Waking Sebastian

by Melinda Barron

  But she needed to use the library's WiFi to contact Sandra. She retrieved her laptop from the car and found a nice spot inside to sit.

  She sent an e-mail to Sandra, apologizing for the fact that her wireless connection didn’t seem to be working at Mark’s house and promising that she would try to get that problem corrected. Either that or she would contact Mark and ask if she could hook into his system.

  It took no time to compose an email to Sandra, but she knew Sandra didn’t baby-sit her account. Michelle would wait for an hour or so to see if she got a response. In the meantime, she’d do some surfing on the Maddox family.

  After twenty minutes of less than nothing hits, she finally hit pay dirt. A paranormal research site listed the Maddox house in St. Johns County as being haunted.

  “Thanks for the heads up, Kate,” Michelle mumbled under her breath. Of course the only strange thing she’d seen at the house was Sebastian. Could he be the ghost? Somehow she doubted it. Ghosts didn’t kiss like Sebastian did.

  She flipped through several pages until a hyperlink finally took her to the page dedicated to the house. The photo showed it in disrepair and Michelle’s eyebrows lifted. Mark had done quite a bit to the old place in the last five years.

  There were a few paragraphs under the photo, telling the story of how Sebastian Maddox, son of plantation owner Benjamin Maddox, disappeared without a trace in 1823. Benjamin, reportedly rife with grief at his son’s loss, tortured the slaves, whom he blamed for the event. He told all who would listen that a local voodoo queen had used his son as a “sacrifice to their heathen god.”

  Michelle’s blood ran cold as the story ended with Benjamin Maddox killing every slave he could get his hands on, but his son never reappeared. It is said, the article concluded, that Sebastian Maddox walks the plantation grounds to this day.

  “Okay, what I need right now is a picture,” Michelle muttered. “If I were writing this story, I would have a photograph of Sebastian Maddox so the heroine could gasp and faint at the idea she’d kissed a ghost.”

  “They didn’t have cameras in 1823,” Charles whispered in her ear.

  “Of course not.” She flipped through several more pages on the site but found no more information. “But there could be a painting, a drawing, a silhouette…something!”

  “Are you one of those people who need physical proof to know something exists?” Charles’ voice sounded as if it were across the room now. “I would think a person who wrote for a living would have a little more of an open mind.”

  “Shut up, Charles.” The man sitting next to Michelle peered over the top of his laptop at her. He frowned, then moved in his chair so that he was no longer facing her way. “Sorry, I’m just a little upset over something I’m reading.”

  Her neighbor’s frown deepened before he gave her the true cold shoulder, turning so that his back was to her, his own laptop perched on the arm of his chair.

  Michelle grimaced as she flipped through a few more pages. It was hard to focus on what she was reading when all she could think about was a man named Sebastian Maddox disappearing in 1823.

  If his father had been correct, and he had been a victim of voodoo, did that mean he was a—she swallowed hard as the word zombie pushed into her mind and grabbed hold.

  She closed her eyes and could almost feel Sebastian’s fingers on her clit, his mouth on her nipple. “No, zombies don’t kiss and provide orgasms, or at least I hope they don’t.”

  The man who had turned his back to her wheeled around and pierced Michelle with a cold stare. “You are in a library, young lady. I suggest you behave.”

  He grabbed his computer and stomped off, probably to report her to the librarians. Michelle couldn’t stop thinking about zombies, the undead shell of a person that did the bidding of its master, a voodoo follower that had brought it back to life. Or at least that’s what the movies always showed.

  Truthfully, where real voodoo was concerned, Michelle had absolutely no idea how a zombie was made, or if it were even possible. But if they all looked like Sebastian, then she’d order up an army of them to take home with her: one for each day of the year.

  Michelle held back a giggle, then clicked over to her email program. Sandra still hadn’t responded, and that usually meant she wouldn’t for a while. She closed down her laptop and gathered her things. A check of her watch showed it was almost six. That meant she would probably be facing the tail end of rush hour.

