Haunted Seductions

by Sahara Kelly

  He stepped to the left, she mimicked his actions, and smiled. The moonwalk move crossed his mind but he’d left his dancing shoes somewhere else.

  He turned away and she rubbed her breasts over his back. “C’mon, Louis chèr. Let’s go upstairs and get naked. You know I wanna fuck you. You wanna fuck me too. It’s all part of the natural way down here in the bayou.” Her hands slid around his waist and back down beneath the waistband of his shorts.

  It tickled and Louis jumped, freeing himself again. “Uh…look Honey, I don’t really…er, we haven’t…”

  She chuckled. “What? We haven’t been formally introduced?” She reached to her neck and untied the thin strand of black silk. The top sagged down revealing her breasts, nipples hard and erect at their peaks.

  “Here. Louis, meet my tits. Girls, this is Louis. He’s gonna put those lovely lips of his on you and suck you and make us all real happy.” She pushed her chest out.

  Oh look—twins! was his first thought. His next was to run screaming from the room, which really wasn’t an option.

  He jumped a foot in the air when a loud knocking echoed through the house and offered up a prayer of thankfulness as Honey quickly retied her bikini. Whoever was at the front door, he didn’t care. They’d obviously come straight from his guardian angel, and he intended to make sure that they stayed.

  Somebody had to protect him from Honey Treadwell.

  *~~*~~*

  The house lured Cory with a strange siren song, which resounded deep in her gut and made her palms itch. She paused on the alley, standing in the shade provided by the old trees and staring at a masterpiece of eighteenth-century architecture.

  For a few moments the air stilled, the birds fell quiet and even the bees stopped buzzing. The odd silence made Cory uneasy in that unique way that only she possessed—she was about to catch a glimpse of something. A look past a curtain that was never meant to be lifted. A glimpse at something yet to come or some other thing long gone.

  A soft breath of air crossed the alley and suddenly Cory could see the house as it had once been, complete with carriages, horses and people coming and going.

  The lamps were being lit and a shriek of laughter came from an open upstairs window. It was promptly followed by a mostly naked woman running out of one of the sets of French doors onto the balcony that ringed the second floor. After her came a totally naked man with outstretched arms, who pursued his prey around the corner of the house, his cock a light shadow bobbing against the darkness of his pubic hair.

  Cory was scared to move—to breathe—lest she break the spell that held her transfixed at the threshold of this passageway back through time. She knew quite well what she was seeing. She needed no guidebook or historical document to tell her that this was Love Alley in its glory days—a whorehouse of parish-wide renown.

  As Cory watched, the rattle of a carriage crunched down the gravel driveway and stopped in front of the grand entrance. It disgorged four or five well-dressed gentlemen, laughing and removing their jackets as they mounted the steps to the porch.

  The large double doors were thrown open and Cory’s mouth dropped as a woman moved through them, arms lifted in welcome. Even from this distance, Cory could see the glitter of amazing emerald green eyes.

  “Bonsoir, Messieurs. Entrez-vous. Welcome to Love Allée.”

  Rich and velvety, her voice reached Cory along with a wave of nausea. It was the voice she’d heard not so long ago, and it took her off guard with its warmth and its familiarity.

  Lightheaded, she staggered, catching her balance on the hard bark of an old tree. The rough surface scratched her hand, and as her eyes watered, the air shimmered and the vision disappeared as rapidly as it had appeared.

  Cory sagged against the trunk. That was one helluva thing.

  Moments like this drained her, caught her off guard and reminded her of her gift. They were seldom as detailed or as vivid as this one had been though. It was as if the past had deliberately waited, sharpening its edges, purifying its colors—just waiting for Cory to set foot on Love Alley ground.

  The house had poured itself into those few brief moments, as alive and as real as anything Cory could have reached out and touched. She would never be able to look at it again without remembering that vision.

  It took a lot of courage for her to continue her stroll down the alley of trees toward the front door. She almost checked for carriages as she crossed the drive, paved now though, and with a few weeds poking up here and there.

