Heroine Complex (Book 4): Haunted Heroine

by Kuhn, Sarah

  He slid the strap down my shoulder, leaning in to kiss my neck. His mouth was hot and hungry, his teeth grazing my delicate flesh.

  “Oh . . .” I sighed, leaning into it. After being deprived of his touch for so long, I was overwhelmed, shockwaves coursing through my entire body, already getting me so close . . .

  “You taste so fucking good,” he growled, running his big hands up my back, his fingertips plucking at the ribbons wrapped around my torso. “God, I’ve missed you.”

  “Keep doing that,” I whispered, barely able to get the words out. “Keep your mouth on me . . . just . . . like . . . that . . .”

  His lips moved lower, nibbling my collarbone, every touch making me want him more. Then his thumb brushed the lace over my nipple and I moaned, pressing myself even more firmly against him.

  “Hey!” Someone in the room next to ours banged on the wall. “Keep it down over there, I’m trying to study!”

  “Oh!” I clapped my hand over my mouth, my face flushing. “I . . . I forgot we’re in such close quarters.” I glanced down at the narrow twin bed. “And this is probably gonna be hard to maneuver in. I’ve never actually had dorm room sex. Aveda would probably say this is another classic college experience I’m having for the first time, and oh god, what if Aveda comes barging back in, I forgot to put a scrunchie on the door—”

  “Evie.” Nate cocked an eyebrow at me, amusement dancing through his eyes. He ran his hands over my hips, his touch feather-light, tracing irresistible patterns. Then he leaned in again, brushing his lips against my ear. “I thought you wanted to fuck.”

  He drew out that last word, making it sound extra filthy. Heat flashed through my entire body and any thoughts of the annoyed person in the next room and the tiny twin bed and Aveda interrupting us flew out of my head.

  “I-I do,” I gasped.

  He pulled back, studying my face, and reached up to cup my cheek. His hair was tousled, his lips a little swollen. But it was his eyes that captured me, like they always did. They were dark and wild, and he looked like he wanted to devour me whole. There was always something completely intoxicating about seeing Nate—usually so gruff and formal and serious—looking like he was about to completely lose control.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said.

  And then he leaned in and pressed his mouth to my neck again.

  “Do you have more costumes?” he asked, his breath hot against my skin.

  “Yes,” I gasped. “I mean, uh . . . I do have more. One more. It’s a Sexy Professor costume. Aveda actually got it for me. It’s because of this fantasy I have . . .”

  “Fantasy?” His mouth moved lower, his teeth nipping at the slope of my breast. “Tell me about that.”

  “I . . . uh . . . a little distracted right now,” I said, my voice high and breathy.

  “Tell me about it,” he said, his tone low and commanding. “And I’ll keep doing this.”

  And then he slid that scrap of lace aside and slipped my nipple into his mouth.

  “Oh . . . oh god . . .” White-hot heat engulfed me and I felt like I was about to explode. “It’s . . .” His teeth scraped against my nipple and I cried out, leaning into it, wanting more. Wanting him.

  The fact that I was basically naked, writhing against him, and he was still fully clothed . . .

  I moaned again, overwhelmed with desire.

  “Keep talking,” he murmured against my skin.

  “I, um . . . it was something from my grad school days,” I said, my words spilling out in a rush. “Involving a hot stranger and nighttime and my office and my desk . . . getting fucked against my desk . . .”

  “What was it you liked about that?” he said, his hand going to the small of my back and pulling me harder against him. “What did you want out of it?”

  “I . . .” I closed my eyes, leaning into the sensation of his mouth on me, his cock pressed against me. I could barely keep a single thought in my head.

  “Tell me,” he insisted, his voice rough.

  “I was always so . . . so overwhelmed at grad school. Trying to keep my life together. It felt like I had neverending responsibilities and someone was always asking me for something and I was so . . . so tired. All the time. I was tied up in knots suppressing my fire power and I always had to be so in control of everything—there was no other option but to be in control of everything. I just wanted someone else to be in charge, just for a minute. To know exactly what I wanted and . . . and to take care of me.”

