pedestrians. A horn honked and they barely spared a glance, giving a half-hearted wave to Tommy Crenshaw who was out cruising in his daddy’s Studebaker. Tommy gave a loud whistle in return, throwing them both into a fit of giggles.
They stopped outside the club, straightening their clothing and touching up lipstick before venturing inside. Edie ran her hands over her hair to make sure the large curls she’d spent so much time fashioning had stayed in place.
“You haven’t said a th
ing about my new outfit,” Gert complained, putting on an exaggerated pout.
Giving her friend a quick once-over, Edie shook her head. “Your daddy will tan your hide if he catches you wearing that. Lordy, Gert. The skirt must be four inches above your knee, and the top…bare shoulders.” She arched her brow, placed fists on her hips, and affected a masculine tone, imitating her own father from one of many lectures when she’d still lived at home. “Good girls don’t dress so brazenly.”
Gert joined in the fun and they repeated together, “Not like those harlots at the clubs.” This brought on another round of laughter.
Edie wore her favorite gown, an extravagant indulgence from before the war. One that gave her great pleasure. The intimate sensation of buttery silk caressing her skin kept her at a heightened state of awareness. The rich garment added to the illusion she’d perfected of being out of most men’s reach.
She took out a cigarette, pressed the tip between her lips and let it dangle there as she searched for matches. Before she could find any, an eager sailor appeared at her side holding a lit match cupped in his hands.
With embellished motions, she leaned forward, accepting the proffered light. She held the bent position longer than necessary, showing off her cleavage, then took a deep drag and exhaled a plume of smoke. The smoke rolled over her lips in a sinuous glide and Edie knew exactly what it did to him. Having discovered the power of feminine allure, she practiced using the skill every chance she got.
She held the cigarette between the index and middle fingers of her right hand, arm bent at the elbow, hand cocked back. Just like she’d seen Ingrid Bergman do in a movie. Edie thought the move looked elegant and classy. She dropped her voice to a husky tone, thanked the man and proceeded to ignore him until going inside.
“Gosh, the place is packed tonight,” Gert said as they weaved through the crowd. “There must be a new ship in port.”
Navy men were okay, she supposed, but the pilots were the ones who got her hot. There was something sexy about the cool, calm and in-command demeanor of an aviator.
She followed Gert to their normal table after stopping to greet several acquaintances along the way. Many of the enlisted men who had seen Edie perform before asked if she’d be singing tonight. She gave them either a relaxed or flippant response designed to leave them guessing. “If the mood strikes me,” she commented to one group, and shrugged with feigned indifference. The truth was, performing brought excitement to her life.
During the day she worked in a factory with Gert, but at night Edie transformed herself into her dream—a glamorous singer. There had been a record producer interested in signing her to his label. That had been before the U.S. entered into the war and the bubble supporting her childish hopes burst.
Within minutes of sitting down, they had men swarming their table to ask for a dance. Gert chose two cute sailors and took the floor with both of them. At the same time. How scandalous.
While Edie enjoyed dancing, she wanted time to survey the crowd first. She glanced around, noting that most of the men filling the place were young enlisted men. Nothing new there. Disappointment dampened her mood.
“Still holding out for an officer?” Betty, a friend seated at the table, had to shout to be heard in the loud room.
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting the best.”
The song ended and the crowd parted as the regulars began calling for her to sing. Most of the time she made them wait until later in the evening to draw out the anticipation and enhance her mystique. Tonight, she anticipated performing.
Her girlfriends thrilled in telling Edie what the men said about her. They called her elusive, unattainable, put her up on a pedestal and viewed her with a sense of awe. Just the way she wanted it. Her attitude kept all but the more confident men at a distance. She didn’t want someone too intimidated to reach for the moon.
For several drawn out moments she pretended to consider their request. The crowd roared, shouting out their pleas.
“Come on, Edie.”
“Give us a song, doll.”
Applause erupted as she rose and made her way toward the stage. She instructed the band on her song choice and enlisted the trombone player’s assistance. Walter’s hands closed around her slim waist as he lifted her up onto the shiny black piano.
Someone handed her a microphone and Edie lay on her side in a provocative pose that accentuated her curvaceous hips. It grew so quiet she heard the soft sounds of people shifting in their chairs, along with the muted shuffle of feet as they moved closer. The air thickened with expectancy, the audience seeming to hold their breath. She felt their rapt attention resting on the darkened stage awaiting her performance.
A breathless series of moans eased from her lips, the sensual sounds captured by the microphone and carried to the furthest reaches of the club.
“Ahh, mmmhmm, yeah.”
