Seducing Gracie

by Cameo Brown

  “You can have my jacket, sweetie,” the woman continued, not waiting for Gracie’s answer. “All you have to do is a little favor for me.”

  Her smile widened. She removed her jacket and held it out, just like one would dangle meat in front of a starving dog. Gracie glanced down at the length of material.

  Versace. Impressive.

  “All you have to do is be nice to the half-wits who brought us here. Charm them a little. You know, be nice,” the woman explained, emphasizing her last word so that Gracie could in no way miss her meaning.

  Gracie worried briefly that her eyebrows might slide right off the top of her head, they rose so high. Was this snooty chick asking her to fuck Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum so they could get out of here? Shit.

  “Oh, come on, Miss Priss,” the impromptu madam hissed. She stepped forward to invade Gracie’s personal space.

  Obviously, the cunt’s vocabulary didn’t include the word “no,” and her interpersonal skills didn’t include patience.

  “No offense, but it’s not like you’re a virgin, am I right? Look, I can’t hang around here all day waiting for the sheriff or his boy to figure out what to do with us. I have a business meeting I can’t miss. I’ll give you my coat and a thousand dollars.”

  “You want to fuck your way out of here? Then go ahead,” Gracie snapped, her surprise morphing into authority as she got in the woman’s face and towered over her.

  Over the years she thought she’d heard everything. Apparently not.

  “It’s just a business transaction. And me do it? I don’t think so. I’m an important member of the community. I have influence, influence I could use to make your life hell if you don’t do this for me. Now don’t give me any shit, you stupid bitch.” The woman’s eyes flashed, and her body stiffened into a stance more threatening than Gracie would have expected given her petite stature. Obviously, she was used to getting her own way and intimidation worked better for her than charm.

  Gracie matched her attitude for attitude. “That’s Detective Bitch to you, Miss Influence, and if you say one more goddamn word, I’ll make sure that Vice finds something nice in your house, something that will be very hard to explain and be very damaging to that ‘influence’.”

  Surprise flickered across the redhead’s face, and the crowing hen backed down, deflated. Patting her bun, she cleared her throat before situating herself prettily on the cot across the cell, crossing her legs, and clamping her mouth shut. Good, she’d bought the bluff. That was almost too easy.

  “Ladies. I’m Mayor Sam. This is my dog, Hark. Welcome to Wayland.”

  The smooth, deep voice startled Gracie. She whirled around to face the most exotic, hot man she’d ever seen. Black, curly hair, razor stubble highlighting a strong, angular jaw, and an intense dark green gaze that roamed from her eyes to her toes took her breath away. His scrutiny made her throat go dry and her pussy go damp.

  Taller than her, and she was over six feet, he filled the jail cell door, an imposing, muscular figure clothed in a simple green polo shirt that set off his eyes, black jeans and cowboy boots. The elegance of royalty combined with his laid-back demeanor created a regal, hypnotic blend of masculinity. Illogical. Incredible. Divine.

  “Mayor, I’m Katherine Banks, widow of Horst Banks. Perhaps you’ve heard of me?” Widow Banks hopped to her feet as she spoke and sandwiched herself between Gracie and the daunting newcomer. The abrupt movement distracted Gracie from Mayor Sam’s oozing charisma, but only briefly.

  Mayor Sam’s little canine friend bared his teeth, snarling at Katherine. She glared at the mean little thing, and if the mayor hadn’t been right there, she’d probably have kicked it. As ferocious as it appeared, Gracie still liked it better than her new “pal.”

  “I’m friends with the governor,” Katherine continued. “And I’m sure he’d vouch for me if you just get him on the phone.”

  Hmm, the CEO must have decided to use name-dropping instead of “charm.”

  The method of choice for dried up, frigid trophy wives.

  It didn’t work. Mayor Sam stared down at Katherine Banks as if he watched a gnat. He said nothing, but his eyes darkened and his lips pulled back over his teeth in something akin to a snarl. His hands flexed, opening and closing in increasingly wild motions.

