by Tina Donahue
Yeah, right, his thoughts mocked. He’d play any game she liked. If she wanted him to be Napoleon, he’d oblige.
She brought back her hand. “I’m sorry.” Her voice vibrated with shame. “It’s too weird. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“I’m glad you did. Believe me, it’s not weird. It’s just more than most guys can ever hope for or even fantasize about.”
“You mean it?”
“Let’s get rid of this—” he lifted his Glock. “—and I’ll show you.”
“No. You need to rest first, then I’m going to feed you, and then we’ll play.” She pointed at the far wall, painted the same shade of pink as her seashell lampshades. Ferns hung from white wicker planters on either side of two closed doors. “The bath’s on the left. If you don’t mind, your gun will be perfectly safe on the counter in there. I’d feel better if it wasn’t in the same room with us.”
“I’ll put it there now.”
“I will.” Her hands covered the leather holster. “Go on, the bed’s waiting. Relax. Let me serve you.”
He saw no reason to object and released his weapon. She held it as she would a dead rat and went to the bath, flicking on the light. Bottles rocked on the counter as she moved them aside, gingerly placing his gun where they had stood. Next, she lifted a slender container of pink liquid and spritzed it on her wrists, nipples and slender column of throat.
His cock flicked, wanting to join her. The rest of his body pleaded for rest. Backing toward the bed, his calves bumped the mattress. He draped his watch over the largest figurine and pulled down the lacy comforter to fall upon sweet-smelling linens, soft as kitten fur. Lured by the texture, he pressed his face into the pillow. Its lack of resilience told him it contained goose down, not foam. Seriously nice.
Arms around the pillow, Mike allowed himself this momentary weakness. As Jasmine had said, he’d nap and she’d feed him, after which they’d indulge in some slightly kinky bed games.
What could be better?
She watched him from the bath. The faint rise and fall of his shoulders told her he slept. Jasmine whimpered at how beautiful he was—firm muscles on a large frame—intimidating in size, unusually kind in nature. The type of man she’d always longed for. One who wouldn’t have glanced at her before the curse. She’d been too ordinary, dull, reserved. Men who asked her out did so because they couldn’t attract the attention of a woman as exquisite as Desiree. Or, if they were handsome like Connor Rolands, they wanted an adoring fan so they could talk about themselves.
Mike seemed oblivious to his obvious appeal. If anything, he appeared embarrassed by her compliments. She’d never known a more down-to-earth and empathetic man. How she enjoyed his consoling embrace and teasing him even as he teased her in return. How she liked just being with him. He seemed to like her too—what little he knew about the person she really was—though his feelings would quickly turn to hate if she went through with the plan.
She rolled her forehead over the door’s edge. If only she could relax long enough to sleep, to think. The curse wouldn’t allow it. At first, she’d been edgy after six hours of rest. Now, she was lucky to manage four hours a night. How long could this go on?
You will want as I want.
Teeth clenched, her fingers gripped the wood. The tenuous peace Mike’s lovemaking had provided was already gone. Fearful of her building obsession, she slipped on her silk robe and left the bath.
Halfway across the room, she looked back. Mike’s hair fanned over the pillow, sable against all the white. The moon tinted his skin a lighter brown. Wanting to protect him, even though she’d done everything possible to bring him here, she went to the bed and pulled the top sheet over his slumbering body.
It didn’t disturb him at all.
Her hand stilled above his head. Smoothing his hair was an indulgence she didn’t deserve and couldn’t chance, not with the others not knowing what had been going on.
Jasmine left the room and turned to Ben, not surprised to find him waiting in the hall. The overhead light brightened his dark blond hair, cut short and worn spiky like a rocker. It reminded her of Lily’s hairstyle. They were both twenty-six, their friendship and artistic talents bringing Ben here. Lily painted the fabrics Violet used for her designs. Ben illustrated their catalogues. Like Mike, Jasmine was the only one in the group without a creative bent. She served as business manager, running the show.