  “And you never got to fulfill this fantasy?” he said.

  “N-no,” I managed, as his tongue traced my nipple. “I tried to get Richard to do it, but he never—”

  “What?” Nate’s head jerked up, his face clouding over. “This fantasy involved Richard?”

  Fuck.

  “No,” I said hastily. “Of course not. I mean, I told him about it because we were sleeping together, but—”

  “It was something you wanted to do with him. Something you imagined doing . . . with him.”

  “I guess? But only because he was there. I didn’t . . .”

  “Evie . . .” He frowned, all of that intensity and desire from before dissipating on the spot. He gently removed me from his lap, setting me back on the bed. His expression was back to being distant and unreadable.

  “I . . .” He shook his head, staring into space. Looking lost again. “I can’t do this right now.”

  “Nate.” I laid a hand on his arm. His demeanor had changed so fast. “What just happened? We were having such a good time. Why are you . . . Richard repulses me now. I’ve tried to tell you that. I don’t know why you can’t accept—”

  “Why I can’t accept that you were hanging out in the dark with your ex, looking like you were about to . . .” He shook his head again, as if trying to get free of the image. “The way he was looking at you—he still feels something for you. And now you’re telling me he was part of this sexual fantasy you’re still thinking about—”

  “He’s not part of it!” I protested.

  I slid the flimsy ribbon strap up my shoulder, trying valiantly to pull the scraps of lace back into place. I felt ridiculous—almost naked in my sad little costume, nipples hanging out, a heady mix of frustration and hormones raging through me again. Why was he letting this get to him? Why . . .

  “Nate,” I said, my voice plaintive. “Can we please just go back to . . .”

  “No.” He frowned at me, his expression hardening. “You’re still keeping secrets from me. And . . . and I think you keep wanting us to have sex because you think it will magically fix everything between us. But it won’t, Evie. I can see that now.”

  “Then let’s talk about this,” I blurted out. “Why can’t we just . . .”

  I trailed off. What, exactly, did I want us to do? I wrapped my arms around my body, a sudden chill sweeping over me. I wished I hadn’t ripped off the cape part of the costume.

  He studied me, his anger dissipating, only to be replaced with something much worse. Now he looked . . . sad.

  “I think,” he said slowly, “it might be best if we spent some time apart. You finish your mission here. I’ll go back to HQ. And perhaps we can talk at a later date. We should check in about the baby, of course. But talking about us always seems to end badly at the moment.”

  “How can you do that?” I protested. “How can you just go all cold like that?”

  “I’m not being cold. I’m being logical.”

  “Nate.” I looked up at him beseechingly, still feeling foolish in the sad scraps of my “sexy” costume. “How can you just . . . go? Remember when we first . . . when we first started. You were so all in. From the very beginning. You never wavered, you were just all in. Why . . .” My voice wobbled and a tear slipped down my cheek. “Why can’t you be all in now?”

  He regarded me for a long moment, a mus
cle in his jaw twitching. Like it was taking the strength of every cell in his body to hold himself together. Then he leaned over and brushed a soft, sad kiss against my forehead.

  “I am,” he said, getting to his feet. He regarded me for one moment more. “But I’m not sure you are.”

  And then he was gone.

  I gathered the remnants of my sad, skimpy superheroine costume around me and sobbed.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  I WAS STILL a sniveling mess when Aveda returned. I had at least managed to downgrade from sobs to pathetic little sniffles, and I’d kicked off my boots and wriggled myself under a blanket so I was no longer totally exposed to the elements.

  “Evie?” she said softly, her brow furrowing as she took in my crumpled form. “Hold on . . .”

  I turned over on my side, facing the wall. I heard her rustling around, opening our mini fridge, the scrape of a knife against something . . .

  And then a pickle slathered with peanut butter and sprinkled with furikake was shoved under my nose.

  “Here—eat,” she ordered, her voice taking on that imperious Aveda Jupiter cast. “And then tell me what’s wrong.”