  Still, maybe she could get home fairly quickly. But at the house she had no access to Internet.

  As the idea of a team of sexy zombies serving her every whim still continued to fill her mind, she went back to her car and drove until she found a used bookstore. Inside, she asked the clerk for books on Florida history and voodoo. She left the store with six new purchases, the thrill of research running through her veins as she headed back toward Kate's house.

  Chapter Four

  The table was set with laptop, lantern, books, and, just to be on the safe side, some garlic she’d found in the kitchen, a tree limb she’d whittled to a stake, and a crucifix taken from the hallway outside her door. She wasn’t exactly sure what tools one needed to vanquish a zombie, and had found no information so far in the books she’d read.

  Not that she’d had that much time. She’d arrived at the house just before seven to find an empty kitchen with a note from Marta saying that dinner was “keeping warm in the oven.”

  Michelle wasn’t exactly sure what Marta was the guardian of, but she had a feeling it wasn’t the meatloaf, carrots and potatoes she found wrapped in foil.

  “It’s almost as if she’s avoiding me,” Michelle had whispered to herself before she sat down alone and wolfed down the food as if it were the last thing she’d ever get to eat. Then she’d gone upstairs to take a nap. A natural night owl, she usually took naps in the afternoon, ensuring she would be refreshed and ready to write when the mood stuck her, usually around midnight.

  But since she’d been in town she’d had to forgo her afternoon sleeping habit. She woke at one a.m., took a shower and dressed in a gauzy shirt that she tied at the waist, and a long skirt slit up both sides. She hit the books as soon as she was dressed, keeping a watch on the clock so she could make it to the cove around six, which was the time Sebastian usually showed up.

  Now she stared at the items on the table. “Those are for vampires, moron. If you wrote about a heroine using garlic on a zombie, you’d think she was nuts.”

  Or would she? Michelle wasn’t exactly sure. She still couldn’t get her laptop to connect to any wireless system here and Mark’s computer was password protected, so it was of absolutely no help. She picked up the first book and turned to the index, looking for the word garlic. When she didn’t find it she turned to the second one, coming up with the same results.

  After a fruitless search for ideas to fight a zombie she picked up the book the clerk had told her was the most accurate about voodoo and started to read. She soon found out that zombies were dead people brought back to life to serve a voodoo master. Contrary to popular myth, the zombies were generally used as plantation workers.

  Several historians had ideas that zombies were created by giving people drugs that would make them appear dead. After they had been buried, their new “masters” would come along and breathe new life into them, so to speak. In a superstitious people, Michelle supposed the “dead” would believe they had been resurrected. They would know nothing of the drugs given them.

  She read other chapters on voodoo and its origins in Africa and the Caribbean. Voodoo was a religion, she knew, and like most things that the general public didn’t know a lot about it was feared. And like anything, religious or otherwise, if put in the wrong hands it could be used for evil purposes.

  Michelle wondered if that was what had happened with Sebastian. Did he anger someone? If, as the article had reported, the slaves had used him as a sacrifice, there must be some reason they had selected him. That was one of the questions she
intended to ask him when he made his appearance.

  “My desk looked much like this.” She jumped at the sound of his voice, knocking over her chair and moving backward quickly.

  “I didn’t hear you come up,” she said, knowing the words sounded lame.

  He touched the books, his long fingers stroking the spines. “We had books, parchment, a quill and ink, and a candle.” She watched him pick up her electric lantern and examine it. “How things have changed. Where is the flame?”

  “It’s, um, electric.” She took a step toward the desk. “You really are Sebastian Maddox, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.” He set the lamp down. “Are you a voodoo witch?”

  “No.” The disappointment on his face made her heart drop.

  “I was praying you had come to release me.” He looked at the ocean, then turned a grin on her that she thought would make her clothes melt right off her body. “If you are not here for that, perhaps we can pass the hour in more pleasant pursuits. Will you undress for me?”

