by Temple Hogan
“We have to do something for her.” She heard Charlie’s remark and heard Phil agree. The words struck terror in Sera’s heart.
Please, dear lord, make them both pregnant with constant morning sickness so they have no time to bother me.
Chapter Two
She only felt a little guilty for her prayer as she swung her car out of the parking lot and headed home. The real guilt came when she realized once again, they were right. She had had several drinks and was driving under the influence. She set her car on automatic pilot and let it maneuver itself. Sometimes being a witch had its perks. She was half asleep when the car came to a stop in her driveway, and her head felt twice its normal side.
She’d take it easy the rest of the day, she decided, have a cup of tea and curl up in bed early to read the latest P.D. James mystery. Suddenly, her most favorite pastime didn’t seem as appealing as it once had. She thought of her sisters with their sexy, loving husbands and felt the lack of so much in her life. Somehow, it didn’t seem fair. She’d always tried hard to be the good daughter, to lead an exemplary and even more importantly, a normal life. She never used her powers as a witch, well, almost never.
There was that time when Nick Hilliard had come to see Charlie, and she’d tried to help Charlie appear nice and normal, but as usual, Phil had gotten her way. Charlie had looked beautiful in the blue silk dress and high strappy heels. The way Nick had stared at her that night and today, as if he couldn’t get enough of seeing her.
And the touching. My goodness, that man touched Charlie every chance he got, putting a hand at her waist and sometimes letting it dip lower before he brought it back, taking her hand, leaning toward her. Sera tried not to think what he must be like when he got Charlie in bed, but once in a while, a frisson of curiosity brought an image that made her blush. Charlie was lucky. So was Phil.
One day, she thought, it would be her turn. In the meantime, she couldn’t sit out here in the driveway, daydreaming. She grabbed her purse, tumbled out of the car, nearly landing facedown on the cement. But she got her footing, smoothed her hideous pink skirt and made her way to the neat bungalow that was her sanctuary. She’d loved it from the first moment she’d spotted it and had painstakingly refurbished it in the order of the HGTV brothers.
There was a second, smaller bungalow in the back, which had been used for the previous owner’s mother-in-law. Currently, an elderly homeless man she’d taken in occupied it, a fact that had horrified her mother and even her sisters. But it was her house and her decision.
Owen Cutter, an apt name for a man who cut lawns in the neighborhood, had lost his lease on his house and was out on the street. When she’d heard of his plight, she’d instantly offered her guest cottage. In exchange, he cut her lawn, ran errands and was her own personal caretaker. The arrangement had been working for three months now, and she was oddly comforted by a glimpse of him out and about her yard, puttering at this or that. So her world might not be exciting, but it was a snug, secure world and she was happy. Most of the time. She hurried up the steps to the front door.
It was open!
She hadn’t left it open. She was very careful about such things. She stood staring at the foyer floor and listening. The sound of cursing came to her. Someone was inside her house. Was it Owen? Would he have entered her house for some reason? What if he’d had an emergency and was looking for her. She was about to hurry inside when her mother’s words of caution came to her. What if it wasn’t Owen? She hesitated.
Should she confront the intruder? She was after all a witch and could take him down. Or should she call the police? Of course, that would be the thing, the normal thing to do. She eased herself back on the porch and dug in her bag for her cell phone.
“Yoohoo!”
Sera jerked up her head, searching for the source of the high-pitched greeting. She already knew who it was. Only her new neighbor, Jane Prescott, could make that god-awful screech. Jane stood in her yard, a watering hose in one hand, waving a handkerchief in the other.
“Sera, I let your plumber in,” she called. “I hope it was the right thing to do.”
Sera noted the panel truck parked on the street, Bart’s Plumbing scrolled across the top half of the side, and below ‘We guarantee to open your pipes.’
“I hope it was the right thing to do,” Jane repeated, spraying her roses.
