An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication
www.ellorascave.com
Curse of Brandon Lupinus
ISBN # 1-4199-0510-4
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Curse of Brandon Lupinus Copyright© 2006 Shelley Munro
Edited by Mary Moran.
Cover art by Syneca.
Electronic book Publication: March 2006
This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.
Curse of Brandon Lupinus
Shelley Munro
Chapter One
“You’re the new owner of Tavistock Manor.” The elderly lady who approached Jess’ table carried a cane and appeared frail, but her eyes were full of curious intelligence.
Jess Whittlebury held back a smile, aware she’d been under observation from the moment she’d strolled the cobblestone street with its quaint bow-window shops and entered the Brass Kettle Tea Shop. She’d made a silent bet with herself as to how long it would take one of the elderly women to approach. Jess set her teacup down in the duck-egg blue china saucer. She leaned back in her wooden chair and nodded at the woman across the vase of fresh flowers. “Yes, I’m Jess Whittlebury.”
“I hear you’re turning the manor into a bed and breakfast,” the tiny gray-haired woman said. In her peripheral vision Jess noticed the other women craning their necks, ears practically flapping with eagerness to hear the conversation.
“That’s right,” Jess said, and to appease their curiosity she added, “I fell in love with the manor when I drove up the winding road and glimpsed it amongst the oak trees. The medieval church and narrow streets of the village remind me of the town where I grew up in Yorkshire. I’ve purchased my own slice of heaven.”
The lady leaned closer in a confidential manner. “You know it’s haunted.”
Her audience seemed to hold a collective breath. Jess stifled her amusement. The real estate agent had informed her of the manor’s extra resident, but that only increased the potential for her bed and breakfast. American tourists loved history, and a spooky ghost story added pounds onto her investment.
“I’ve heard.”
“The ghost is real. On a clear night you can hear him howling.”
“The werewolf,” Jess said. “I wonder why he does that?”
The elderly woman snorted. “Romantics say he pines for his true love. I think he’s tired of being alone. You should watch yourself, Miss Jess. Our local legends are full of werewolf tales. There’s always an element of truth in myth and legend.”
Another woman ambled up to Jess’ table, slow because of the excess weight she carried. “These days it’s not safe for a body to live or walk alone. Megan Dean, the schoolmaster’s daughter was attacked and robbed last week. They say if the landscaper hadn’t driven past and scared them off, it could have been much worse.”
“Tish-tosh,” the first lady said in a chiding manner. “Don’t scare Miss Jess. I’m sure her bed and breakfast will provide lots of visitors to the village. Besides, a ghost werewolf is better than an alarm or guard dog.”
“True enough, Hilda.” The second lady nodded. “It’s good to have new blood. We don’t want our village to die like Martindale.”
Jess smiled and picked up the china teapot to refresh her cup. She added another slice of lemon and took a sip. Talk of ghosts didn’t dampen her excitement. Jess Whittlebury was in pursuit of a dream. A little physical work to tame the overgrown garden and some repairs and remodeling inside were all that was required. Thanks to her father and brother, she had the skills to complete most of the work on her own. In about three months she’d open for the start of the summer season.
* * * * *
Jess worked in the garden for most of the afternoon, rescuing roses from suffocation. A cool breeze lashed her cheeks and tugged at her heavy coat but she continued yanking the weeds and digging out clumps of grass that choked the original garden beds. With winter still grasping the countryside, she needed to take advantage of the days it didn’t rain or, worse, snow. Luckily, the winter had been mild and the snow had disappeared over a month ago. She hoped the mild weather continued.
Finally when it was too dark to see more than her hand in front of her face, she stood and flexed her aching shoulders. Jess collected her spade and headed for the house.
Without warning, the wail of the wind ceased and the mournful cry of a wolf resounded through the valley. Jess gasped, her heart drumming against her ribs. The hairs at the back of her neck bristled and she scarcely breathed until the final echoes died. A second howl followed. Jess swallowed before common sense told her it was local teenagers trying to scare off the newcomer. While she was glad of the legend attached to her property, she didn’t believe in ghosts or werewolves. They were the romantic fancies of novelists.