  Michelle’s hands went to her buttons, her eyes locking onto his. His blue eyes smoldered as he watched her, and the smile on his face was about the sexiest thing she’d ever seen. It was almost as if she were in a trance, as if she had become the mindless zombie and he the master. When she realized what she was doing, she moved her fingers to her hair, combing through the strands, but not before leaving enough buttons open to reveal her bra, and quite a lot of skin.

  “What is this?” He put his fingers on her low-cut bra and tugged.

  “It’s a bra—a sort of…modern corset.”

  He traced a finger over the edge and Michelle shivered.

  “You’re so soft.” He tugged on the bra and frowned. “How does it come off?”

  “Stop!” She batted at his hand. “Listen, we need to talk. We can’t just…”

  Sebastian put his hand behind her neck, pulling their lips together. She groaned as he slid his tongue into her mouth, licking at her until she thought she would die of pleasure. The kiss was extraordinary, producing a heady sensation that made her brain feel fuzzy.

  “Sebastian,” she whispered against his mouth as he licked at her. “We need to discuss things. Please.” She pushed against his chest, praying his will was stronger than her own. Right now all she really wanted to do was throw him down to the ground, straddle him and ride him until the sun came up, which she knew would happening in just over thirty minutes. That still wouldn’t be enough time, she knew, to get her fill of him.

  He took a step back and bowed. “I am sorry.” The pain on his face made her stomach clench. “I will leave.”

  “No!” She grabbed at his arm. “That’s not what I meant. I want to know who you are, and how it’s possible that you’re here, right now. Why have I not seen you anywhere else? And how can you be here, at this spot at the exact same time three mornings in a row?”

  The pained look on his face intensified, and she stroked his cheek. “Tell me.”

  “It is part of the curse. For one hundred and eighty six years, I have come to this cove every morning to watch the sunrise. The voodoo priestess who bound me said it would teach me humility, to see what I had lost, to know I had one hour a day to enjoy life.

  The ability to form words escaped Michelle as she processed what he had said. She replayed it in her mind, knowing it sounded impossible, but the proof of it stood in front of her. He wore dark breaches that looked as if he’d just put them on, but it was obvious they had been hand-sewn. His chest was bare, as were his feet. His blond hair streamed over his open shirt and down his chest and back.

  “You’re a male sleeping beauty,” she said softly. “Except instead of a wicked step mother, there’s a voodoo priestess.”

  “If you wish,” he winked at her and then licked his lips, “perhaps we should try the kiss again, to see if it breaks the spell.”

  Nervous laughter rocked her body and she hugged her arms around her waist. “I’m afraid if I kissed you we wouldn’t stop. I want some more answers first. Do you remember what happened?”

  He shrugged. “I remember going to visit Sarya, the slave girl who was my lover. The witch led me to a clearing where they placed me on an altar. I was deep in my cups, and don’t remember much about that night.”

  Sebastian stopped talking and looked back at the ocean. Michelle could almost feel the sting of his memories, and she stepped up next to him.

  “Go on.”

  “The next night I awoke here, in the cove. I screamed at the witch, told her I would have her whipped. Then she explained that I was selfish, a horrible man. She said Sarya wished to wed and I wouldn’t let her, that I thought only to keep her for myself.”

  Michelle tried to tamp down the threads of jealousy she felt about Sarya. What should it matter now, anyway?

  “Was it true?”

  “Sarya belonged to me. She served me in my bed.”

  Michelle formed a rebuttal in her mind, but he spoke before she could open her mouth. “I was wrong, though. The witch explained to me that Sarya loved Nadim. At first I was angry, saying I would have him sold, break them apart. But as the mornings passed, I realized how selfish I was.”

  He ran his fingers through his hair, which spread out in the wind. “On the eighth morning I was prepared to tell them how wrong I had been. But no one came. Not the priestess. Not Sarya. No one, until you.”

  His voice cracked and Michelle swore she saw tears in the corners of his eyes. “How is it you know how long it has been?”