“Okay,” Sera called and waved. She’d have to talk to Jane. When she’d given her a key to her bungalow, she hadn’t meant her to let just anyone in, not even the plumber, but for now, she’d let it go. She was too tired and despondent. She just wanted to mix herself a margarita, forget the tea and lay down for a while.
She pulled open her screen door and stepped inside. She went immediately to the kitchen. That should be where the plumber was, since her garbage disposal was on the blintz. Sure enough, when she rounded the dining room and looked toward the kitchen, she caught sight of the lower half of a man’s body. His head and shoulders were out of sight under the sink, but the rest of him sprawled across the floor. His shirt had ridden up and his abs were exposed, rock hard and well-tanned abs, she noted but didn’t dwell on it. In fact, she glanced away quickly and next encountered the bulge in the crotch of his jeans. She had an immediate image of what lay there and heat flamed in her cheeks. She moved her gaze away and saw long, denim-clad legs ending in work boots. She heard a wrench slip followed by another lusty curse.
She felt overwhelmed suddenly by the sound and sight of a large, well-put together male in her kitchen. He took up entirely too much space. And she could smell him. Men smelled different, aggressive and bold, with a ‘look at me’, kind of smell. She could even smell his crotch and the follicles of his hair, which awakened something primitive deep inside her. She wanted him gone, now, this instant. She had a premonition of something momentous about to happen.
“H-hello,” she said hesitantly.
He didn’t seem to have heard her.
She cleared her throat and tried again. “Hello-o.”
His body jerked, his abs tightening and his legs stiffening. She heard him bump something under the sink followed by his annoyed exclamation. Then he was out from under the cabinet and grinning up at her.
“Oh, hi. You must be Sera Spencer,” he said and nodded toward the sink. “You got a real problem here. Plugged pipes. That’s why your garbage disposal’s not working.”
She hadn’t heard a word he said. From the moment he’d looked at her with wide brown eyes surrounded by dark lashes and laugh lines, she’d stopped breathing. And she hadn’t yet started again. She could only stare at him, taking in the lean, tanned cheeks, the curly dark hair lying over his forehead, the wide generous mouth with chiseled lips and a nose and jaw sculpted by the gods. She’d never seen a man as handsome as this, and it was more than just looks. It was as if she’d always known him, as if should she planted a kiss on his sweaty brow, she’d already know how he tasted. She would know his heat, his passion, and she would succumb to it any time he asked.
Damn Charlie and Phil!
“You’re not a plumber,” she said.
He stopped talking and looked at her at first in puzzlement, then with a knowing grin.
“Lady, I don’t blame you for doubting me,” he said and got to his feet as lithely as an athlete.
She wished he hadn’t. He was much taller and bigger than she’d imagined, seeming to take up all the room in her tiny kitchen. She felt him towering over her, enclosing her in a cocoon of his own making. She wanted to turn and run, but she knew you couldn’t outrun a demon, even one whose only function was to give sexual pleasure.
“I haven’t introduced myself,” he said, holding out his hand.
She didn’t take it and just to be on the safe side backed up a step or two. He noticed and stepped forward and held out his hand again.
“I’m Jack Trent, Bart’s brother. He asked me to work on your sink area.”
“I know who you are, or rather what you are,” she bega
n, hiccupping in an attempt to breathe properly. She felt the strangest need to jump all over him. What did the girls who came to the library say, ‘jump his bones’, yeah, that!
“Well, yeah, I’m not a certified plumber, but Bart’s under the weather and I said I’d help him out. I’m really a professor of Mathematics. Can you believe it? I teach at the university.” He hooked his fingers in his belt at his hips and smiled at her. “I promise I can do the job.”
“I’ll bet you can,” Sera muttered, drew a shaky breath and tried to sort her thoughts. No, she wasn’t wrong. Her sneaky sisters had done what they’d threatened. She felt the alcohol she’d consumed at the reception rising up inside her, creating images she’d never had before, that she’d never allowed herself to have before.
“I know who you are,” she said again, trying very hard not to slur her words. “You’re a Succubus, no, that’s not right,” she put her hands to her head and swayed.
