by J. Kenner
Heck, already she was feeling hot and bothered—not to mention tipsy—and she hadn’t done anything but lean back against her pillows and read a book with his picture on the cover. With a little moan, she closed her eyes and slid down into the bed. Hale’s image floated above her, and she imagined his lips brushing against hers, his hands stroking her aroused flesh.
Suddenly too warm for comfort, Tracy pushed aside the bedcovers and ran her hands over her body. Her fingers dipped under the V-neck of her pajama top, and she caressed her own breasts. Closing her eyes, she imagined his fingers were tracing over her skin. Her nipples peaked, and she moaned with pleasure, feeling both naughty and a little bit drunk.
She wanted the real thing. Still, she could at least pretend this was the real thing. She could almost see Hale bending over her, his breath hot against her ear. His hands, hot and rough, caressed her body, skimming over the thin cotton of her shirt.
Shivering, she raised her hands above her head, her fingers gripping the polished wood of her headboard. Turning, she lost herself to the moment, her eyes drifting open dreamily.
Through a haze of passion, she saw him over her. She saw him right there in the mirror over her chest of drawers. He was still dressed in the sexy black T-shirt he’d been wearing earlier, but he’d lost the sport coat. His strong arms were just as she’d imagined. Which made sense, of course; her imagination was running the show.
Even though she knew there was no way he could be in her room, the pragmatic part of her turned her gaze from the mirror to the bed. Nothing. She was all alone. It was just her, a romance novel, and one heck of a vivid fantasy.
Not too bad an ending for a perfectly awful evening, she thought. Then she turned her head back to the mirror, wanting to see again the fantasy she’d conjured.
She imagined his fingers touching her cheek, grazing over her skin, his face so close she could feel the heat of his breath against her neck. She watched, fascinated, as her imaginary lover traced the tips of his fingers up her leg, his touch softer than a whisper.
“Hale, oh, Hale.”
The faintest of murmurs touched her ears, and she delighted in the completeness of her imagination. This man, this fantasy, was everything she’d imagined and more.
Smiling, she nestled down into her pillow and comforter. She wanted the real thing—now, more than ever. But all she had was a fantasy to make love to her. At least her fantasy complied.
Goose bumps tingled on her skin as he stroked and caressed her. A shiver wracked her body and she tensed, surprised at the force of her reaction. The dream Hale’s onslaught didn’t even slow. Instead, his lips brushed her cheek, then the hair at her temple, while his hand crept higher, seeking the dangerous, wonderful places beneath the hem of her short nightshirt.
Spellbound she pulled the thin cotton up, allowing him better access. Her own hands blazed a path up her leg, and she imagined that his fingers followed, her imagination doing such a fine job that she could actually feel the heat generated by his touch. Moaning, she writhed on the bed, the sheet twisting at her feet, as she lost herself to the fantasy. She trailed her fingertips up, playing with the soft skin of her stomach, then toying with the waistband of her panties.
Bless her parents for giving their daughter such a vivid imagination. Maybe Hale wasn’t really here, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t feel him.
Oh, yeah, she felt him all over—stroking and caressing, making her hotter and hotter, but still not following her lead and exploring her most intimate places. No, his teasing touches were intimate, erotic, but he never touched her where she most wanted to be touched.
Considering he was a fantasy—her fantasy—she wondered about his hesitation. She arched her back, silently urging her fantasy lover on. Unsure of what she expected, she knew only that she wanted something. She wanted more, but she didn’t know how to get it.
That, of course, was a lie. She knew how to get it, the real deal. But Hale wasn’t there. Not really. And at the moment, she was just thankful that her imagination was so inventive and accommodating.
A wave of pleasure crashed over her and a moan ripped from her throat. She was thinking too much, too hard. She needed to just let go. To forget. To lose herself to everything but this exquisite pleasure.
Tomorrow, she’d concentrate on reality.
Tonight, she would just enjoy the fantasy.