  “When I awaken the number appears in my mind, and then suddenly I am here. I watch the sunrise, I mourn the loss of my life, and then I sleep again.”

  What he was saying was so surreal. And his obvious pain ripped into her, making her heart ache. “Sebastian…” Words failed her and she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close. “How long…?”

  “Until just after sunrise.” He stroked her cheek, then kissed her gently. “I have seen people in the cove from time to time, but no one has ever seen me. Not until you.”

  He’d said that before, but the meaning of it didn’t hit her until now. His lips brushed against hers before dipping downward, kissing the swell of her breasts. “You mean no one else has seen you? Ever?” It was hard to concentrate while he was kissing her breasts, his tongue running over her skin.

  “Never.” He pulled at the bra again. “Why does this not come off?”

  Michelle giggled, then put her hands on either side of his head, lifting it so that their eyes were level. “It hooks in the back. But right now we need to discuss you, not my bra.”

  “It seems such a cruel device, to contain your beautiful breasts so tightly.” He pushed her shirt off her shoulders and wrapped his arms around her. His fingers immediately found the ends of her bra and he tugged, trying to break them apart. “’Tis sewn shut.”

  She laughed, snuggling closer. Her nipples were rock hard, the sensitive nubs rubbing against the satin of her bra. The idea that he wanted to touch her so badly made her body tingle with anticipation. They should be discussing the situation at hand, but how could she deny him if it had been one hundred and eighty six years?

  Scratch that, it had just been two nights ago, really, when he’d brought her to orgasm. And what an orgasm it had been. The memory of the way her body quaked under his touch shot her desire higher. “Move your hands.”

  He complied immediately and she undid her bra, letting it fall off her shoulders. He watched the material as it floated to the sand, then turned his gaze on her breasts, his mouth open in a perfect o before he licked his lips, and lowered his head.

  Michelle gasped as he sucked in a nipple, his fingers working the other one as lightning bolts of pleasure shot down to her clit. He nibbled and licked until she gasped, pushing herself into him, trying to get him to take more of her. When she did that, he moved his mouth to her other breast, his hand sliding along her skin to torment the nipples his teeth and tongue had just pleasured so well.

 
“Sebastian. Oh good Lord…you need… I…” He pulled at the shirt still tied at her waist, then let it drop. When his fingers found her waistband, his mouth left her breast.

  “What is this?” He pulled on the material, his eyes widening as it expanded.

  “Elastic.” She pushed the skirt over her hips and let it flutter to the ground.

  “I think I like that,” he said, his gaze focused down. He knelt, his breathe hot on her thighs. Michelle thought she would come just from him looking at her, from the feel hot air on her body. “Your quim is almost bare.”

  “Yeah, I’m too chicken to do a Brazilian. I shave.” She looked down to see him staring back at her.

  “Shave your quim?”

  She nodded, the whole situation taking on a “this is too weird” aspect. “We should sit so that— Oh dear Lord.”

  Sebastian ran his tongue up her slit, his arms wrapped around her hips to hold her close. Michelle put her hands on his shoulders as his tongue traced the line of her pussy before pushing into her wetness.

  Michelle didn’t even try to push him away as he feasted on her, his tongue darting in and out of her lips, running up and down her soft folds until her body quaked. Her legs felt like jelly and she was sure if it weren’t for his arms around her hips she would fall down and sink into the sand.

  He drove her mad as he wiggled around, his tongue exploring every inch of her he could find except her clit, which ached for his attention. She wanted to pull his hair, direct him to the sensitive spot at the top of her mons.

  Within seconds, though, she found out he needed no direction. His fingers separated her folds, two fingers pushing inside her as his free hand grasped her hip firmly. He pumped gently. When she rocked into his touch, his lips found her clit, sucking it into his mouth slowly then nibbling just enough to send her soaring.

  Her body jerked against him as her orgasm hit, the feeling strong and urgent. “Sebastian!” She wrapped her fingers in his hair, grinding herself against him as he murmured his approval, his fingers sliding in and out as he continued to devour her.