He leaped forward to catch her before she fell.
“Whoa,” he said, encircling her waist with one arm. “Are you okay? I heard you were at your sister’s wedding. Looks like you had a few too many.”
“But not too many to know who you are and why you’re here. You’re a-an Incubus. That’s what it is.” She gazed at him triumphantly. “My sisters sent you to make love to me and show me how boring my life is without a man in it, but I do just fine on my own. I have a vibrator, a good one, not one of those little…” She circled her finger in contempt and fell silent.
“I’m sure you do,” he said with a big grin. “But I’m not an Incubus. Do you know what they are?”
“Demon lovers,” she crowed and swayed against him. She liked his smell and the warmth of his touch. Why not succumb? She was a virgin, but what good was it doing her anyway? She’d never once met a man worth going to bed with. Maybe she was too picky. This seemed a good enough specimen to start.
“You’ll do,” she said then paused. “You won’t suck away my breath, will you?” She glared at him. He was a very good specimen. “Never mind, I’m a witch, and you can’t harm me anyway.” Taking hold of his shirt, she half dragged him toward her bedroom.
“Whoa,” he said, not really resisting, but not leading the way as she’d thought he would.
She led him into her bedroom and pushed him with both hands so he fell backwards on her bed.
“Wait a minute, ma’am, Miss Spencer, you’ve got me wrong. I’m not one of those plumbers. Besides, you’ve had a lot to drink and I would never take advantage of a woman in these circumstances.” He sat up.
“Why not? Don’t you find me attractive?” She straddled him.
He went still, and she took advantage and lowered her head to his. Her lips closed over his, and she probed with her tongue, the way she’d read about in romance books.
“Yeah,” she purred. “You taste so good.” She went in for another kiss, and it took her a moment to realize he was returning her kiss with a greater fervor than she’d experienced before. Suddenly, he released her mouth.
“No, no, even an Incubus wouldn’t take advantage of a woman when she’s drunk on her ass,” he said and, taking hold of her arms, turned her on the bed so he was on top.
Her body erupted with a singing sensation, and she reached for him just before a warm, fuzzy blackness rose up and claimed her. The last thing she remembered was the feel of his hard body against hers and the brush of his lips against her own. She sank into the darkness without resistance, a smile on her face.
“Holy Mother of God,” Jack swore, trying to gain the will to push himself off the soft body beneath him.
If ever a man was being tested, this was it. He’d never tasted such sweet kisses or been so blatantly, innocently enticed. Now the woman that had him throbbing with need lay passed out beneath him, her breath hot against his throat. Who would have thought a simple stakeout could present this kind of temptation. Sighing, he pushed himself up and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the sleeping female.
He hadn’t expected to encounter anyone. His investigation had shown she was supposed to be at her sister’s wedding and reception. He figured he could slip in, plant his bugs and get out. He already had a setup for listening in to her conversations in a nearby rental. Simple, right, yet suddenly, it had gotten very complicated.
He’d traced Mannie Somner here to this phone number and assumed she was his girlfriend or something, and though a knockout, she wasn’t exactly Mannie’s type. So how did she fit into all this?
Somner was a con artist who’d bilked thousands of people out of millions and gotten away just a hair’s breath ahead of the feds. Jack and his team had spent long months tracking him down. The unexpected lead had come from the trace on Mannie’s mother’s phone. Hard to believe a slime ball like him had a mother, but there it was. She’d had heart surgery, and like a good son, Mannie had called. They had him! Or did they?
Jack glanced at the woman on the bed. Beautiful, blonde, sloppy drunk and totally uninhibited with her sexuality. Maybe she was Mannie’s doll after all. How else to explain her phone number showing up on Mama Somner’s line? Jack sighed. This couldn’t be another dead end. Don’t think like that, he admonished himself and swiped a hand through his hair, thinking back over what had just happened.
When he’d heard her returning, he’d had to improvise, pretending to be a plumber, since that was his cover story. He didn’t know a damned thing about plumbing, but it hadn’t mattered. She was blind drunk. Had to be to explain her ranting about Incubi and such. He shook his head.
