by Jill Myles
With every step he took, the sounds of the casino fled a little farther. Everything in me screamed with horrible tension, and the beer was just compounding the problem. One wrong move and I’d throw up all over my savior, so I kept my eyes squeezed shut. “Where are you taking me?”
His voice was a low whisper that soothed. “Back to your hotel, once you tell me where it is.”
The part of me that worried about telling a perfect stranger where my hotel room was shut down when the next wave of Itch-induced tension shot through me, and my limbs clenched again. “Super 8,” I bit out, then whimpered when he slid me into the backseat of a cab.
Through a drunken fog, I watched as the hotel approached in the distance. The lights of the Super 8 sign seemed uncomfortably bright as my new friend helped me from the cab, picking me up and carrying me out once more.
“My room,” I mumbled.
“I’ll take you to your room,” he whispered in my ear, and I moaned with the pleasure that simple little sentence sent rocketing through my body.
I gestured feebly at my purse, hanging limply from my arm. “Key’s in there.” I needed a lot more alcohol if I was going to get through this pain; my pulse hammered so hard in my body that it felt like someone was beating a gong.
My helper ignored me, sliding a key card into the nearest door. When he pushed it open, the cool air of the air-conditioned room hit me like a cocoon. I sighed with relief.
“Does the cold feel good?”
I nodded against my faceless hero’s shoulder.
He laid me on the bed, and I felt the cool softness of crisp sheets under my sensitive body. I heard him across the room and the clicks of the dial as he turned the A-C down. The clothes on my body felt too warm, too overheated. I wanted to feel the cool sheets all over me, and I plucked at my sleeve. “Hurts.”
“Your clothes?” the soft voice whispered against my skin. He’d leaned very close to me, my solicitous hero. I could smell his breath near mine—a hint of spicy smoke and cloves—and it danced across my skin, teasing me. The succubus instincts in me made me reach for him as I would a lover, even as I opened my eyes to look at his face.
It was the tall stranger from the porn store. His beautiful, swarthy face with the amber eyes stared back at me, smiling as if he were amused by my drunken agony.
Instinct told me that I should run away from him. Scream, cry for help, anything to get me away from this bastard who intended me harm. Oh God, and I’d let him into my room. I’d even wrapped my arms around him and snuggled up against his chest.
I pushed at him, trying to get away. It was useless. I wasn’t real strong even on my best day, and with the Itch raging through me, my body really didn’t want him to go away. I wanted him to settle that heavy weight on top of my body and make sweet, forbidden love to me all night long.
He brushed a lock of hair off my forehead and gave me a hint of a smile, showing teeth of dazzling whiteness underneath. Nice, even teeth. No hint of fangs. “You look frightened, ma belle.”
“Who are you?” The breathy growl caught in my throat. “What are you going to do to me?” The way it came out, it sounded more like an invitation than a frightened question.
He seemed amused by my drunken wariness. His hand stroked my hair, then the soft, overheated flesh of my arm, and the Itch began to switch from pain to intense pleasure. My breath hissed in my throat.
“You may call me Luc. And I’m here to help you, believe it or not.”
“Forgive me if I choose to believe ‘not,’ ” I whispered. “You’ve been following me.” At the hint of a smile again, the throbbing started, more painful than ever.
“Believe what you like,” he said, smiling wickedly as he lifted my hand. He flipped it over, examined it, and then kissed the palm. “I want only to help a beautiful woman in need. And you are in need. I think your friend back there slipped something into your drink.”
He did? And here I’d thought it was just the alcohol and the Itch. “Bastard gave me a roofie?” I slurred, pressing my hand against his mouth again. No wonder he hadn’t passed out like the pizza boy did when I touched him. Something in the drug was messing up my powers.
He nodded and pressed another kiss on my sensitive hand.
His touch sent shudders rocketing through my body. Even though I did not know or trust him, he was here and I needed him. I didn’t pull away, just watched him with dizzy, lusting eyes.