She hummed then sucked in a long breath between her teeth, savoring the sexy hiss. She started the song a cappella.
“Well hello there, handsome.”
The pianist joined in, delicate tinkling tones merging with her low-pitched sultry voice.
A light snapped on behind her, its diffuse glow silhouetting her body.
“You’re such a naughty boy.”
The guitarist began to play, adding a vibrating strum to the mix.
“Left me hot and bothered.”
Next the horns resonated through the room.
“Needing your sweet lovin’.”
As the stage lights rose in a slow progression, Edie slid her hand along her side, drawing attention to her body. Appreciative catcalls and whistles rang out, but never loud enough to detract from her singing.
Her eyes adjusted to the lighting and she scanned the rapt listeners, many of whom sat on the edge of their seats. Making a complete circuit of the room, she paused often to give the men the thrill of being noticed.
So many strong men to choose from, yet none had that certain something she longed for. The spark that would ignite her flame. Tender romance and an all-consuming passion to make her feel alive.
The sensuous lyrics flowed over her tongue, caressed her lips, seduced the crowd but left her feeling cold and alone—set apart by her aloof persona. Damned by the outcome of a plan of her own design.
“You make me feel, ahaa mmmm.”
Her gaze landed on a group of Air Force men banded together, one standing out from the others—the obvious leader surrounded by his loyal troops. He stood tall and confident in the tan class-B uniform. A silver bar on each shoulder indicated his rank—first lieutenant. The silver wings over his heart were the proud symbol of an aviator.
Her heart rate spiked and blood pounded in her ears. A gluttonous need exceeding anything she’d ever known assaulted Edie. Her breasts swelled, her belly did somersaults and the most wondrous tingling spread through her sex.
Licking dry lips, she drank in every detail, feeling ravenous for the tall, dark and devastating officer. He nodded and said something to one of his men, but the intent focus of his eyes never left her. She had the perception of light colored eyes, blue. The lighting made it impossible to tell, but she knew. His gaze pierced straight into her core. The rest of the club faded into the background and it was just the two of them. Her voice became even huskier as she sang to him. Only him.
The one.
The flesh-and-blood incarnation of her fantasy man.
He issued a command and the men at his side fanned out around the room. Edie had no idea how she managed to stay put and finish the song when her body screamed for action. Her arms longed to hold him close and her fingers itched to slide through his hair. She wanted to be pressed tight against him from shoulder to ankle. To let her tongue discover each detail of his sexy mouth and savor his taste.
Would his kiss be soft and tender or hard and greedy? Would his solid masculine planes fit her supple feminine curves as well as she imagined?
She could almost feel his warm hands flowing over
her body, gently squeezing her breasts, plucking at her nipples. Fiery sparks shot straight to her core, which grew damp and softened. Her gaze drifted over him and she wondered if his cock would measure up to his large frame. Would he stretch her wide, fill her beyond any previous experience? Take her to wondrous new places? Satisfy her dark, burning hungers?
Would he taste half as good as he looked?
Finding out the answer to those questions had just become her number one priority.
Chapter Three
“How can you stand living here?” Lis viewed her sister’s drab apartment building with disdain. The brown brick structure was located on the corner of Avenue A and Eighth Street in the East Village—a carbon copy of several others in the area. In fact, most of what she’d seen on the drive from the airport had been colorless and bleak.
The small park in front of the building held the only plants she’d seen not confined to pots on balconies. It made her yearn for North Carolina and home, a picturesque cabin in the mountains outside of Asheville.
“I love the frenetic energy of the city.” Shan sounded defensive. “New York has such a diverse culture. I find inspiration everywhere.”
No sense arguing with success. Since moving to the Big Apple two years ago, Shan had her career as a photographer take off. Lis wasn’t able to focus on polite conversation for long, though. Her thoughts raced back to her plans. “How far away is the bar?”
“You can’t see it from here, but it’s right around the corner on Sixth.”
Lis’ pulse sped and she considered backing out, but the recurrent flashbacks wouldn’t give her the luxury. Once and for all, she had to put them to rest. If acting out the memory helped reclaim her life then she’d have to deal with the brief discomfort and anxiety.
Reaching into her bag, she removed a picture of Lauren Bacall downloaded from the internet and handed it to Shan. “Think you can make my hair do that?”
Shan glanced at the picture and a bright smile spread over her lips. “A page boy. Sure, piece of cake. We’ll part your hair on the side and break out the hot rollers. The angle of your hairstyle will help. We’ll curl it under along your face and carry it around the back.” She handed back the picture. “What about a dress. Did you find one?”
Candyman Page 2