  After a minute, Katherine Banks started to squirm. After two minutes, she started to shake. After three, to Gracie’s shock, droplets trickled down her legs, evidence the widow had wet herself. The mayor’s dog hopped at her, its mouth frothing and in full psycho dog mode, but some invisible restraint controlled its proximity.

  Then, in the next instant, everything changed.

  Chapter Three

  In a smooth move, Mayor Sam grabbed Katherine by the throat with his massive hand and bent her neck at an awkward angle. “Yes, Katherine, I’ve heard of you,” he said, answering her question in a feral, earthy rumble unlike anything Gracie had heard before.

  Its vibrations traveled through her, awakening some primitive part of her consciousness. Terror nudged at her awareness, but in the next instant her mating instincts blossomed and the need to be taken by the male of her species throbbed in her brain and parts elsewhere. Her skin heated, her breasts swelled, and her pussy tingled, catching her off guard.

  A wheeze followed the sickening snap of bone, and Katherine Banks’ existence ended abruptly. “Holy fuck!” Gracie gasped, staggering back, the chilling resonance ending Gracie’s desire-fueled reverie. She pawed for her absent shoulder harness and weapon, stumbling around Katherine’s body in a dance of macabre fugue. The memory of Deputy Deliverance confiscating it flitted through her consciousness as the mayor’s frenzied dog gnawed and chomped on Katherine, gorging on its very own human buffet. Gracie searched for something, anything, to defend herself with, or some way out.

  But jails were meant to be austere. Mayor Sam had her trapped, and he knew it.

  Cornered, she straightened to her full height and prepared to do battle with a crazy man, or whatever he was.

  * * *

  Beautiful. The human flailing around in his jail cell made his cock rise in an instant. Her thick blonde hair, braided down her back, outlined a perfectly heart-shaped face. Those deep blue eyes defied him, heating his blood, and her passion made his libido sizzle. She’d sensed him and openly wanted him when she’d spotted him watching her. Her sweet, salty wetness teased his senses.

  She’d shown little fear when he killed the evil one, mostly anger. She had a strong heart and mind, and a determined soul, and he longed to fuck her, to taste her blood during mating. Such a delicacy it would be.

  Yes, he’d definitely made the right choice in killing Katherine Banks. A taste of her disgusting blood would have fulfilled the Urge’s demand, and he’d have been dragged back into the fog before rutting the lovely detective and feeling the pleasure of a real woman’s climax. It had been too long. He sensed her need for passion, her strength, her intellect, and something else he couldn’t quite place. It intrigued him. She intrigued him. He must have her. He would have her.

  “Master! What have you done?” From the shadows, Gaston swooped down upon Katherine’s dead body with a bellow, knocking Hark across the floor. All three heads yelped in pain as their skulls connected with the hard stone wall and a sickening crack resounded through the jail cell. The distraught demon flapped his wings urgently and sniveled. “The Urge will be livid! Livid!” Gaston screeched, flitting back and forth across the corpse as if that would revive it. Gracie’s expression slackened into utter confusion.

  “Enough! You forget your place,” Sam bellowed, the ichor in his veins flowing enough to grow his horns and tail. His wings remained folded, but his skin darkened to its natural ochre, bristly hairs burst out all over his body, and his fangs dropped, their points sharp against his bottom lip. He tasted his own delicious liquid life force and growled.

  Gracie’s mouth worked, though nothing came out, and Gaston stilled instantly at the reproach, though he glared
at them both. Hark limped a few steps and faded away into the hall passage. Seething, Gaston’s beady red eyes narrowed. “If the Urge is not

  satisfied, Darol will punish us both,” Gaston growled. He focused on Gracie. “She won’t work as a sacrifice. She’s an anomaly. Her sin is a technicality; her blood pure!”

  Sam didn’t answer, and Gaston disappeared as he knew he would. He had no regrets, despite the accuracy of Gaston’s declarations. Sam had done what he had to do.

  Katherine alive would have been too tempting. If he’d taken her blood, Wayland would have disappeared for another five years and he’d have returned to the fog as he had too many times before -- unsatisfied.