  I took the pickle from her as she settled in next to me and took a bite, trying to focus on the soothing crunch, the mix of flavors, tangy sour and creamy sweet and just a little salt exploding on my tongue. Aveda sat there silently until I’d finished the whole thing.

  “So I guess your romantic reunion with Nate ended up being totally unsexy,” she said, her tone softening. “I expected to see at least one scrunchie on that door—instead there are none. Zero scrunchies, Evie!”

  “You’re only supposed to use one,” I whispered, my voice snuffly. “One says, ‘I’m doing sex, don’t come in here.’ You don’t just keep adding scrunchies to show how much sex you’re having.”

  “Oh.” Aveda sounded puzzled. “Well. That’s how it should be, though.”

  “A whole new scrunchie rating system for dorm sexytimes—we should have folks get right on that,” I said, trying for a laugh. It came out bitter and vaguely snorty.

  “Turn over and look at me,” Aveda said, jiggling my shoulder. “And let me know if I have to murder Nate or what.”

  I flopped to my other side, pulling the blanket tightly around me. Aveda took in the remnants of my sexy superheroine costume—the sad little ribbons sliding down my shoulders, the tiara that was now tangled in my hair—and cocked an eyebrow.

  “He didn’t like the costume?”

  “No, he did.” I shoved down a sob. “He just . . . I . . . well, I’m actually not totally sure what happened. He seems to be jealous of Richard. And then he said we needed some time apart and—”

  “Whoa.” Aveda held up a hand. “How can he be jealous of Richard?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, the sob rising in my throat again. “I just . . .” The sob came out fully, and I swiped at my eyes, unable to hold back tears.

  Aveda stroked my hair while I cried, gently smoothing out tangles and keeping the same, rhythmic motion. She removed my sad tiara and set it on the nightstand.

  “I think you need extra support right now,” she declared, pulling out her phone and tapping on the screen. “Let’s get Lucy on the line.”

  “What? Annie, no, don’t bother her, she’s on her honeymoon—”

  “Hello, loves!” Lucy interrupted me, her face filling the screen. She looked sun-kissed, relaxed. Her golden brown hair was tousled, the blonde bits more vibrant than usual. And she had a bright purple flower tucked behind her ear.

  “Oh, no,” I said, burrowing under my blanket. “Look what a good time she’s having, look at . . .” I hiccupped, tears filling my eyes.

  “Evie?” Lucy leaned in, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

  “Marital woes,” Aveda said. “They’ve been communicating badly—ow!” She glared at me. “Did you just smack my arm?!”

  “I said we shouldn’t bother her!” I hissed.

  “Anyway,” Aveda said, rolling her eyes and scooting farther away from me on the bed, “the latest is that Nate’s being weird because he’s jealous of Richard for some unfathomable reason. Will you please tell her everything will be okay? You have the ability to sound much more reassuring than I do.”

  “Ah.” Lucy gave me a gentle smile. “Whatever’s happening, darling, I’m sure you and Nate will work it out. Just remember: sometimes when someone gets mad about something seemingly silly, it’s really about something else underneath. Something that person might not even be aware of yet.”

  “Yes!” Aveda said, jabbing her finger at the screen. “That’s exactly right.”

  “Great,” I said, my voice raw, hoarse. “So there’s something else Nate’s probably mad at me for—something I don’t even know about. Worst mystery ever.”

  “That’s not exactly what I meant,” Lucy said. She paused, pursing her lips, as if carefully considering her words. “The two of you didn’t date that much before you got together, yes?” she said slowly. “You didn’t really get to have that typical twentysomething sowing of wild oats experience—and neither did he. And then you both fell completely in love with the first person either of you were serious about. Which is very lucky.” She gave me a soft smile. “But that also means . . . well, perhaps there are love-related complications coming up you haven’t experienced before, enhanced by the recent big changes in your lives.”

