by Jaycee Clark
“No, I get it.” He raked his hands through his hair again.
“I promise not to get her drunk, high, or strung out. Nor will I push her into any sexual situations, or into the dark occult.”
He huffed a breath and stared at the red threads of the woven rug on the floor. “I’m being stupid, aren’t I?”
She laughed. “No. Well, maybe just a little. She’s on the cusp of adulthood and is going to experiment with things we adults would rather she didn’t.”
“Nineteen going on forty.” He leaned back, feeling more relaxed than he had in a long time.
“She’s an old soul.”
He grinned. “My grandmother used to say the same thing.” He opened his eyes and stared at her. Giving in to impulse, he reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before gently pulling her towards him.
“You know what else pissed me off today?” he asked quietly.
She shook her head. “Besides my charming self?”
“I didn’t get to do this, this morning.” He closed the distance between them and kissed her. The fire crackled and popped.
She tasted like coffee and dark secrets. Secrets he wanted to learn, and understand. Secrets he wanted to discover and explore, very, very slowly.
“And I was worried I would never get to do this again.” He kissed her, long and hard. “You taste good,” he said against her mouth.
“So do you.”
The kiss turned from merely tasting to something more. He wasn’t sure which one of them started it, but soon all he could see, taste, feel, was Lake.
Her mouth slanted over his again and again as her tongue dueled and parried with his. Just as he started to pull back, she nipped his lip. “Nu-uh. You’re not going anywhere. Not yet.”
She wrapped her arms around him and climbed on top of him, pushing him back into the couch.
He looked at her, at the wicked gleam in those amazing green eyes.
“Promise?” he asked, leaning up to nuzzle the side of her neck. She smelled of some scent he couldn’t pinpoint, heady and dark, and tempting as hell.
“And then some.” She leaned her head back, but he tugged her closer and licked a line from her collarbone up to her ear, gently pulling the lobe between his teeth and nibbling.
His hands found the bottom of the large sweater and he slipped beneath. Finally. Her skin was warm and silky soft. He wanted to taste every last inch of her.
Her fingers played with the hair at the back of his neck, sending shivers down his spine from the simple contact.
“This is sad,” he muttered.
“I was thinking the same thing.”
He leaned back slowly, leaving his hands under her sweater, slowly caressing from her back to her ribcage and up to just shy of her breasts.
“Really? And why is that?”
A slow, sexy grin on those wide lips made him think of all the things he’d love to do to that mouth. “Oh, just that it’s either been a really, really long time or you’re gonna be great in bed.”
He leaned in and nipped her chin, kissed down the side of her neck as his hands spanned her waist, squeezing her hip bones. Her moan pulled a smile from him. Desire thrummed through his system. He wanted to take, but he also wanted to spend hours enjoying her. “I want to know all your secrets.” He trailed his fingers back and forth beneath her breasts, the lace of her bra light and caressing against his fingertips. “Exactly how long has it been for you?”
He cupped those glorious breasts and realized she overflowed his hands. He took a deep breath.
“Uhhh…”
“That long, huh?”
“Umm. No. Several months, but not…”
He slipped his fingers just beneath the edges of lace and traced back and forth across the globes of breasts he couldn’t wait to see.
“So you think I’ll be great in bed.” He licked the rim of her ear and she shuddered.
“God, I hope so.”
Her mouth found his, her fingers lost in his hair as she deepened the kiss.
“Personally,” he whispered between kisses and nibbles, “I’m pretty damned sure we’re going to kill each other once we get to that point.”
She shifted so that she fit more snugly against him and, God, if he couldn’t feel the heat of her through his jeans. He wanted her now.
“At least we’ll die happy.” She rocked against him and he growled as he kissed her deeper, his hands pushing her bra up so that he could feel…
“I want to see you,” he said, shoving her sweater up.
She leaned back, letting him push the hem up. Just as he glimpsed the undersides of her glorious breasts someone knocked on the door.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
She jerked her sweater down.