  It was the first night of the village’s appearance, and twenty-nine more days remained to go through the cycle of finding a suitable sacrifice. Sam had some time to spare, and the tasty morsel gawking at him possessed great potential to make it worth his while.

  * * *

  A dream. This all had to be a dream, Gracie rationalized. The violence, the weird little creature dancing and squeaking around the dead woman. The three-headed devil dog. The sexy lunatic with the horns and tail whose gaze never left hers. And her libido surging. Yes, definitely a dream. Had she hit her head? Perhaps she’d bumped it when they pulled her from the cruiser. Maybe that was part of the dream as well, and in truth she lay in a coma somewhere.

  Mayor Sam fixed her in his gaze, kicking Katherine’s body out of his way and closing the distance between them. Gracie prepared to fight with all she had, more angry than scared, but he stopped just a foot away and surveyed her, his eyes burning with a feral hunger so forceful her body refused her commands to move and instead responded in a different way. Her nipples ached and her panties grew damper against her skin.

  This had to be a dream. The physical symptoms alone pointed to that. She must have been knocked out or sustained a concussion somehow. It didn’t matter. Logic dictated she go along with the progression of events in her induced state, letting the delusion run its course. Fighting it would only make it last longer.

  She inhaled deeply and exhaled, trying to center her energy and go along with the vivid hallucination that, for some reason, included creepy little ogres, sexy demon guys, and dead bodies being munched on by schizophrenic Chihuahuas. Shit, no more Thai food for lunch.

  Mayor Sam closed his eyes and sniffed the air, following a scent like a hound dog until it brought his nose right to Gracie’s neck. Breathing became impossible as his warm spiciness surrounded her and the stimuli assaulted her brain. She’d definitely lost control of the situation in this way too vivid dream.

  “So perfect, so tempting,” he rumbled in a low voice, his hot breath warming her skin as she stood there feeling petrified, more by her body’s response to the madman than by the madman himself. He let his mouth drift along her cheek to her lips. “May I suggest a trade?” he whispered against her lips, letting the soft fullness of his caress hers. “I don’t take women by force. Desire is so much sweeter when shared, don’t you agree, Officer Usher?”

  “That’s Detective Usher, you psycho bastard,” Gracie finally managed, turning her cheek to him and sounding much more in control than she felt. She shoved at his hard body, but his monolithic form didn’t budge. “And I don’t deal with murdering lunatics, so no trade.” He kissed her cheek, his fangs scraping her skin, and an irrational, frightening need stirred deep inside her.

  “Not even for Ginny Gunther?”

  Gracie’s blood ran cold and she turned her face to him, speechless.

  “The kidnappers will kill her either way now that they know the police are involved, thanks to the stupid parents. You know that. You must find her before the deadline.”

  He ran his hands, tipped with razor-sharp claws, up and down her arms, massaging the tension out of her muscles. The pointy tips never touched her, even though they extended over an inch. He possessed the power to shred her flesh to pieces, yet for such a hideous beast, he treated her with remarkable gentleness.

  She blinked, trying to process the feelings the monster stirred inside her. In that millisecond, he transformed back into his handsome human form, and her body tried to melt into him, betraying her. Focus, damn it, focus! “If you know something about the crime and withhold evidence, you’re as guilty as --”

  Mayor Sam laughed, deep and rich and inviting, and more than a little unnerving. “I’m definitely guilty. Of lots of things, as you’ve seen. You can arrest me tomorrow, after you let me fuck you until your sweet pussy begs for mercy, and then you can run off to play the hero once I tell you where poor little Ginny is.”

  Gracie’s legs turned to rubber and her mind raced. Logic, her steadfast pal for so many years, battled wildly with her yearning to redeem herself, even if this wasn’t real.

  The blossom of professional ethics withered when exposed to the harsh reality that time was running out for her and Ginny.

  The longer she thought about it, the more reasonable it seemed. Of course, the longer she thought, the lower Mayor Sam’s hand drifted. It hovered above the waistband of her skirt and the heat from it warmed her belly, as well as parts further south, as if they weren’t already on fire. When this was all over, she needed a urine test.