Luc’s hand stroked down my arm, gently massaging my tense flesh. The horrible, burning tension reduced, slowly replaced by throbbing desire—a welcome response. I arched under the gentle ministration, showing silent appreciation of his touch.
“Better?” His teasing whisper moved across my skin. “More?”
The right answer was “No” or “Help, police,” but all I could think about was that soothing touch and the things it was doing to my desperate body.
His hand stroked across my shoulder, toward the buttons that ran up the front of my light, summery khaki top. “Do your clothes still hurt you?”
They did. Even now, the lace of my bra bit into my sensitized skin and made me miserable. I nodded, my breath sucking in as his long, tanned fingers hovered near the first button, then undid it, revealing a few inches of my pale skin. Those oddly yellow eyes stayed focused on my face, as if to reassure me that he was here for my pleasure, and not his.
One more button, then two, then another, and then the fabric parted and exposed my skin to him, the cups of my bra blindingly purple in the pale light of the hotel room. He looked down then, and the expression on his face changed slightly, from neutral to fascinated. “You are lovely.”
“Comes with the job,” I murmured, my back arching as I tried to aim my needing breasts toward his stroking hand. But he seemed oblivious to my wants, his dark hand splaying across my stomach, smoothing the soft flesh there.
I lay back, fascinated by that large hand against my skin as it circled my belly button, then moved down my side and slid under my back. With a deft motion, he lifted me into a sitting position, his other hand sliding behind my neck. “This will only take a moment, ma belle.”
With those soothing words ringing in my ears, he slid off my unbuttoned top.
The cool air was wonderful against my flesh. The more clothing that I took off, the better I felt, even if the Itch hadn’t been scratched. I sighed softly with pleasure and put my arms around his neck again, trying to pull him toward me for a kiss.
“Non, chérie,” he said, flashing me another white smile that drove me wild. “You are drunk and do not know what you are thinking.”
“I have a pretty good idea of what I’m thinking,” I said, petulant, but let him lean away from me. After all, I couldn’t explain to him that I’d boozed up because I needed sex really badly. Or that I was a succubus. Who’d been cursed.
Some things you just didn’t discuss on the first date.
I didn’t pull out of his arms, though, and he didn’t seem to be in any rush to let me go. His hands smoothed up and down my back, stroking me and petting me as if I were a cat, and I arched with pleasure, my hips gyrating softly against the bed.
His amber eyes held mine as he undid the hooks on my bra, then helped me shrug the itchy material off my body. The last offending garment on my torso gone, he slid me gently back down onto the bed.
I nearly writhed with anticipation as his gaze glided over my body again. “You are very beautiful,” he said, his hand sliding over my stomach again.
“You already said that,” I slurred, though it didn’t bother me like it normally did when men commented on my looks. Perhaps I was too far gone from the Itch.
I expected him to zoom in for my breasts, to put the moves on me, like any sane man would. But my mysterious stranger simply kneaded my skin, massaging away the awful tension and leaving a terrible ache in its place.
His jacket pocket began to vibrate.
A frown creased his beautiful face as he pulled the phone out of his pocket, fli
pped it open, and placed it to his ear. His other hand remained on my bare skin, caressing. “Oui?”
Silence. Then he said, “Safe. You should have no worries.” Another pause and a smile. “I am looking out for our best interests, mon ami. Have faith.” He snapped the phone shut and gazed back down at my flushed skin. “Friends. They always they call at the most inappropriate times, non?”
I wanted his hands back on me again, and I arched on the bed, suggesting so.
He took the hint. Phone put away, both his hands slid farther down my body and tugged at my shorts. They came off with one quick pull and were instantly discarded to the floor, leaving me only in my white cotton panties.
The sight of them brought a chuckle to Luc, and he touched the waistband lightly. “Not what I was expecting on a woman such as you.”
“What do you mean?” I breathed, twitching as I waited for him to pull on the elastic Hanes Her Way band and expose my aching flesh to the air. I burned for him to fall over me and ravish me, to take away this endless torment.