Fire consumed Hale’s entire body. Beneath him, Tracy Tannin was so hot, so ripe, and he longed to taste and explore her. His blood burned in his veins, seeking release, and he knew that she was just as close to the brink as he.
Just one quick thrust and he could satisfy them both. One thrust, followed by another, then another and another, until they lost themselves in a haze of lovemaking that wouldn’t end until he’d taken her to the absolute highest peaks of pleasure.
A nice thought, except that she’d never know he was the one who’d sealed those peaks with her. Except . . . she’d called his name. He was in her fantasies, in her thoughts, and that knowledge thrilled him. He wanted this woman. And she wanted him. And being this close to her heightened that desire. He longed to sink inside her and give them both what they wanted.
Somehow, reason managed to soak into his brain through the cracks in his lust, and he remembered that he was invisible. It probably was not the coolest move to take Tracy all the way under the circumstances. She couldn’t see him. Wouldn’t know it was real. Would think he was only a figment of her imagin—
He caught his reflection in the mirror.
Hopping Hades! He hadn’t even considered the possibility that she might see him in the mirror. How could he have been so careless? He always scoped out the possibility of mirrors!
Of course, there was a first time for everything, and he’d never made love to a woman while invisible before. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. He’d never made love to a woman who didn’t know he was there before. Otherwise, a touch of invisibility could add some definite sparks to an evening of sex.
But in this case, she didn’t know he was there at all. What was he doing? What had he been thinking? This wasn’t a seduction; it was an indulgence. His indulgence. He’d wanted to touch her—no, he’d needed to touch her. He’d needed to comfort her. Needed to show her how much a man could cherish her.
But now he needed to stop. Right now, she thought he was a fantasy. How long would it take for her to figure out the truth? Five minutes? Ten? With the next kiss?
But he was too far gone. He couldn’t stop. He could only keep touching her, making love to her. Stifling a guttural moan, he slipped his fingers under the elastic waistband of her panties, then inched his fingers down as the skin on her lower belly tightened with anticipation. Just a little further and he’d—
No! It was a short burst of sanity, but he managed to latch on. He held tight, and only by calling on every ounce of strength in his body did he manage to wrest back some semblance of control.
Drawing in deep, quiet breaths, he tried to cool the fire in his veins. He shouldn’t be doing this. Shouldn’t be touching her, shouldn’t be teasing her. Shouldn’t be tasting her. In his head, he repeated the words over and over, hoping that with repetition would come reason.
Nope. Maybe he shouldn’t, but, oh, how he wanted this.
“Hale,” she whispered, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips.
His stomach knotted and his groin tightened. Damned if he wasn’t lost. Knocked on his ass by one woman’s feathery-soft whisper. Just looking at her had made him harder than he could ever remember being. Now, with her writhing slightly and making those little erotic noises . . .
His body stiffened and he stifled a groan. Suffice it to say, he was lost.
Maybe he shouldn’t have touched her in the first place—no, no maybe about it—but he couldn’t help himself. The sounds of the ocean had surrounded him, making him feel close to her even as the damn belt put a spell on him. He was powerless to resist. He ignored the voice that said he wouldn’t
have resisted even if he could.
Tracy’s head was thrown back, her lips parted in passion. Hale propped himself up with his left hand, but the fingers of his right were still free to explore the soft skin at her waist.
Her hands stroked her belly, too, and he knew she believed his touch was merely a figment of her imagination. He leaned close, his lips brushing her hair as he breathed in her scent. She smelled fresh and feminine, and he closed his eyes, wanting to memorize the essence of her.
Something in himself reminded Hale that this wasn’t real; he was responding to an enchantment, a spell. But Tracy wasn’t wearing the belt right now; she was in a nightshirt.
There had to be some residual magic. Some remaining enchantment. There had to be. This was powerful magic after all. That’s why he’d fallen for her. Even when she wasn’t wearing the belt, the pull from the magic was so strong that he was completely and totally under her spell.
