by Jaime Rush
A light on the nightstand was on. She scanned her surroundings. Eric, not dead. He was lying on the bed, his head propped up slightly on the pillow. Her heart sprang to her throat. His eyes were open and staring right at her! She was about to return to her physical body but stopped. He hadn’t reacted. His stare was…blank. Was he dead, after all?
She shifted her gaze down to his chest, which rose and fell evenly. Then lower. He was lying on top of the rumpled sheets naked. Where Jerryl had been wiry and lean, Eric was…well, he was just big. Everywhere. She forced her gaze farther down to his legs, then back up to his massive chest. If she had a twin sister, they could both recline on top of him without falling off. His body was absolutely magnificent.
Who cares? Who freaking cares! That body is going to be lifeless. Dead!
But her body wasn’t lifeless. She felt her etheric body stir. Her self-hatred cut into her soul like jagged bits of glass.
You worthless bitch. This man killed the love of your life. And here you stand feeling…aroused. Slut! Whore!
She shoved her gaze back to Eric’s face. Even slack, his expression retained a hardness. She knew he was deadly. She’d overheard Darkwell and Robbins talking about the two agents he’d torched and the one he’d shot. His icy blue eyes were glazed. Bloodshot. He was in some kind of catatonic state. Maybe drunk, though she didn’t smell liquor. Couldn’t miss that smell on someone who’d passed out. Drugs maybe.
His questionable state made it tricky. What if he was aware of her and pretending to be out of it until she made a move? Not that he could hurt her, but if he saw her, she would lose the element of surprise. Getting to him would be a lot harder.
She studied him, watching for the slightest twitch to give away his awareness. His face was slack, square mouth slightly open. His breathing didn’t change.
With a groan, he shifted to his side. Okay, he definitely wasn’t conscious. He wouldn’t put himself in a more vulnerable position where he couldn’t see her. She advanced on him and stopped beside his bed, tensed for any sudden movement. After several minutes, she relaxed.
Through Darkwell’s training, she’d learned she had the ability to touch objects at the target location. She and Jerryl had had much fun with that. She would astral project into his bedroom and wake him in quite intimate ways. They had been working on achieving astral sex, and the practice had been delicious.
Again, her heart ached, and she pushed the thought away. Focus. Grief will weaken you.
Though she was good at projecting, she was like an astronaut in a space suit when it came to manipulating physical objects. Her movements were clumsy and unwieldy. She searched the small room for something she could use as a weapon. The walls were covered in original artwork, and every piece depicted either a couple in a provocative position or a naked woman in a sensual pose.
She reached for the lamp on the nightstand. It had sharp edges at the base. If she could manage to smash it down on his temple, she could render him unconscious. Then she could keep bashing him until he was dead.
She concentrated and grabbed at the lamp. She couldn’t grip it. It tipped. No, don’t fall! She swung her ghostlike hand to keep it from toppling over. She couldn’t feel the cold brass, only a dense energy. She pushed it back, and it settled on the surface.
Damn. Now what?
She doubted she’d have the strength to strangle him in his sleep. Even if she were there physically, she probably couldn’t do it. She’d tried working with a knife but couldn’t get a strong enough grip on it. She might as well be wearing boxing gloves.
She looked at him. The light gilded the coarse hairs on legs as thick as pilings. His chest was deep, and she could just see his indent of ribs beneath his pale skin. Big, strong…cruel murderer.
And I can’t do a damned thing about it.
Frustration swamped her. She would have to keep working on her skills. How long would it take?
Eric rolled onto his back and looked right at her. This time he saw her. He rubbed his eyes.
“Great. Now I’m friggin’ hallucinating women.” His voice was slurred.
He closed his eyes and opened them again. “Still there.” He closed them for another few seconds and reopened them. “Maybe something good’ll come of sleep deprivation.” He reached out to her. “Come here, beautiful, and gimme some love. I’ll take it any way I can get it, real or imagined.”
Sleep deprivation. That was why he was acting out of it. So he wasn’t totally awake but not asleep, either. Her gaze slid down to his penis, which was now rock hard. And he wanted her.
Again, her body stirred, and she chastised herself. That was Jerryl’s fault, in a way. After years of associating sex with lewdness, fear, force, and just plain depravity, then a couple of safe but boring encounters, she’d stuffed her sexuality deep down inside her. Jerryl had awakened her. For the last month she’d had crazy, hard, wild sex at least once a day with him, and her body craved it now.
The last person on earth she wanted to have sex with was Eric Aruda. As delicious as his body looked, she only had one intention for him: murder.
His eyes had drifted shut, his hand lying on the bed stretched out toward her. She had to get out of there, think of another way to get to him.
Wait. She could use this. She might not be able to kill him psychically. So she would have to do it physically. The plan clicked into place. Eric was obviously hungry for sex, and he thought she was a hallucination. Could she seduce her enemy? Did she have seductress in her? Well, she’d seduced Jerryl, she supposed. He hadn’t wanted a distraction from his all-important work, but she’d kept working on him, drawn to him for many reasons.
Maybe she could plant an idea in Eric’s mind to meet her somewhere for the real thing. When he showed up, she would obviously have to play dumb. She couldn’t admit she was the one he was seeing in his sort-of dreams, after all. Then he’d suspect something. No, she’d pretend she was just at the same place, wanting the same thing he did. And once she got him alone, maybe in a cheap hotel room, she would drug him and tie him to the bed so he couldn’t use his strength or his deadly ability.