  The shrubs—neatly groomed mounds of flowers back then—were now huge and shaggy tumbles of dying branches. Cory wanted to grab a trimmer and shape them, return them to the spectacular glory she recalled from her mental images.

  As the wood squeaked beneath her feet she realized there were other things that needed some restoration. But…time had passed and taken its toll. No one knew that better than Cory.

  She reached out and picked up the heavy wrought iron door knocker, letting it fall back with a loud clang.

  The door swung open almost immediately, and Cory found herself face-to-face with one of the best-looking men she’d seen in quite some time. Longish dark hair brushed his shoulders, and he wore nothing more than a rather snug pair of well-worn cutoffs with an open waistband. She didn’t get chance to check out much else though, since as soon as he laid eyes on her he silently mouthed the word “help” and took her in his arms.

  “What’s your name?” He hissed the question under his breath.

  “Er…Cory.” She had to think for a minute.

  “Cory…sweetheart…I can’t believe you’re here. At last. I’ve missed you so much.” He pulled her close, an intriguing fragrance of man and sawdust encompassing her. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a blonde almost wearing a bikini and staring at them with her mouth open. Cory had little time to evaluate the situation, however, since a firm hand slipped to her chin and turned her face upwards. “I don’t think I could’ve lasted another day without my fiancée at my side.”

  Stunned, Cory stood there as this lovely man proceeded to kiss the crap out of her.

  There was no delicate foreplay…this was an open-your-mouth-and-get-ready-to-fuck type kiss. Tongues twined, interplaying with a suddenly dexterous skill that astounded Cory. He tasted of sweet man and tart lemonade with a hint of toothpaste, a seductively unique flavor.

  She found herself breathless, not so much from the unexpected assault on her lips as from the sensation of rising desire that billowed up from her toenails to her eyebrows and swamped her with a passionate heat the likes of which she’d never envisioned in her wildest sexual fantasies.

  Her brain swirled and shut down conscious thought, leaving her adrift in a sea of visions that mostly involved her and him and a lot of naked skin.

  She felt her hands move over his arms to his shoulders and his neck, fingers digging into his muscles and finally twining through his damp hair. He groaned a little, deep in his throat, a sound that was echoed within Cory. She pressed herself against him, as his hold on her tightened.

  They were flame to kindling, cock to pussy. Superheating, approaching-the-red-line, pussy. If this went on for one minute more, Cory was going to forcibly strip him and fuck him right there with the front door open and the sun shining on them, mosquitoes be damned.

  As her wits gathered up their panties from the floor of her mind, Cory realized that she was in the arms of the new owner of Love Alley. The man who had requested her help.

  Before she succumbed once more to the lure of his kiss, she realized something else too.

  He had unusual eyes. One was blue and the other was grey.

  Chapter Eight

  Honey was enraged.

  Here she was all dressed up, or barely dressed, with nobody to fuck. With a snide glare she looked at Cory. “Fiancée? As in getting-married-type fiancée?” She put her hands on her hips and frowned at them.

  The frown grew deeper as Cory struggled to drag her gaze away from Louis.
“Um, yes. I was…away on a trip and just got back.” Her voice was soft and within seconds she was back staring into Louis’s eyes. He hadn’t looked away from her face, a dreamy expression curving his lips. Honey pouted as Cory reached back up and kissed him again. This time it was her move, not his.

  Louis and Cory ended their kiss but stayed locked together in their own private world, which completely excluded Honey. She could almost see the connection between them, something magical and mystical.

  “I know you. I remember those eyes.” Cory caught her breath and shivered.

  Honey sneered. “I should hope so. At least I managed to remember the eyes of the guys I married.” She was totally furious. There was no way she would be brushed aside again. That’s twice by the same man in a week. She’d showed him all her goodies and he didn’t even want a taste. This was totally unacceptable and the absolute last straw. I am so out of here.

  Without a look at either Cory or Louis, Honey stalked past them and marched out the door, hearing it close behind her. She turned back to mouth a Southern version of fuck you, when her foot slammed into a toolbox on the porch. Honey fell forward and collided with a man walking up the steps.