Yeah? Well, so what? If this was magic, he hoped she kept him bewitched for the rest of his life.
Bending over her, he stopped himself just before his lips brushed hers. He longed to explore her mouth, to taste and tempt and tease her . . . but no. He couldn’t. He shouldn’t.
Stiffening, he backed off just a hair, mourning every millimeter of distance he put between them. As much as she might want him—as much as he definitely wanted her—he couldn’t do this. He was walking too fine a line between propriety and . . . something else. He wasn’t sure what. All he knew was that if he made love to her without her knowing he was making love to her, he’d never be able to look her in the eye again.
And at the moment Hale wanted to look for a long, long time.
Knowing they’d both regret it, he slid off of her, the final touch of skin against skin coming near to driving him mad. Careful not to shake the mattress, he got off the bed, then stood in the middle of the room simply watching her.
A tiny moan escaped her, and she twisted in her quilt. Her hands stroked her body. Not slowly and languidly as before, but frantically, as if she were looking for something she’d lost. As if she were looking for him.
“I’m right here.” The words he spoke without thought weren’t even a whisper, but they seemed to calm her.
She turned her head, and their eyes met in the mirror. He fought the urge to run, to duck down. But she didn’t believe he was real, and so he held fast, his gaze locked on hers.
“My Hale,” she whispered. “What a nice fantasy you make.”
His stomach tightened, and he clenched his fists against his immediate reaction to climb back into her bed. Soon, he’d give her what she really wanted—what they both wanted. And when he did that, they’d leave the lights on and he wouldn’t turn invisible. That way he could see every luscious inch of her, and she’d be sure to see every inch of him.
Slowly, he moved away from her bed, watching as his reflection moved away from the mirror. He actually wanted a mortal. Actually cared about her—and not just in a platonic way. Thank Zeus this was only the result of an enchantment. An illusion. Nothing more.
No, there couldn’t ever be anything real between them. But for the first time ever, he was content to share the fantasy.
16
With morning, came guilt. And Hale was suffering bucketsful. He’d slept the night on Tracy’s couch. Well, slept was probably an overstatement; rather, he’d tossed and turned, thankful that Tracy hadn’t awakened and decided to plop herself on the sofa for a little late-night television.
Of course, Missy had visited him, but he was able to explain to her—in simple doggie terms—why he was camped out in the living room. He wasn’t sure the dog bought his story about keeping the place safe from the bad guys, but it didn’t much matter. Missy certainly couldn’t run to Tracy and tattle. Besides, the little beast seemed to like him, and she’d curled up at his feet, apparently undisturbed by the way he was tossing and turning.
Until last night, he’d assumed his lust for Tracy was simply a reaction to a pretty girl. At most, an annoying byproduct of whatever weird emotional malaise had gotten the better of him in California—in other words, temporary and controllable. But now . . .
Now he’d figured out about the belt; and that meant this might not be so controllable after all. In fact, Tracy was the one controlling him. Last night might have been heavenly while he was in the moment, but now that the haze of passion had lifted, Hale realized just how incredibly stupid he’d been.
Not only had his little invisible seduction been rude, it also could have landed him in one heck of a lot of trouble. Protectors were not allowed to go snooping around a mortal’s house without prior authorization, and that was a minor offense compared to what he’d done. And the fact that he’d been suffering under the residue of the belt’s magic was no excuse. Not that he’d necessarily call last night suffering. If Zephron found out—for that matter, if Tracy figured it out—well, he’d be on Probation so fast his head would spin.
And this wasn’t just about him. There was the whole mission to consider. If he screwed this up, Hieronymous might get his hands on that belt. Then they’d all have worse things to worry about than seductions that didn’t meet the Miss Manners seal of approval or the Mortal-Protector Treaty of 1970.
Never once had he put a mission in jeopardy, but he’d done it last night. And now that he was under Tracy’s spell, the odds were good he’d do it again.