But the phone rang in his pocket again, and his mouth thinned with displeasure. He took my hand again and kissed the back. “Tonight is not our night, it seems. I will leave you to get some sleep, ma belle. Perhaps next when we meet, you will not be so drunk and I will not be such a chevalier, eh?”
It was obvious I was going to have to seduce him to get any sort of relief around here. I slid my hands to his crotch and rubbed it enticingly. He might be saying “no” but parts of his anatomy were definitely saying “yes,” if what was under my hand was any indication. “I need you,” I said simply.
He winked at me, and leaned in and gave me a chaste kiss on the cheek. “Perhaps some other time, chérie. You have my card if you need me.”
And just like that, he stood and left.
I guess what they said about granny panties scaring off a man was true.
CHAPTER NINE
Six hours later, I stared at the red numbers on the clock, hating life. And beer. In that order.
The worst thing about a succubus in a drunken stupor? You can’t pass out, no matter what. I figured this out at some point after my erstwhile knight abandoned me. I spent the next few hours staring blankly at the TV as infomercials played on mute. My vision was still blurry, and my mouth couldn’t seem to stay shut, and I drooled all over myself.
Yeah, real sexy.
Worst of all, there was no relief. The “help” that the mysterious Luc had given me faded within minutes, leaving me curled up on the bed, panting and writhing in frustration. The only thing that helped was the icy blast of the A/C as it roared in the corner. So I lay sprawled on top of the sheets, waiting for dawn and, I hoped, Noah.
I didn’t know what I’d do if he didn’t show up. Wouldn’t think about it. Couldn’t think about it.
My body was seizing in another round of horrible cramps when I heard my cell phone go off. My purse vibrated and the Aerosmith’s “Angel” keened through the room, the high, tinny sound god-awful to my aching, hungover head. I rolled over to the edge of the bed, reaching for the phone, then promptly fell on the floor.
Ouch. That would leave a mark.
Fumbling through my small handbag, I located the vibrating phone and pressed it to my ear. “Hello?” I sounded as awful as I felt.
“Jackie?” Noah’s voice sang into my eardrum, and my body responded with a wave of desire.
“Noah,” I said, relief and need warring inside me. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“I’m at the hotel. Where are you?” he said, his voice so loud that it blasted in my ear.
I winced, holding the phone away. “I assume you are cussing at me because you’re worried?”
“Where are you?” His voice lowered, but it was obvious he was still stressed out. “I told you to stay here.”
“Yeah, well, thanks, Master. So glad you’re here to tell me what to do.” God, Noah could be a dick sometimes, even though I knew he meant well. At least, I was pretty sure he meant well. “I’m here, in my room.” Still on the floor, next to the nightstand. Still hating life.
“No, you’re not,” Noah said patiently. “I’m standing in your room right now, and you’re not here.”
I sat up and peered over the bed, squinting.
Well hell. This wasn’t my room.
That made my bleary eyes open pretty fast. What the heck? It looked the same—all hotel rooms looked the same—except the coverlet was a different shade of “awful motel brown” and my bags were nowhere to be seen.
“Jackie?” Noah’s concerned voice roared in my ear again.
Wincing, I stumbled over to the door and stared at the room rate chart on the back. “I’m still at the Super 8. Room 212.”
“You stay in that room,” Noah said, and the compulsion gripped me.
Like I could go anywhere even if he hadn’t used the compulsion? I hung up the phone without responding, crawled back into bed, and pulled the pillow over my aching head. I’d give up two years of my immortal life to be able to take a nap right now.
Someone knocked loudly at the door a few minutes later and I groaned, burrowing farther under the blankets. “Who is it?” Maybe it was Luc, returning to finish what he’d never really started.
And wouldn’t that just be awkward?
If Noah had problems with Zane, then he’d really have problems with a hot, mysterious stranger with amber eyes that made me hot just thinking about them—
The door opened and I heard heavy boots enter the room.
“Jackie?” Noah’s voice was questioning, disapproving.