He growled. “Tell whoever the hell it is to go away.”
She raised a brow and wiggled again, rubbing against the biggest hard-on he could remember having in a long damn time.
“Should I?”
Thump. Thump. Thump. “Lake?”
Alyssa. Shit.
Lake scrambled off his lap and he realized he’d better just stay sitting down. Taking a deep breath, he smiled as she yelled, “Just a sec!” She pulled her bra back into place and gave him a lopsided grin. “Someone said something about suspense, right?”
“Suspense?” He stared at her. “Maybe I’m reevaluating that.”
She laughed and walked to the door.
“We’re good, right?” he asked her.
She grinned at him over her shoulder and all he wanted to do was kiss the woman senseless again.
What the hell was his daughter doing here?
Sighing, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back, listening as Alyssa’s voice drifted through the room.
“Sorry, I had to see you to ask a question about—” She dropped off. Her boot heels clicked across the wooden floor. “Dad’s here. And umm… Damn. Sorry. I’ll just come back later and—”
“Nonsense.” Lake’s voice sounded amused. “Come on in. We were just trying to decide what we wanted for dinner. Any suggestions?”
“Nah. I’m not hungry and—”
“Rule number one is to stay healthy. If you’re healthy, you can control your gift better and if you’re not, it’s more liable to control you. So you’re eating with us. End of discussion. And since I can’t cook, I’m wondering where we should go to eat.”
He could fix dinner.
“Italian. Something Italian sounds really, really good,” Alyssa walked into the living room and said, “Sorry, Dad.”
“For what?” He patted the sofa beside him. Alyssa’s face was red, something he rarely saw. He’d embarrassed his daughter? Life was good.
“Oh, nothing. So you’re paying, right?”
“No,” Lake said from behind her, “I am.”
“No,” Max said, standing up. “I am.”
“And the fun begins,” Alyssa muttered.
Fun.
“Oh!” Lake said, poking Alyssa in the shoulder. “This is going to be a blast. You know what? We can practice.”
Alyssa’s brow rose, complete with an eyebrow stud that twinkled blue in the lights. “Practice?”
Lake’s laughter floated through the air and caressed him like it shouldn’t since his daughter was in the room, but damned if he wasn’t turned on anyway. “Practice what exactly?”
Then Alyssa laughed. “You know, you’re right. I’ve never had anyone I could share this all with. I can. We can.”
“We can see which auras are brighter.”
He shook his head, already worrying about dinner ahead. “Exactly what are you two talking about?”
They looked at each other and grinned. “Nothing.” They both answered him in all-too-cheery voices.
“Uh-huh.” He stood up, found his coat and pulled it on as Lake shrugged into her dark coat as well. “You two play nice.”
“Nice is boring, Dad.”
His eyes met Lake’s and he had the sam
e thought, then shook it off as he realized who said it.
“Nice is nice, thank you very much. And since you’re my daughter, nice you will remain.”
She only snorted and then said to Lake, “He’s hopeless isn’t he?”
“Pretty much, but I still have hope for him.”
9
He leaned in closer to her, sniffing the light scent of her skin. Candy and coffee. Teenage girls always smelled the same to him, no matter what perfume they wore or shampoo they used, or what they decided to eat or drink. Innocence. It was the scent of innocence and he reveled in it, sweet as candy and just as alluring. Desire thrummed through him, hot and thick, but damned if he could do anything about it.
She whimpered behind the gag he’d been forced to use on her. A cute little scarf she’d had on, in a rainbow of colors. Now the rainbow bit into the sides of her face, her cheeks, her pale hair.
The late evening light didn’t reach far here, deep in the canyon. He wasn’t far from the resort, but this time of year, people came and went so often, no one paid attention.
Did he care if they found her?
Her eyes, wide and terrified, locked on him, like an oil painting that had hung in his childhood home. He hated eyes that followed, eyes that stared.