But she wanted him to know why she was killing him. Oh, yes, he would know. So she’d wait until he started to come out of it and tell him who she was and why she was killing him. She had no doubt she could. The hard part would be pushing back her hatred enough to seduce him.
Use your own sexual hunger. You’re only doing this for Jerryl. Spies have to do shit like this. Mata Hari or whatever her name was, I think she slept with the enemy. Forget who he is, what he’s done. Focus on just the physical aspect of his body. He is beautiful physically. The hate can come when you’re driving a knife into him.
She reached out and touched his arm, and he opened his eyes again. Her fingers slid around his elbow and down his forearm. Like when she’d touched Jerryl, Eric’s energy was so thick and hot, it was almost like touching his skin. She forced a smile, slightly sly and coy. “Hi, sexy.”
“Who are you?”
She leaned closer and pressed her lips against his neck, wishing instead she was strangling it.
“This isn’t real.” His words were a half groan.
Her hand slid over his chest and across his stomach. “But doesn’t it feel good?”
His answer was another groan, and he tilted his head back and closed his eyes in ecstasy. She knew he could feel her, her touch as soft as cashmere, with the same heat she felt from him.
She closed her eyes for a moment, reliving how it felt with Jerryl, wishing it were him. She didn’t think she would ever feel this again. The heat, the intensity, only came with touching another person like her. She’d experimented on Darkwell, no, not touching him like this, and she’d felt no heat. He couldn’t hear her, either.
She teased all around Eric’s erection, dipping her fingers between his thighs and then up to the pale skin of his pelvis. He was tense, making every muscle stand out, sculpting his body like one of those statues she’d seen in pict
ures.
He reached out again, and his hand went through her ethereal body. “My…imagination,” he whispered, a shadow of agony on his expression.
“Maybe,” she said, giving him her coy smile again.
“Who…are…you?”
She liked that he couldn’t catch his breath as she moved her hands over his body. So far, she had him just where she wanted him. “Call me whatever you’d like.”
He laughed, soft and husky. “This has got to be a dream, which means I’m finally asleep. Thank God.” He looked up at her. “I’ll call you Tawny. Come here, Tawny. I want you to sit on me. Since you’re just a dream, I’m going to grind into you and suck you and eat you raw.”
She leaned down, as though to do much more than just place a kiss on his stomach. That close, she could see a fine dusting of golden hairs over his stomach. She bet his skin was soft and that those hairs would tickle her lips, and if she impaled herself on his massive erection and drove her fingernails into his chest when she came…
Shock and disgust threw her out of her mission. She blinked to find herself in her bed, covered in a fine sheen of perspiration. Her breath came in shallow pants. The worst, the absolutely worst part was the throbbing between her legs.
She got to her knees and smacked her forehead against the wall. “Whore! Slut!” Her body had responded to her enemy’s. She was weak, a traitor worse than Nicholas Braden. “Piece of trash.”
Those were her stepmother’s words, echoing in her brain as they often did. And now they were hers, and she deserved every one of them. Back then, no. Now…yes.
With her forehead pressed against the wall, she banged her fists on either side of her head. Big, gulping breaths kept away her fury and tears. The fatigue rushed in, and she sagged back onto the bed.
“Jerryl, I will do this for you, love. I’ll kill him even if I have to die trying.”
Eric blinked as the sexy nymph disappeared. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked around. Was he dreaming? He felt very much awake, just as he’d been for the last many days.
He even pinched himself and felt the pain of it. Damn. Awake. Bleary-eyed, rubber-brained, but awake. He dropped back on the bed.
“Hell. I am hallucinating.”
This wasn’t good. He was one step away from insanity. First visions of naked women because it had been way too long since he’d had sex. And then what? Would he see the enemy sneaking in with guns and kill them, only to discover he’d killed his friends?
He had rushed headlong into dangerous situations since Darkwell had entered their lives. He’d faced death. Never had he felt afraid. What the sleeplessness and hallucinations meant…the prospect scared the hell out of him.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Antonio “Tony” Sanchez, MSM, CLET, Captain, Biscayne Park Police Department…you da best!
To critique buds Marty Ambrose, Diane O’Key, and Lynn Hallberg for all your great advice and input.
Thanks to the Blue Ridge Rollergirls, for letting me hang out and ask questions, especially Moong Chi, Mazel Tov Cocktail, Freckles Kaboom, Skelly Tor, and Candy Korn.
My everlasting thanks to my fans, friends, and all the cool people who love books!
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About the Author
Since she was a kid, JAIME RUSH devoured books on unexplained mysteries and psychic phenomena. She knew she would be published, marry a fabulous guy, and win a Toyota Supra. Missing the romance, relationship drama, and action of her favorite television shows—X-Files, Roswell, and Highlander—she created her own mix in the Offspring series.
Jaime loves to hear from readers (unless they’re deranged or don’t have something nice to say). You can reach her at PO Box 10622, Naples, Florida, or through her website at www.jaimerush.com.
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By Jaime Rush
TOUCHING DARKNESS
OUT OF THE DARKNESS
A PERFECT DARKNESS
Coming Soon
BURNING DARKNESS
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
TOUCHING DARKNESS. Copyright © 2010 by Tina Wainscott. Burning Darkness copyright © 2011 by Tina Wainscott. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.