Supernatural Seduction: 5 Paranormal Novellas

by Holley Trent

  It could have taken a year to walk that stretch of sand to the water, but she leaped into the surf, tugging him behind her so quickly he didn’t feel the undertow until it was nothing more than a lap against his thighs. Intellectually he’d always known the current he’d fought against as a kid had been extraordinary, considering his age, the shock of the ice water, the surprise and terror he’d felt. He knew he had to push himself passed his fear, but it had been easier to avoid.

  He stopped thinking about past fears and focused on the incredibly sexy half-naked woman in front of him.

  Since he was taller than Isabelle, the water reached her waist where at the same depth it had just begun to lap against his balls. Sweet mercy, a gentle wave rolled against him as he caught Isabelle’s gaze fixed on his bobbing cock. He hardened further.

  A cloud must have drifted away from the moon because suddenly she was easier to see. She had her blouse scooped up with one hand, so it didn’t get wet. Her eyes, filled with lust, charged the space between them. “Are you okay?”

  He was better than okay. “Thanks, Isabelle, I’m great. I wish we didn’t have a time limit for this task.” Although without a time limit, he may still have been on the shoreline.

  “Me, too.” She stumbled a bit as a wave rolled passed them. “We better hurry. As lovely as this beach is, I don’t want to call it home.”

  He steadied her with a hand on her hip and scooped the soap into his other hand. Her hands tightened on his shoulders, then trailed up the back of his scalp into his hair as she leaned in close. She was going to kiss him.

  Her mouth was hot on his, devouring, hungry, exploring. Desire burned through him when the head of his cock brushed against the curls between her thighs. She moaned against his lips and he felt her leg rise to rub against his hip.

  Yes. His mind filled with wanting her. No. He struggled to focus on the task. Which thigh had he painted that sketch on?

  One deep kiss and he drew his lips from hers. “If you’re trying to make me forget everything but my name, it’s working, but we have to get that sketch washed off first.”

  “I know. I just needed that kiss. I just needed to feel … never mind, you’re right, I usually have more self-control. Actually, I usually have an abundance.”

  Another jolt of erotic heat pulsed through him. Isabelle, reserved and guarded, was losing control. The thought was enough to reduce his resistance to a fraction. She swayed in front of him as another waved rolled by.

  “Stay still, will ya,” he teased as he slipped the bar of soap between her thighs. “I think it was this leg, no?” He slid the soap across her skin in circles where he imagined the drawing was.

  “I think it was the other leg.” She rubbed her free leg from his calf to his thigh. He gritted his teeth.

  “No. I’m pretty sure it was this one.” He continued to scrub. “But we better check to be sure.”

  He scooped her up in his arms and lifted her to float at water level. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on. Her thighs shone like wet pearls under the moonlight. Water sluiced over her skin. “I wish I didn’t have my hands full.”

  She looked down at her thighs. “I must say, this is a first for me, and even though it’s dark, being exposed like this, in your arms, is making me crazy. You better stop.”

  “Stop, huh. Not until you spread your legs a little, so I can be sure I got that painting off. We don’t have much time left.”

  When she turned one thigh out, he nearly dropped her so he could touch her there. With the water lapping against her and the moon covered in cloud once again, he couldn’t discern one satiny fold from the other.

  “Jonathan? Did you get it all? I can’t see under there.”

  “I’m giving you a thorough look-over.”

  “Am I good?”

  “You’re beyond good, sweetheart.”

  “Jonathan?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Are you checking for paint?”

  “Paint? No, I’m checking for where I’m going to taste you first.”

  He felt her teeth come down on his neck.

  “Ouch, okay, checking.” He didn’t see any paint left on her thighs. “I can’t see a blessed thing. You better check under the firelight.”

  His nose began to itch. He set Isabelle down on her feet and lifted his knuckles to his nose to scratch. A smell rose from the ocean, remnants of decaying plant material, a smell that took him back to the ice breaking under his feet, the shock of hitting exposed water, rotting plants. The soap slung around his wrist slipped.

  A heat wave rose and rolled through him.

  The black night closed like a shutter.

  Chapter Eight

  Isabelle could have stayed in Jonathan’s arms much longer. A dangerous thought. Relationship Recovery’s lessons flickered through her mind. Just because a man felt good to her body didn’t mean he was good for her heart. Too often her heart just galloped along blindly after her body. But no longer. The insights she continued to gain felt like sunshine on a cloudy day. Considering the choices she’d had to make tonight, she was so on top of this.

  To steady herself against the next wave, she planted her feet firmly in the ocean bed.

  No more time to waste. She took a step toward the flicker of flames on the beach and cracked her toe on something jagged. Pain ripped through her foot. “Ouch!” She turned to tell Jonathan to be careful.

  Where was he?

  Her gaze sped over the water as she spun in a circle. He couldn’t have made it back to the beach ahead of her; only seconds had passed since he’d set her down. “Jonathan!”

  Panic seized her brain. Had Finn zapped him away? Was she now trapped alone on an island in the deep blue who knows where?

  Something dark floated in the water a few feet from her. Her heart began to rat-a-tat in her chest. She stared. She squinted.