The bright blue eyes, which had laughed and questioned earlier, were no longer laughing. Eyes told stories. In hers, he wanted to smile at the fear, at the knowledge he could see in the depths. Questions. Knowledge. Fear. Pleading. So many emotions, and all he could read in her eyes.
“Shhh…” He lightly licked the edge of her jaw. “You’re a special, special girl. Did you know that?”
Her eyes squeezed shut. He ran his hand over her chest, now bare of the sweater she’d been wearing earlier. He’d cut the blue garment off as soon as he’d gotten her in the back of the minivan. And it had been so easy. He loved spring break, hell any holiday weekend. There were so many to choose from at those times. The hunting was so easy. This girl had been here for a last ski vacation. Just a quick trip into town, taking the day off from skiing with her friends. Out all alone. Stupid, stupid.
“You should have stayed with your friends. Didn’t anyone ever tell you there’s safety in numbers?” He guessed not. “But then, you were sent to me,” he whispered.
He’d known the moment he saw her. Her aura, bright and yellow, had shimmered, reminding him of summer, of things to come, of hope. Her laughter had danced in the air and he knew. Just knew.
The need in him arose until he’d had to listen, to appease. To gain more energy. This one he’d had to have now. Had to take now.
Her feet were bound, as were her hands. He’d laid the seats flat earlier in the day, and wasn’t it handy that he had? A sign. A part of him had known, had known what was to come. His powers were coming back after all. He smiled at the thought and wished they would come back even quicker. He ran his hand over her trembling bicep. He loved his presents bound. There was just something…arousing and besides it was so much easier this way, he’d learned. So much easier to do with them as he would. Pose them so he could see.
But he was losing the light.
Pain sliced through his skull, hot as a searing knife. He bit down and took a deep breath.
She moaned again behind her gag and he again leaned down over her. “You’re so pretty. I knew the moment I saw you, special one, that you were for me.” He kissed her soft pale brow, felt her shudder. “You are special. Think of that. And know that what you have, I will always, always cherish.”
He sat up, pulled her up into a half-sitting position, but still straddled her legs. It would hardly do for her to get some traction, would it? Not that it mattered, they were lying on plastic. Not that he planned to shed her blood, he wasn’t a violent person after all. But still, he didn’t want any messes.
He cupped her face, tilted it one way, then the other. “So pretty.”
He jerked the gag down and kissed her, kissed her hard, as he gripped her neck and squeezed. Squeezed through the gasp that sucked air from his own lungs.
He loved this part. This rush.
The transfer…
She thrashed her head, but he was expecting that and kept his mouth tight over hers. Her body bucked and twisted. But half reclining, she was neither sitting up enough to fight him nor lying down enough to twist away.
Twist and fight she did. Her arms trembled. Her legs kicked, or would have if he hadn’t been sitting on them. He tightened his hold on her, squeezed even harder, the soft muscles of her neck, the tendons, giving beneath his hands. Then her larynx snapped beneath the pressure.
She was a fighter.
Blood rushed through his veins, hot and fast, faster and faster, pounding against the inside of his skull. Or maybe it was her blood, her life force fighting, beating, screaming to be heard.
The power exploded in him. Her body surrendered a final jerk and tremble. He breathed deep, carefully relaxing his hold on her.
Her eyes stared up at the ceiling, the whites tinged pink, from lack of oxygen.
He sat back, sighing. “So pretty,” he said yet again, caressing her face, her torso. Her pink polka-dotted bra cupped her young breasts. Too bad he couldn’t get it up anymore. He would have loved to fuck her. Fuck her just as she took that last breath, as she gave up her essence. There was absolutely nothing, nothing in the world to match that moment of being buried deep inside a young woman just as she died and gave him her essence.
He shuddered at the thought.
Instead, he leaned over and kissed her one last time. “Thank you, special one.”