  With a grunt and a thud they both tumbled onto the grass in a heap.

  Honey ended up on top of the man, rubbing the bump on her head she’d gotten from hitting the dirt. A vibration echoed against her body as she pushed herself up. The man’s face was snugly resting under her naked breasts. Her insubstantial top had twisted as she fell giving the man full access to her large, not-quite-natural assets. He was definitely getting an eyeful—and a mouthful.

  Honey straddled him, sitting up and quickly pulling her bikini top back into place over her bare breasts.

  “Don’t cover those beauties up on my account. I was just thinking I suddenly had a craving for milk.” It was a deep voice and tickled her ass as it reverberated through his chest and into Honey.

  “Ah’m sooo sorry, chèr…” Honey began to move and looked at the man’s face. A beard covered his chin but when Honey saw the look in his eyes, she began to stammer and forgot all about her bayou drawl. “Oh my God, you—you…you’re the man in that picture…the one I saw in the mirror…oh my God.”

  Honey was almost beside herself with shock as her entire being became hot and aroused. The small, tight bikini bottom couldn’t contain the sudden wetness from her body.

  She crawled off him rapidly and the front door opened to reveal Louis. He looked surprised as he saw Honey climbing the stairs ass-backward and a man getting up from the ground. “Who the hell are you?” Louis looked at him.

  Straightening, the man brushed off his coveralls. He was very large, realized Honey, easily six-foot-six or so, with a short tidy beard cut tight to his face and curly brown hair. He had a light scar on his cheek that his beard didn’t completely cover. “Maurice Silver. Nick from the lumberyard sent me. Said you needed some woodcarving done.”

  “I saw him in the mirror the other day, Louis. That day I ran out naked and screaming. I couldn’t tell you because it sounded stupid, but it was him. I’m sure of it.” Honey couldn’t drag her gaze from Maurice. “Well, it looked sort of like him. Maybe.” Her voice trailed off. The intensity of this man peeled away every layer of her brazen façade.

  “You always run around naked? I’m gonna have to hang around here more often.” Maurice grinned and his smile made things ache low in her belly.

  She sighed. Something about him got to her. Almost like the man she’d seen in the reflection and in the picture. Something that was an odd blend of spiritual and fiendishly sexual.

  “Well I’ve never seen him before, but if Nick says he’s okay…” Louis raised an eyebrow at her and turned to Maurice. “Hi. I’m Louis Beekman and this is my place. I’m renovating it and asked Nick to get me a detail woodcarver for all the inside finish stuff. He said you were the best, and I trust his word. I don’t care too much about the cost, because I want perfection. I’m restoring, not updating.”

  Maurice nodded. “Good for you. Not enough folks appreciate fine craftsmanship these days.” He pointed to his truck. “Let me go grab my bags and tools. Trust me. When I get done, this place will look just like the whorehouse it once was.” And he walked away.

  Cory stepped out next to Louis. “You never met him before?”

  “Nope. Nick said he redid a few other places like this and his work is impeccable.”

  She nodded. “You can’t go wrong if Nick recommended him. Everybody ‘round here knows Nick and how picky he is about his workers.” She paused. “Louis—I was watching him from inside the house. I don’t know how to say this, but he’s not alone.” Cory’s voice was hushed, but Honey heard it. An odd chill ran down her spine.

  “Not alone? Like married?”

  “No, it’s like somebody is within him. Somebody…something…I’m not sure.” She shook her head. “I can’t describe it. I just know. There’s an air about him that’s unusual.”

  Honey stood up, watching Maurice as he pulled bags and a few red toolboxes from the back of his truck. “Well, whatever that air is, it’s damned appealing. I’m going to find out all I can about this guy.” She tugged her thong comfortably around her ass and squared her shoulders.

  Look out, Maurice. Honey’s comin’.

  With any luck.

  *~~*~~*

  Louis raised an eyebrow and felt a sharp elbow in the ribs as Cory noticed his amusement. “If anyone can, you can, Honey.” He turned to Cory, pasting innocence over his face. “What?”

  She shook her head and walked back inside Love Alley.