  What was it?

  With one foot ready to dash to shore, she suddenly realized that what she saw was not a what at all. Not a fish. Not a shark. Not a killer. A jolt of shock launched her forward. “Oh God, no.” She pushed through the water to reach him, her mind scrambling to figure out what had happened.

  Jonathan floated in the water, face down, as if he’d reached over to touch his toes. Grabbing his shoulders, she flipped him over, and screamed his name. She cradled his head above the water in her two hands. What happened to him? How was he teasing her one minute and drowning the next?

  Drowning!

  Mouth-to-mouth.

  Time drew out long and slow as her mind snapped from questions to answers. How much water had he inhaled? Twenty seconds’ worth? Thirty? Drag him back to shore? No, too much time. What were the mouth-to-mouth steps? Take his chin. Tilt his head. Pinch his nose. A wave sluiced over them, over his face.

  Ack!

  This was too difficult. He needed air. He needed the shore. He needed a fireman.

  She jerked her head up. Saw nothing but black. Her heart pumped shots of adrenaline through her body. Where was the shore?

  Behind her. She saw the fire, a slight glimmer. New panic surged through her. They hadn’t stoked the fire.

  Oh God. She’d never save him in the dark. Breathe into him. And another. Take a breath. Close your mouth over his. Breathe. And again.

  Now move!

  Stepping backwards, she towed him backwards toward the shore. Buoyant, most of him floated, but his feet dragged.

  Pull. Pull. Pull.

  Give him another breath.

  So dark. Thick dark. Thick, black dark. Her breaths pulled into her lungs faster and faster.

  Her own groan bounced off the slick black surface and ripped through her ears.

  She was thigh deep in water and had to lean down to reach him. She forced her breathing to slow — why
was it so hard? — closed her lips over his, and blew.

  Once. Twice. Three times. Four.

  Tilting his head back was impossible. How could she pinch his nose, keep his head above water and breathe life into him?

  “Jonathan, wake up. Please.” Another few steps. Knee deep. Shin deep. She tugged him until his body dragged against the ocean floor. He was heavy now. Dead weight. No! Not dead. She fell on her bum, then scrabbled to her knees and laid her hand on his chest.

  Relief swept through her as she felt the rise and fall of his chest under her hand. Although it felt as though so much time had passed, she realized no more than a minute or two had gone by.

  Why had they not collected firewood? She forced her mind to focus on performing mouth-to-mouth, not the dying fire.

  Please, wake up.

  A hand grasped her hip. Isabelle jumped. Shrieked.

  Jonathan’s eyes were open, watching her, dazed and bewildered.

  “Jonathan. Oh, thank God.”

  He didn’t sputter. Was that good?

  “Did you swallow water? What happened to you? You were standing one minute and then floating the next.”

  He gave a honking good cough. Then he lay still for a moment, gaze fixed on the sky before he turned to her. “The measures I have to take to get a kiss. My chest feels okay. I guess I didn’t breathe in any water.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared.”

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” His hand came up and swept a strand of hair from her face. “I thought I had a handle on the anxiety. I felt good, then I don’t know what happened. I guess I fainted.”

  What if she hadn’t been with Jonathan? What if he’d gone into the water by himself?

  “You saved my life, Isabelle. Thank you sounds trivial. I’m grateful. I’m sorry, it must have been terrifying for you.”

  She saved a life. “Don’t worry about me. I’m okay now that you’re okay. You are okay?”

  “Yeah, I feel fine.” He sat up and let his head drop between his legs. Her hands moved to his neck, his shoulders, rubbing, comforting.

  A few minutes later, he lifted his head, his gaze sharpened on the fire. “I’d like a few more breaths of air from your lips, but it looks like we need firewood.”

  “Yes, I noticed that, too. We better do that fast.”

  She pictured them as dark silhouettes in the night as they crossed the sand to their beach blanket party.

  They had a nice, glowing bed of coals, but little flame. One log was charred but had fallen and escaped the fire. He scooped a handful of sand over one end to put out residual embers and stuck the other end in the coals.

  Isabelle leaned down to blow air on it. She didn’t wanted Jonathan leaning forward into the fire, no matter how steady he appeared.

  The wood sparked to a flame. “You breathe life into everything.”

  “Oh yeah, that’s me. A regular breath of fresh air.”

  Jonathan picked up the torch. “You stay by the fire while I search for dead wood in the bushes.”

  Fine tremors ran over her skin; goose-bumps rose in their wake. Alone? It would be so nice to feel brave right now.

  “I’d rather not.” She hurried to catch him.

  They collected enough wood for what she hoped would be a short stay. When the first piece sparked into a flame, she felt her shoulders drop. Jonathan stood back and wrapped his arm around her waist to pull her in close. His touch, his nearness, his standing on two feet made her feel safe again.

  “You seem to have recovered. You should have water to drink. I guess that game-playing fiend doesn’t concern himself with human needs.”

  “It could be a good sign. He doesn’t think we’ll be here long.”