He didn’t want to leave her—so help him, he was so far gone he wanted to stay near her no matter what the consequences—but under the circumstances, there was only one reasonable solution. He’d step back from the mission.
Zephron had wanted him to take the lead, but the Elder couldn’t have known that Hale would be compromised by Aphrodite’s spell. Which meant that Zoe should take over. She could handle it; the odds were good, after all, that Tracy wasn’t going to have the hots for Zoe.
Hale would do the right thing. Zoe would get the belt back, Hale could go back to sleeping with busty blond mortals while having absolutely no emotional connection with them whatsoever, and they’d all live happily ever after.
It was a perfect plan. All he needed was to enlist his sister’s help. And so right before dawn, he headed for her house, then waited in the living room, determined to catch her the second she woke up.
The morning light hadn’t quite made it through the curtains in the living room when Zoe padded in wearing an oversized T-shirt and white athletic socks. She yawned, headed for the kitchen, then yelped when Hale sat upright on the couch.
“Apollo’s Apples!” She shot him an annoyed glare, and he stifled a laugh. “You scared me.”
“I thought I trained you better than that.” He’d come for her help, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy ribbing her. “What happened to always being prepared?”
“I never said I was a Boy Scout.” She grinned. “Besides, I’m prepared. For the bad guys, I’m totally ready. For you . . .” She shrugged. “Maybe I just didn’t want to strain myself.”
He laughed, thoroughly enjoying the note of superiority lacing her voice. His little sister had come a long way. She was a skilled Protector, a married woman, and she played a mean game of Risk. Somewhere along the way, she’d become his friend instead of the little squirt he’d had to look after.
She squinted at him, concern etched on her face. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” He took a deep breath. This kind of thing wasn’t easy for him. “I need some help.”
A single eyebrow arched up, but she didn’t make a smart-aleck comment. Instead, she just nodded. “Girl help? Or mission help?”
“Both.”
“This calls for cocoa.”
He raised an eyebrow. A year ago, her wacky super senses wouldn’t have let her go near chocolate. “I’m impressed.”
The corner of her mouth twitched. “Well, I’m still working on it. I’ll make yours the normal way. Mine has more milk than chocolate.” She tilted her head toward the kitchen. “Follow me.”
Five minutes later, Hale was camped out at his sister’s kitchen table, a steaming cup of hot chocolate in front of him, and a watered-down version of the same on the table for Zoe. She pulled out the chair opposite him, settled in, propped her elbows on the table, and looked Hale in the eye. “So give.”
He glanced down the hall, not particularly wanting any other company while he was spilling his guts. “No one—”
“Taylor left about midnight. A stakeout on another case we’re working. I don’t expect him back until tonight. And Lane and I let Davy stay up late playing. They won’t wake up for hours.”
Hale nodded, but still didn’t say anything. There just wasn’t an easy way to phrase it.
“That was supposed to be your cue to talk,” Zoe prompted.
“I’m working on it.”
Her eyes got big. “That serious, huh?”
“I don’t know.” He leaned back in his chair, suddenly bone-tired. “I honestly don’t know.”
“Well, you said it involved the mission and a girl, right? So, that means the belt and Tracy.”
“A brilliant conclusion. Marrying a private investigator did wonders for your powers of deduction.”
She made a face, but otherwise ignored his comment. “So . . . what? I know your problem can’t be that you don’t know how to initiate a seduction. You’ve never had female problems in your life.”
Maybe not, but he was having problems now. “I haven’t done the best job of getting close to her,” he admitted. Actually, getting close hadn’t been the problem at all. He’d gotten close, all right. So close he could still smell Tracy on his skin. That was the problem.
“Oh.” She pursed her lips, considering. “Well, that’s not good. You need to get close enough to persuade her to give up the belt.” She focused on him, her teeth playing along her lower lip. “What have you tried?”