I peered out from under my pillow. “No yelling, please. My head hurts.” It was nice to see that in my crazy world Noah never changed. He wore a dark polo shirt and crisp khaki pants, looking immaculate even at eight in the morning. His blond hair was perfectly waved, tousled just the way I liked.
My mouth watered.
He looked down at me, clearly frustrated. “What are you doing in this room, Jackie?”
I shrugged silently, and the covers slipped off, revealing my bare shoulder and the curve of my breast.
Immediately, Noah’s face changed from exasperated to furious as he looked at my naked skin. “I see.” His voice was tightly controlled. “Don’t let me interrupt you. I should leave before your lover gets back.” He turned away.
“Wait,” I said, panic in my throat.
He turned tightly. “Tell me one reason why I shouldn’t just leave right now, Jackie? It’s obvious that my feelings are just a game to you.”
I tried to sit up in the bed, but that simple motion seemed impossible. “Because I can’t get up and chase after you.” Walking to the door a few minutes ago had sapped my strength.
He paused, then returned to my side, staring down at me. “What’s wrong, Jackie?” His bleached silver eyes roamed over my body with concern. Lucky guy, to be compelled only once a month.
I stared up at him in a misery of hurt. How could I tell him that I was cursed when he was still so angry at me? I didn’t want to see his face turn from jealous concern to a look of disgust. So I pointed at my eyes instead, trying to dodge the subject. “Same old problem I’ve always had.”
He sat down on the edge of the bed next to me, his lips twitching. “Drinking?”
Damn, I must look more wrecked than before. “Not drinking,” I nearly growled at him, smacking him with my pillow. “The Itch.”
He grew serious, his fingers lifting my chin and tilting my face toward his as he studied my eyes. “Your eyes . . . they’re so dark they’re almost purple, Jackie. How long has it been?”
I raked my hand through my hair in frustration. To my horror, a clump of it fell onto the bed. Oh my God. I was losing my hair after only one day of not feeding the Itch?
What would happen to me when the countdown got worse?
“Noah, I need help.” My voice cracked hoarsely.
He noticed my fear and pulled me close to him. “It’s all right, Jackie. I’m here no
w.”
His tanned skin was hot against mine, and it felt good. He smelled delicious and familiar and so wonderful that I almost cried with relief.
Noah rubbed my back, stroking me, and the sensation made me—oddly enough—think of my interlude with Luc just a few hours ago. “Jackie, I want to apologize. I’ve been a damn mess lately. There’s a lot going on right now, and I haven’t been fair to you. First this thing with Zane—”
I didn’t want to hear about Zane or anything else. I put my hands on his face and turned his mouth toward mine. “Apologize later. Sex now.”
Noah chuckled at my demand, brushing his lips gently against mine in a whisper-soft kiss. “I’m glad to see you haven’t changed since I last saw you.”
Oh, if only he knew. I yanked his expensive polo shirt from his waistband. He reached out to touch my bare breast with the back of his knuckles and I hissed at the painful sensation on my overly sensitive skin.
He stilled. “Jackie . . . are you in pain?”
God, I didn’t want to get into this right now. If I told him about my curse, he’d give me the same cursory finger fuck that Zane had, then ditch me as well. But I had to tell him about it—especially if I could pass it to him. It was like having immortal herpes, but worse.
“I’m fine—”
He reached for the clump of my bright red hair that lay on the covers between us, and held it up to me. “This doesn’t look fine to me.”
“I’m cursed,” I said, bursting into tears. “And now that you know it, you won’t help me and my hair is falling out and my body aches all over, and if I don’t have sex soon I’m going to shrivel up and die.” My eyes squeezed shut so I couldn’t see his horrified expression, and I blindly reached for the Kleenex box beside the bed. “And now you think I’m disgusting, too.”
He caught my hand in his and brought it to his cheek, laying it against the whiskery stubble I felt there. He hadn’t shaved this morning, probably because of his rush to come and find me. “Jackie Brighton, I could never find you disgusting.”
“Not even if I’m cursed?” Somehow I doubted his assurances. I mean, two minutes after I mentioned my curse to Zane, he left me. It wasn’t a coincidence.