Jess laughed softly and continued up the uneven path to the side of the house where a former owner had attached a garage. She stowed her spade in the garage and continued along the narrow path to the front door. A sense of pride filled her when she paused at the entrance and pictured a profusion of blooms filling the weed-choked gardens. The L-shaped medieval manor had gone through renovations during the years and bore traces of Georgian and Victorian owners as well as modern atrocities such as purple paint. Built of golden Cotswold stone, Jess imagined the manor would glow like warm honey during the summer when it was bathed in sunlight. The manor had real character.
She opened the heavy wooden door and let herself into the vestibule. The ceilings were high and the rooms spacious. Although the walls were rough at the moment with strips of peeling wallpaper and ugly paint, there was potential. That was good enough for Jess.
A third howl made her pause before she shrugged out of her coat, tugged off her woolen hat and pulled off the protective gardening gloves. She shut the door half amused at the teenagers’ prank then hung her garments on the coatrack in the corner to her right. Supernatural beasties. Huh!
Jess followed the hall to the end and stepped into the kitchen. First a quick meal of soup and toast then she intended to start stripping the wallpaper in the parlor. Summer was fast approaching and there was no time to waste.
* * * * *
Brandon Lupinus lifted his shaggy black head and howled. A sense of surprise filled him at the urge to shift to wolf when the full moon was still a week away. The sound, pure and eerie, rippled from his ghostly throat sending exhilaration through Brandon. Before the last echoes died he padded down the hill into the valley below. Wind shook the skeleton branches and sent the dead leaves skittering across the ground. Mist swirled around him as he headed unerringly toward the manor.
The scent of rich, freshly turned soil along with cut foliage filled the air when he trotted past the gardens in the front of the manor. On reaching the door, he passed through the thick wood without breaking stride. Once inside, he shifted to his human form. Dressed in black breeches, a white shirt with lace on the sleeves and a black and red embroidered waistcoat, he appeared the epitome of the Eighteenth Century gentleman.
Brandon drifted up the stairs, excitement building inside him. Curiosity. Another owner for his country estate. Mostly, he didn’t care. He’d lost count of the owners over the years, but he’d never felt this burgeoning anticipation before. At the top of the stairs he turned left toward the main chambers. The doors stood open and the stench of paint offended his nose. The woman was chang
ing the interior. Again. Not that it made much difference with the hodgepodge of styles inflicted by previous owners, including his father. She would leave and another would come. He eased through the walls of each chamber without impediment, taking in her progress before returning to the passageway.
The woman’s presence filled the air with energy. It sizzled through his body, drawing him in. Heady. Intoxicating. Unheard of and unnerving. Brandon paused outside the stout oak door leading to the master bedroom. His heart thumped. He swallowed and felt the muscles in his throat contract. He…felt. After hundreds of years walking alone, cursed by the old witch, he felt something other than cold, other than ice. Strange. Perhaps it was an age thing and he was gaining power. Or not. The words of the curse echoed through his mind. Walk the ghostly world. Howl at the moon. Alone, Brandon Lupinus, until need forces you to act as a decent man should.
He had puzzled over the meaning, walking the ghostly void alone ever since the words had past the witch’s lips. Neither wolf nor ghost but a mixture, forced to live in solitary while his father passed through the heavenly gates to live in peaceful paradise.
A small cry jerked him from memories. Brandon burst through the wooden door, curiosity and a trace of fear for the woman lending him speed. One look told him it was naught but a dream causing her to cry out. He drifted up to the four-poster bed and gazed down at her sleep-flushed face. Her dark brown hair was cut short like a lad’s. Her face was browned from the sun yet it, along with the tiny sun-kissed spots on her face, gave her a pixyish charm. A man would want to touch each of the speckles with his mouth. Explore. Brandon reached out to brush ghostly fingers across her cheekbone, wishing more than anything to feel the silky skin of a woman again. Just once. His chest lifted and fell in a ghostly sigh. Impossible since ghosts didn’t feel anything but cold. He lowered his fingers anyway, delicately brushing a tiny freckle. A flare of warmth burst up his arm without warning. Instead of the expected chill, he savored the heat from her skin. She made a soft mewing sound and flung up her arm, hitting his shoulder before it passed through him.