Then, riding on the euphoria, he worked quickly, wrapping her in the plastic that lined the back of the van. Satisfied, he opened the side door. He had to stop what he was doing twice as cars, driving too fast on the road already slick with ice, curved into view. The tall, thick trees at least shadowed him partially. When it was clear, he tossed her shell away into the frozen ravine below. Between tonight’s snowfall, the deep drifts already below, and the temps, she might never be found.
Elation zinged through him as he drove back down the mountain. The end was coming. He knew it. This one already left him feeling so, so strong.
Soon, he’d have the prize and then perhaps he could stop.
No, you won’t.
At least he could stop for a while.
He smiled, the kiss, the kill, her essence fresh on his mind.
10
“Don’t move,” Max said yet again.
Lake sighed. “You know, this modeling gig was supposed to be fun.” She stared up at the latilla ceiling like he wanted her to as the cool air whispered over her bare breasts. The antique fainting couch thing—probably had a very proper name, but damned if she knew it—was lumpy and uncomfortable as hell. A spring must be broken or something, she could swear it was poking her in the ass.
Max of course said nothing. She thought again of yesterday and how close they’d come to actually coming together, but hadn’t. Which was probably a good thing, actually. Yes, it was, she knew it was, and yet…
And yet…
After that kiss, she wondered why the hell she had honest to God thought it would be better to wait, at least with Max. Well, she knew why, but it hardly mattered now, did it?
Anticipation and all that?
She almost rolled her eyes.
God the man was built. She knew what he tasted like, how he smelled just there where his neck met the rest of him. She’d followed that line with her tongue.
“Quit looking at me like that.” He narrowed his eyes.
“Like what?” She grinned and batted her eyes at him.
“You’re ruining my work.”
“Can I see it?”
“No,” he snapped and jabbed his brush into another glob of paint before slashing this way and that across the canvas.
What was he making a portrait of? Her? Her breasts? She was completely nude. The only time she’d ever been completely nude with a man, they had been doin
g something that wasn’t art. Then again, she thought with a smile, maybe it had been. Though she wasn’t completely bare. But gold gossamer strategically wrapped across the fronts of her breasts and down over her waist hardly counted as clothing in her opinion. Not when you could see through it. Transparent was the key word. Gossamer didn’t keep out the cold or the wind.
An intent frown creased his brow as he narrowed his eyes even more, his jaw jutting out.
“You’re sexy,” she murmured.
“Dammit.” His gray eyes flashed at her. “You know, I don’t have a hell of a lot of time to paint, so when I do, I want to get done what I need to. My one day off and…”
She tried not to grin at the pissy artist emerging. “The muse and all that. Okay, I promise to try and be good.”
He snorted, dipped his brush and started again. She refrained from asking how much longer, but honestly it was hard. She thought this would be fun, sexy, flirty. Here she was sexy and he was pissed she wouldn’t be still so he could paint her. There was a boost to the ego. Not going there.
“Artists are strange sorts,” she said.
He ignored her.
She sighed and tried to think of mundane things, but that just made her bored. Giving up, she focused on him and how intent he was, how focused on whatever it was he was painting.
His set, shadowed jaw flexed as though he was frustrated. Normally neat hair was slightly disarrayed from him running his fingers through it. The sleeveless denim shirt he wore was paint-splattered and obviously used for this very reason. Another side to him, how he worked, created.
She wanted him.
Mundane thoughts. Think of taxes. Inventory at the store.
Needing a distraction, she asked, “What is this called?”
“What?” he snapped.
“This couch thing, what is it called? Is it a fainting couch or—”
“Chaise.” He cursed and she decided to be quiet. He was damned cute when he was aggravated.
Music softly played on the stereo. Something she’d never heard before but it was soothing, yet not. Low strummed guitars with a slight salsa flavor. Sexy music. There was no way she could look at him and not think what he didn’t want her thinking. He was a great kisser…