  Maybe she had an infection.

  “How do I know you’re not full of shit?” Gracie inquired, giving him her best don’t-fuck-with-the-likes-of-me expression while subtly conceding his proposal might be of interest. Be cool, Gracie, work it like you do the bar boys.

  “You have my word,” he said, without a hint of irony, wrapping his arms around her so quickly he pinned her to him before she even saw him move. He dropped his mouth to her neck and nipped just below her jaw. Damn, Gracie loved love bites.

  “You’re kidding.” Gracie’s words came out in a whisper, but at least they came out. He teased her earlobe with his lips, alternately wetting and blowing his warm breath on the sensitive skin. She shivered at the tingles his attentions caused and instinctively leaned into him.

  “What do you think?” he whispered, his husky tone inviting her closer. Gracie let herself go, pressing her lips under his jaw line against his warm, scented flesh. She inhaled his musky fragrance and a small murmur escaped her throat. Sam chuckled, a deep, sexy rumble.

  He released her abruptly. She tumbled to the ground, landing on Katherine’s cooling body. She rolled off to the side, a jolt of anger shocking her from whatever spell she’d been under. “You son-of-a-bitch,” she spat at him, glaring.

  Mayor Sam reached behind him, pulled something out of his jeans, and tossed it beside her as she fumed. “Open it,” he commanded.

  Gracie frowned, her curiosity replacing some, but not all, of her desire-tinged fury. She spared a glance at the large bulge in his jeans, her pussy twitching, before she grabbed the stylish genuine leather hobo bag, price unknown but certainly in the obscene range based on the CK embossed on the front. Her mind, still foggy but blocking out most of the sizzling heat pumping through her bloodstream, pieced together part of the puzzle as she dug through it.

  He hadn’t been holding the purse. It was too big to fit in his jeans, but that’s where he’d gotten it. It didn’t add up, but then again, neither did the plane tickets to Sweden, the morphine, or the child’s sneaker she pulled out of Katherine’s designer bag. Gracie held up a small pink and silver shoe, a perfect match to the one the kidnappers had sent as proof they held Ginny, and her stomach flipped. Oh no…

  “Spread your legs, Detective.”

  Chapter Four

  So Katherine Banks had been on her way to a business meeting, had she?

  Gracie’s synapses fired wildly, despite the cool air tickling her toes as Mayor Sam removed her shoes and massaged her feet.

  Ignoring the cold fear nagging at her, she clutched the purse to her chest, calculating, running through each piece of evidence. At least when she woke up she might remember some tidbit she’d processed while knocked out that might be useful in the investigation.
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  Katherine’s conspirators must be holding Ginny somewhere around here, just as forensics had suggested from the dirt particles on the little girl’s shoe. Someone like Katherine Banks might have masterminded the kidnapping -- the Gunthers had enemies everywhere in the business world.

  Anyone with a fitness business as big as theirs had to have made some people angry on the way to the top. Was Katherine planning to run off to Sweden after orchestrating the kidnapping and murder of an innocent ten-year-old daughter of a rival? And why the morphine?

  Suddenly, she found herself on her back, skirt up to her thighs, and Mayor Sam kneeling between her thighs. Her breath caught at the sight of him, in control, waiting to take his pleasure from her. Disappointment dampened her desire. Had she failed Ginny just like she failed Chloe? “Y-you killed my only link to Ginny. We could have questioned her and -- oh,” Gracie managed, her voice cracking.

  Sam stroked her thigh before slipping a thick, practiced finger past the damp crotch of her panties. She tensed at his touch. “Relax. You don’t need Katherine Banks

  alive to find Ginny. You know she’d have clammed up, denied everything. Written a book, become a celebrity, and the Gunthers wouldn’t even have a body to bury,” he stated matter-of-factly, his fingertips tickling her folds. “Besides, she owned a health insurance company.”

  Gracie tried not to laugh, so her response to his witty remark came out as an unattractive snort. Had her dreamy demon lover -- or was that dream demony lover?

  She was getting punchy -- had he tried to make a joke?