Ben took charge now. His fingers curled around her wrist, giving her no chance to escape as he led her down the hall to his room. His art nouveau sketches papered the walls. The acrid bite of inks, paints and turpentine lingered from today’s work. He leaned one shoulder on the closed door, hurt and anxiety evident in his pale blue eyes, his voice low so only she could hear.
“You all right?”
She knew he’d heard them in the hall and probably watched from the stairway as she’d knelt in front of Mike, taking him in her mouth. Being observed during an intimacy bothered the woman she’d been, bringing warmth to her chest and throat, even as it hardly fazed the woman she’d become. She spoke in an equally subdued voice. “I’m fine.”
“How can you be? Jas, that bastard has a gun and is obviously—”
“No.” Her fingers went to his lips to stop his quiet outburst. “Don’t call him that. He’s a good man. Better than I deserve.”
Ben’s blond brows rose to his hairline. He moved her hand away. “You’ve got to be kidding. You picked him up at a club.”
Laughter gurgled at the base of her throat, along with a sigh. “He wasn’t born there, Ben. He used to be a US Marshal.”
“So I heard while you two were downstairs. You actually believe that?”
“Why would he lie?”
The muscles in his neck corded with exasperation. “Did you tell him the truth about why you wanted him here tonight?”
Tears stung her eyes. “I wanted to and I should have. I believe him, Ben. Even if I didn’t, I don’t care what he did for a living or where he works now. He’s a good man.”
“Like Travis, the last guy you trusted?”
“Ben, please.” She didn’t want to discuss this and wound him further. “Get out of my way.”
Shoulders to the door, he hooked his thumbs in the front pockets of his paint-speckled shorts. “If you’d only give me a chance, I could take care of you.”
“No, you couldn’t.” She kept her voice kind but firm. “You know the curse doesn’t work that way.”
He began to argue, though it seemed more like a plea. She interrupted, “I have to go downstairs. Lily and Violet might be waiting for me.”
“Fine.” He sounded like a petulant little boy. “But I won’t let him hurt you.”
“I know.”
Stepping aside, he still blocked her from leaving, his arm on the door just like Mike’s had been downstairs. As if mimicking the man would make him more attractive to her. Mouth to her ear, he asked, “I heard you say you were going to put his gun on the bathroom counter. Did you?”
A knot tightened in the middle of her chest. If Ben took the gun and Mike saw him—oh God, if they fought and anything happened to Mike… She whispered, “Don’t do anything foolish.” Pulling back, she lifted her face. “No matter how bad it gets tonight, I can’t go through with this. I’m going to let him leave in the morning. You’ll never see him again.”
Conflicting emotions passed over his face. Gratitude that Mike would be gone shortly. Disbelief that it would actually happen.
“Promise me you won’t take the gun,” she said.
He lowered his head.
“I want your word!”
“Okay, okay, you have it.”
She hurried from his room and stopped in the hall, not certain what to do. If she took Mike’s gun from the bath and put it in her dresser, he might wake up and question why she suddenly wanted it in the same room. If she put it in her downstairs safe and he noticed it missing, what could she possibly say? Even if he believed her explanatio
n, he might get pissed and leave.
Her teeth worried her bottom lip. She had no choice except to trust Ben, a truly sweet guy who’d never lied to her. Surely, he wouldn’t do anything stupid now.
A quick peek at Mike showed her he hadn’t budged. On the stairs, she noticed again what he’d pointed out. The paintings didn’t fit the spaces where her family’s pictures had been. She’d taken them down so the man she chose wouldn’t know too much about her, especially that she had sisters who might share the blame if things went badly tonight.
They couldn’t. She wouldn’t allow it. Come daybreak, she’d insist on Mike leaving. An argument would drive him from here to safety. She’d make it so bad he’d want to stay away, leaving her to the next men and the next.
Exhausted at the thought, she went into the downstairs hallway, her head turning to Mike’s clothes, his jeans pockets turned inside out. Unless Ben had gone through Mike’s things, it meant her sisters were home.