By God’s teeth! He’d felt that too. Astonished, he stared at the woman. She’d dislodged the covers and he could see her tanned throat and chest. The scanty covering she wore hid nothing of her upper body, clinging in a way that made him sigh again. Elsa… Brandon cursed under his breath. Aye, stupidity that had been and now he paid the price.
The woman moaned in her sleep, giving a robust kick strong enough to send the covers sliding off the edge of the bed. Brandon couldn’t help but stare. Her breasts were large and round, her rosy nipples visible through the pink cloth that barely covered her chest. Her long legs were clothed in a darker pink cloth, her limbs clearly visible. Brandon watched her carefully lest she woke. There! He felt it again. Energy arcing between them.
His gaze moved to her breasts and lingered, the urge to touch again so strong he was powerless to resist. His big hand trembled when he reached out. Lightly, he cupped one full breast. A hiss emerged as the warmth of her skin permeated him. He couldn’t have moved if he tried. Brandon brushed his thumb across the tip of her nipple. Once. Twice. A third time. In fascination, he watched the rosy nipple contract to a hard nub. His body reacted with a mighty surge of power. The heat emanating from her body filled him, sending shimmering feeling shooting the length of his body. His cock firmed and lengthened. His ghostly heart thumped as it never had before. Brandon’s other senses kicked in. Smell. God’s teeth, her scent was intoxicating. Clean woman. Soap. He leaned toward her breasts, inhaling deeply. Joy bubbled through him at this unexpected gift. Taste. Could he taste? Dare he? He was so close. Willing the woman to remain asleep, he huffed a breath on her contracted nipple. Even beneath the barrier of cloth, she responded to his touch, to him. His cock tightened even more. Slowly he opened his mouth and took the tender tip between his lips. Yes! He tasted the furriness of the cloth and smelled her soapy scent. His tongue darted out to tease and touch while his lips clasped the woman’s nipple. Ah, but she tasted sweet. He applied a hint of teeth and she moaned. Brandon froze in alarm until she splayed her legs and whimpered. So responsive. He had barely touched her. Emboldened, he drew on her nipple and palmed the other with his hand. Soft, yielding flesh. What would it be like to touch her skin without the barrier of the cloth?
Brandon inhaled deeply, the myriad sensations pounding through his body threatening to unman him. For so long he’d focused on breaking the curse, yet nothing worked to solve the witch’s riddle. Sex. Hell, he hadn’t even thought of sex in over two hundred years, but now he felt the lack. His cock ached something fierce, his balls drawn up tight from merely sucking on the woman’s breast like a babe. God’s teeth, he hungered for more—the warm glove of her pussy clinging to his manhood. He desperately wanted her holding him, clutching at his shoulders and digging her fingernails into his back when she came. Brandon shuddered, his chest rising and falling beneath his shirt and vest. His breeches were an encumbrance, no longer fitting to his lower body but tight like a vise. Brandon willed his clothing away and drifted from his feet until he hovered naked above her semi-clad body. Please don’t wake up, sweetheart. Let me love you.
Slowly, he sank downward until her luscious curves melded to his chest. He had substance. He could feel. And taste. He could touch. Tears formed at the corners of his eyes, prickling uncomfortably against the need to stay strong. Oh she felt so good, her legs spread for him to lie between. Greedily, he wanted more. Brandon held his breath and slipped his hand beneath the pink cloth to touch the warm skin beneath. Silky. Soft and fragrant. His hand crept upward to cup her breast again. Brandon shuddered at the exquisite sensation of her skin beneath the calloused pads of his fingers. The woman arched her body upward as if seeking more from him. Brandon was happy to oblige. Gently he tugged the cloth up over her breasts. The woman smiled in her sleep and raised her hands over her head to aid him in the task. Finally she was naked from the waist upward and he could look his fill.