  “Right,” Aveda said, nodding vigorously. “Like, maybe Nate’s having petty jealousy over Richard simply because he’s never loved anyone the way he loves you. So when that feeling comes up, he doesn’t know how to handle it. It’s irrational, and he is very rational—but he can’t just stop feeling that way, he can’t science his way out of it. So it completely upsets his equilibrium.”

  “Very astute!” Lucy said, giving her an approving grin. “Aw, you and Nate are like babies yourselves, in a way! You both had to be grown-ups at an age where most people are anything but. So now you get to deal with all of those little puppy feelings and high drama most of us experience much earlier.”

  “It really is like we’re all in college,” Aveda said. “Nate, too.”

  “I . . . that kinda makes sense,” I admitted, toying with the silky edge of my blanket. “But what do I do about it?”

  “That’s something you have to figure out, love,” Lucy said with an elegant shrug. “But you will, I’m sure of it.”

  “Thanks, Luce,” I said, still snuffling. “Go back to your honeymoon, okay?”

  “Ta, darlings,” she said, blowing us a kiss. “Keep me updated.”

  Then she winked out of sight.

  “I have a thought,” Aveda said, studying me intently. “Let’s get your mind off the Nate problem. Perhaps if you’re thinking of something else, the solution will become clear.” She gave me a hopeful smile. “For instance, I could show you what I found in that creepy book while you were initiating an unsuccessful pregnant lady seduction.”

  “You really know how to make a girl feel better.” I sat up more fully, pulling the blanket tightly around me. She grabbed the big red book we’d taken from the Quiet Room off the nightstand and flipped it open.

  “Now,” Aveda said, her brow crinkling as she switched to business mode. “The section right before the torn-out pages is particularly interesting.” She opened the book to the part where the pages had been ripped out, then flipped back. “Give it a read.”

  I leaned in obligingly, squinting so I could make out the cramped, spidery writing.

  The girl who became a ghost didn’t start out that way—one supposes they never do.

  “Well, yeah,” I murmured to myself. “Most of us don’t start out dead.”

  “There is some rather florid writing on display,” Aveda said. “Nobody can match angsty twentysomethings when it comes to drama.”

  I smiled slightly as I refocused
on the page.

  Legend has it that she was quite the artisan, creating new concoctions for her loved ones out of the most disparate of ingredients—sprigs of mint coupled with fresh strawberries. Orange peel swirling in the depths of the darkest bourbon.

  “Those ingredients don’t seem super ‘disparate’ to me,” I said. “They actually sound pretty complementary, no?”

  “Again with the drama,” Aveda said, shaking her head. “If I was this writer’s teacher, I would definitely have some feedback about purple prose and needlessly enhancing your writing to make a point.”

  This was the gift of her love. But then, one day, all of that changed . . .

  “Oh, shit,” I hissed. “Now things are getting good.”

  Here are some of the words I swear I overheard her say as she brewed her concoctions: “I will get her to tell the truth, I know she feels the same way. Maybe a new cocktail will make her feel inclined to do so? I’ve been experimenting with bitters lately . . . and bitter is how I’m going to feel if she doesn’t confess . . .”

  I turned the page—and realized I’d reached the section of torn-out pages, just as I had earlier that night. Someone didn’t want us to read whatever came next.

  “Dammit!” I exclaimed, flipping through the pages again, just to make sure.

  “I know!” Aveda shrieked, smacking the book with the palm of her hand. “What a cliffhanger, right? But on the plus side, this annoying person with the penchant for making her friends ‘artisanal’ but actually kind of pedestrian sounding drinks—”

  “—sounds like our eventual ghost bartender,” I finished.

  “Exactly!” Aveda crowed. “And it can’t be a coincidence that the rest of her story’s been torn out just as she shows up at a dorm party.”

  “We don’t know when it was torn out, though.” I ran my fingertips idly over the jagged spots where the pages had been ripped. “No one we’ve talked to seems to know anything about a ghost bartender—and we haven’t been able to find anything about her in the stories about Morgan’s ghostly lore. Maybe this book has been this way for years.”