  Louis watched for a moment or two as Honey strutted toward Maurice and his truck. The poor guy won’t know what hit him. He turned and followed Cory into the house.

  The foyer was empty and he wondered where his newfound fiancée had gone. There were a few things he figured he’d better explain and/or apologize for. Walking into the small salon he found her staring at the painting hanging on the wall. The painting that had so fascinated Honey earlier.

  He quietly walked up behind Cory and looked over her shoulder. Yep, same guy. He glanced at Cory’s face. Her eyes were wide and vague as she fixated on the painting. She must have sensed him, though, since she spoke to him in a low voice.

  “This portrait. The man in this painting—he is a lot like Maurice. Look at his face, Louis. Do you see it? Can you feel it?”

  Louis leaned back and took a good long look, not at the man in the painting, but at Cory. Her profile, the slope of her breasts within her blouse, the roundness of her ass just begging to be groped—he could very easily imagine having that entire package wrapped tightly around his body like a blanket. She was the epitome of eroticism and Louis tumbled into lust without a second thought.

  As he stared, there was a low, drawn-out moan echoing in the room.

  “Did you hear that? It was his spirit awakening.” Cory breathed the words into the silence that followed.

  “Nah, it was my stomach. I’m hungry. Let’s get some lunch.”

  Louis grinned as Cory snorted her disgust. “Look, I suppose I should introduce myself. I’m Cory, Cory Lavalle. The psychic you called.”

  “I figured as much.” Louis led the way into the kitchen, then paused. “Did you say Lavalle? That sounds familiar.”

  “Yeah. My ancestors owned this place. Long before yours got their hands on it.”

  He turned. “You mean Claudine, don’t you? The whore?”

  A shutter banged harshly against the wall as Cory frowned and straightened her spine. “I beg your pardon. Claudine was not a whore. She ran the most successful brothel in the parish. Back then it was an honorable accomplishment for anybody, let alone a woman.”

  Louis shrugged and ushered her into the kitchen. “Well, whatever. It’s the past. Long gone.”

  “Oh no, Mr. Beekman. You’re quite wrong.” Cory lifted her chin and looked down her nose at him. “I’m a psychic. I can assure you that the shades of the past are
all around us. Especially here.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Louis rummaged in the fridge and pulled out two cold sodas and a large sandwich he’d made earlier. “Wanna split a ham and cheese on whole wheat?” He opened another cabinet. “I’ve got chips too.”

  Quickly separating the two halves of the sandwich and dumping chips from a bag next to them on paper plates, Louis fixed lunch. “There. Sorry it’s informal, but right now it’s the best I can do.”

  Cory sighed and sat down, munching on a chip. “How’d you find me?”

  “Uhh…” He thought rapidly. “Your card. It’s on the wall.”

  “That’s odd.” She sipped her soda through rather nice lips. Familiar lips.

  Louis let himself watch her as she ate, wondering why he should feel this sense of familiarity. She’d said earlier she knew him—knew his eyes. And in all honesty he felt sort of the same thing. Her thick black hair fell to the middle of her back, a long braid of darkness.

  Her skin was clear and rich, like café au lait. Where the hell that phrase had come from, he had no idea, but it fit her to a tee. Her eyes were large and dark, and when she looked at him in inquiry, his voice dried up in his throat.

  He coughed a little to clear it. “Never know what you’ll find in old houses like this.”

  She turned the conversation general, asking about his work and how he’d ended up at Love Alley, laughing as he told her about the poker game. “So it all comes down to a turn of the card. Three queens, huh?”

  “Yep. Strictly chance.” He finished his chips. “So how’d you get to be a psychic? You graduate from Ghost U.?” He laughed at his own joke.

  Cory’s face turned chilly. “No.”

  Uh oh. Note to self. Don’t kid about this psychic crap around Cory. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like an ass. I’m just not used to this sort of thing.”

  She pushed her chair back. “Perhaps you should show me the house, Mr. Beekman.”

  “Um, okay.” The temperature had dropped twenty degrees on the strength of her displeasure alone.