Her pink nipples were hard points designed to draw his attention. He swallowed, wishing to savor her treasures. A soft murmur escaped her lips, demanding almost. Brandon bent his head and licked a path from the plump base of her breast all the way to the tip. He suckled at his leisure, loving the way she undulated against his tight loins. Teasing him. Asking for him to give more. Brandon rose to hover above her again. He removed the pink trews, peeling them down long, slender legs. He had to taste her intimately while his senses were receptive. Her legs parted automatically for him, the scent of her arousal filling the air.
For him.
Brandon was so full of joy he wanted to throw back his head and howl. Time for that later when the danger of waking her had passed. He kissed a trail from her breast downward, determined to go slow despite the risk. It made his hunger sharper when balanced on a sword’s edge like this. His heart pounded, the fullness of his cock urging him to speed. Brandon knew he would spill his seed quickly once he entered her tight warmth, but his pleasure would increase tenfold if she enjoyed the loving too. He stroked his fingers across her ribs, watching her expression the entire time. She smiled, wriggling slightly as if she were ticklish. Brandon’s hand trailed lower, across her abdomen, stopping a fraction above the dark curls that guarded her femininity. He moved down the mattress and between her legs so his face was level with her pussy. Inhaling deeply, he savored her musky scent. His fingers trailed lower, skimming across her folds and dipping into moist heat. She shifted, raising her hips into his touch. A lover who knew what she wanted, one who wasn’t afraid to communicate her needs. Brandon knew he was a lucky man. Ghost. The correction sobered him for an instant but each of his senses continued to clamor for more. Brandon didn’t think he could stop now if he tried.
Jess tossed her head from side to side, feeling as though she were poised on the edge of a precipice. Her body tingled insistently. Her breasts ached from her dream lover sucking and teasing them with his teeth. Fiery heat blazed between her legs. Her love
r parted her swollen folds and lowered his dark head. The moment his tongue dragged down her cleft she burned for him. The friction of his stubble against the tender skin of her inner thighs was exquisite—a jolt of sharpness to contrast the lazy sweep of his tongue.
Jess arched upward seeking more pressure. A masculine chuckle made her smile. His image danced through her mind. Tall. Solid and muscular with dark hair and flashing come-to-bed gray eyes. His tongue raked the length of her cleft again, sending lightning showers of sparks along her quivering nerves.
“God’s teeth, you taste good,” he murmured in a husky voice.
And—Wow!—he made her feel alive. Jess lifted her hips, rotating slightly to gain pressure where she needed it. “Oh yes,” she whispered at the long echo of sensation that raced through her. That felt gooood. He cupped her butt with his capable hands, lifting her hips to gain easier access. He drew out every touch, every lick, lingering and teasing until tension coiled her body tight.
“Touch me. Please.” More begging words backed up her throat but he merely chuckled and continued with slow, deliberate flicks of his tongue against her clit. His warm breath and the brush of his tongue worked magic. Slowly the sensation built, layer upon layer, until the teasing gave way to promise. His tongue darted into the mouth of her pussy, lapping delicately while his finger stroked her swollen nub. Jess held her breath as she climbed toward climax. The tingles grew until suddenly with one last brush of his thumb she shattered. A series of waves pulsed deep in her cunt, going on and on for long, endless seconds.
“Yes,” she whispered, her voice low and throaty. Sexy. Damn, but she felt sexy and feminine after her orgasm. The only thing that would make it better would be his cock planted deep in her womb. As if he could read her mind, he moved over her body. He took her mouth in a rough kiss, his tongue darting between her lips. He tasted of spices, mysterious and male, and a hint of her juices. Jess moaned, his weight on top of her body welcome. And very real for a dream. Smiling at the thought of dreaming in color—‘cause this dream was definitely in color—she wound her arms around his neck and clutched his powerful shoulders. His skin was cool to the touch. Smooth.
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