“Wrong move, Trent,” he muttered. He should have come on a weekday when she was safely at work, but he’d been too anxious to find Somner.
She made a soft snoring sound and lapsed back into silence. Her legs dangled off the bed, and he imagined what her back would feel like in the morning if she remained in that position. Okay, it was up to him. Maybe he could win her confidence, and she’d give up her lover.
Somner had to be at least fifteen years older than her, florid, balding, he couldn’t be a hot young babe’s anything, could he? She was a little bit weird. Maybe she went for the older man? Maybe she had daddy issues? She wasn’t his problem except that she could lead him to Mannie.
He got to his feet and swung her legs up on the bed, entangling himself in the chiffon layers of her skirt. The dress was so damned tight, he wondered how she could breathe, which brought on an unaccustomed wave of bad conscience. Turning back her cover, he found a pair of cotton pajamas neatly folded beneath the pillow and accepted the fact that he must put her to bed.
No big deal. He’d undressed many women, well, not that many, but enough to know how to get them out of a dress. Finding the zipper was the big problem, the rest came easy, and soon, she lay encased in a pair of sensible cotton underpants and an equally sensible bra. He’d never really dealt with those before. Skimpy silk and lace undies? Sure! Who wore cotton underwear, he wondered, grappling with the hooks on her bra. He removed it and turned his attention to her panties, when his gaze fell on the soft, full breasts with their rosy nipples. He paused and just stared.
He’d never seen such perfect breasts before, and he’d seen a few. His hands itched to cup them. His mouth watered to taste. She drew in a breath and turned her head in sleep. Suddenly, he felt ashamed for his voyeurism. Grabbing up the pajama top, he shoved her limp arms through the sleeves and buttoned the front.
He tried not to look, not to notice soft, white thighs or the blonde curly mound as he got her into her bottoms. He rolled her under the covers, took one last glance at her face, innocent in sleep and walked out of the room, turning off the light behind him. He knew he’d be cursed by the image of her lush body far too long into the night.
Get your mind on your job, he admonished himself. He’d have to rethink how he was going to handle this and the beautiful, over-sexed blonde passed out in her bed. He left the house, closing the door behind him. Only after he heard the lock click did he remember he’d left his
gun and his makeshift toolbox sitting on her kitchen floor.
Careless! What was happening to him?
He could always break back in. A helpful neighbor had opened the door for him the first time, but he was not without his skills. Her locks would be a cinch. He decided not to go that route. It gave him a chance to come round again, and maybe he’d find out something about Somner.
He shook his head in disgust. He’d never before been diverted from his job by a beautiful woman. What made her different from any of the others? He wasn’t sure about the answer to that and thrust it from his mind. His job was to get a line on Mannie Somner, and arrest the bastard before he bilked some more people out of their life’s savings. Trent meant to get him and the stolen money. It had to be somewhere, and it was his job to find it.
He shivered. A chill had come with the evening, and he’d left his jacket inside as well. It was going to be a long night.
Chapter Three
She was on her bed, flat on her back and someone was on top of her. Part of her wanted to tell whoever or whatever to get off her, but the contact was so arousing. She opened her mouth and sighed, and lips captured her own, a tongue hot and moist slid between her teeth, making every nuance of her body crumple with desire. She moaned and returned the kiss. It was delicious as was the warmth that filled her body with such completeness that she couldn’t keep herself from moving in rhythm with each stroke that filled her with molten pleasure.
So this was what her sisters were talking about. They were right. This was better than a vibrator. The measured thrusts continued, surrounding her in a blue haze that awakened every nerve ending. A cry rose up inside her, and she fought against it, but her body was arching with anticipation of a building culmination. Her moan turned wild and uninhibited. She opened her eyes and looked into the face of Jack Trent, Incubus Extraordinaire. She’d known it was him. Her climax claimed her, she felt her muscles contracting and didn’t…couldn’t fight it.