  “Speaking of our departure, we better get back to the game. Get it finished, so we can get you to a doctor, be sure you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine, Isabelle.” The tenderness that inflected his words had her trying to juxtapose this side of him with the womanizing man she’d thought him to be.

  As his fingers played over the back of her neck, her response came suddenly — desire between her thighs. Tender, gentle, loving. Jonathan?

  Ignore the desire. Just a little longer. Focus on the game.

  She took a step toward the blanket, a reluctant step, an uneasy step. “Whose turn is it?”

  “I think it’s yours.”

  Her game piece was only a few spaces ahead of his. She folded her legs under her as dropped to the blanket and reached for the die. It didn’t move.

  She gripped it hard between her thumb and index finger and pulled. “The die is stuck. I can’t pick it up.”

  Doubt furrowed the space between Jonathan’s eyes as he reached for the die. It remained fast. “What the hell is this now?”

  Isabelle grabbed his playing piece. “Yours is stuck, too. What happened?”

  “Is it stuck because we walked away? A precaution against an upset?”

  “I don’t know. We’re back now.” She tried to think. “We went over our time limit.”

  “Yeah, you took forever saving my life.”

  “That does suck.” She matched his light tone, so panic wouldn’t rise again.

  “The last message is still on the board. Isabelle can’t play with Rhapsody paint on her. Did you check to see that all the paint came off?” He didn’t wait for her to look, but instead pushed her skirt up her thigh.

  A blue streak still remained on her leg. “Cripes. We didn’t.” She licked her thumb and rubbed. And rubbed.

  “What kind of paint is that?”

  “We need the soap.”

  “Shit.” Jonathan paled. “I don’t have it. I must have dropped it when I fainted.”

  Like automatons, they both turned to the ocean. “It could be half-way to Africa by now.”

  “What else could we use?”

  “Let’s try sand.”

  Gone was the fervent heat from their last bathing episode. With sand fisted in Jonathan’s hand, he dropped it over the blue streak and rubbed.

  Once again the streak remained intact. “What the hell was in that soap?”

  “Good question. It didn’t look pretty. It didn’t smell pretty. I don’t know what the ingredients might have been.”

  Jonathan laid his hand flat over the blue streak. Once again, she felt a current run between the places their skin touched. Once again, she told herself to ignore, to not reach for him. She was becoming sick of her restraint.

  “I know what that soap was made from,” he said. “Some kind of plant, a water plant. It was the smell of it that made me faint.”

  A cloud drifted from the nearly full moon, brightening the beach again. The quicker they removed this blotch on her leg, the quicker she’d have that sexy current back. She rose to her feet. “I’m going to get some seaweed.”

  “You look that way and I’ll look this way. Don’t venture too far from the fire.”

  She grabbed his forearm to stop him. His muscles were strung tight under his sleeve. “No, you don’t. If you smell that plant and faint again, all by yourself — we are not going there again.”

  “The smell took me by surprise. I’m not living my life scared of plant decay.”

  “We’ll go together.”

  “Come on then. We need to get every plant we can before the moon disappears.”

  Every day on this holiday, she’d spent time in the ocean, enough to know they’d find sea plants growing close by. She pictured them in her mind. Seagrass grew in shallow water, so she looked for shadows waving near the water’s edge.

  Knee deep in water, she swore under her breath when she tried to uproot the first plant she came across. Rooted in cement. Stood to reason, she supposed. They withstood the constant surf without
breaking.

  She kept Jonathan in sight as he searched further away. A few frustrating minutes passed before Jonathan closed the distance between them. “I’ve got a handful. Let’s go try these.”

  Light from the fire welcomed them back.

  Jonathan dropped the plants he’d gathered onto the blanket. “I don’t know anything about making soap, do you?”

  “Actually, when I was a girl guide at summer camp, we made soap from a plant with pretty pink flowers, but I have no idea if we can get soap from these plants. We boiled the roots and the leaves until we got suds.”

  “We’ve got fire and coconut shells for a container.”

  While he ran off to find a coconut shell, she tried rubbing each plant against her leg. With each plant, her hope sparked, then burned as the blue streak remained, and then turned to ashes.

  Jonathan returned to the fire with two water-filled coconut halves.

  Isabelle watched him shift logs aside and expose coals for the coconuts to sit. “I think we’re wasting our time. It could be an hour before that water boils, if it boils before the coconuts catch fire. What are the chances we can make soap?”

  “I think this is exactly what we’re supposed to do. These coconuts are green, halved and empty. I found them twenty feet from the fire as if someone put them there.”

  Hope began to flicker. As Jonathan broke the roots into pieces, she ripped up leaves. They watched and waited.

  “Is that a bubble?” She must be seeing things. The water couldn’t possibly boil so quickly.

  Within a minute, the water bubbled into a froth.

  “This is going to work, Isabelle. Like magic.”

  As the water began to boil, he slipped his hands over her hipbones and pulled her back against him. There it was again. Excitement sizzled along her veins with as much heat as the fire. He moved her hair off one shoulder and kissed her neck. “How long do we let it boil?”

  So fast. Suds already skimmed the water. She tilted her head back against him, his body a haven. “I love magic. I think it’s ready.”