She found them in the kitchen. Violet had her right hip to the sink and Mike’s wallet in her hands. She flipped through the clear plastic holders, pausing to read the contents in the available light. Lily sat at the table, her fingers flying over his cell phone’s keypad. Jasmine guessed she was searching the numbers he’d stored.
“Stop that,” she said in a low voice to Lily, then turned to Violet. “Don’t go through his stuff.”
The younger Dantes exchanged a look. As one, they went to Jasmine and put their arms around her, motherly and protective. Their devotion overwhelmed, bringing a quick sob to Jasmine’s throat.
Immediately, Lily spoke in a hard tone. “What did he do to you? Where’s the fucker now?”
“Asleep in my bed. And he didn’t do anything to me.” Her voice bounced. “He’s not the threat, I am.”
“Is it getting worse?” Violet asked.
“Of course it is,” Lily hissed, combative as always. “Where have you been? Just look at her.”
“Guys, please, don’t argue.” Jasmine continued on a sigh. “Put his things back where you found them. Take the company card and get a hotel room for the night.”
“No.” The answer came from both sisters. Lily continued, “What do you mean for the night? What about tomorrow, and the next day, and the next? We’re not leaving you alone with him for a minute, much less the time it takes us to find Desiree.”
“I won’t be alone. Ben’s here.” Jasmine freed herself from their arms and went to the refrigerator, keeping her voice low. “And you won’t be gone longer than tonight. Tomorrow morning, I’m making certain he leaves.”
“Why?” Violet asked, joining Jasmine at the fridge. “Are you afraid of him? Who is he, exactly? I found a concealed gun permit in his wallet.”
“No shit?” Lily asked.
Jasmine spoke to Violet. “His name’s Mike Stearn, as you probably already know from reading his driver’s license.” She turned to Lily. “He’s a former US Marshal.”
The girl came to her. “I was worried he might be a biker or a former gangbanger, but he’s a freaking cop?”
“Consultant,” Jasmine corrected. “Not that it matters. He’s leaving in the morning.”
Violet spoke up. “But what happens then?”
Jasmine handed her the platter of ham. “I don’t know. I’d rather not think about it.”
“You have to.” Lily frowned at the Tupperware Jasmine gave her. “What’s this for?”
“I promised Mike a snack.”
Her eyes brightened. “We still have the Ambien your doctor prescribed. We can put it or the Sominex into his food and make certain he stays asleep so we can talk about this and decide what to do.”
Jasmine didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at her youngest sister’s ridiculous idea. “No drugs, not even over-the-counter.” She took plates and silverware from the cupboard. “I’ve decided to let him go.”
“Screw that.” Lily tossed the plastic bowls on the table. They hit the glass top with a sharp whack and wobbled like slowly spinning quarters.
“She’s right,” Violet said, her tone far more reasonable than Lily’s and sounding so much like their late mother. She put the ham on the table and inclined her head to the bank of windows. “You’ll be out there within a couple of hours, if you don’t keep him here. You’ll be drawn to God-knows-who. What you went through with Travis could happen again.”
“Jas.” Lily’s normally blunt voice entreated. “Have you forgotten how close you came to being hurt?”
Her gaze darted from sister to sister. The fear in their eyes matched hers as the night with Travis returned. She recalled the twenty-four-hour convenience store where they’d met and how she’d roamed the aisles, unsteady from desire, searching for something, anything to calm her nerves, to help her sleep. Frantic, Violet had called her cell phone. She and Lily begged Jasmine to come home.
She hadn’t. Turning the corner near the sleep aids, she’d bumped into Travis, a tall man her age. Hand flying out, he’d caught her arm as she stumbled backwards into a display of toothpaste. Her gaze met his and the room shifted. Interest rolled through her, heightening her senses. She felt male strength in his callused fingers and saw fire in his chocolate eyes.
They flirted shamelessly, exchanging first names only, speaking with the ease of strangers or impending lovers. For reasons she didn’t understand, Jasmine told him she just moved to the Keys from the Midwest and hoped to have some fun. Revealing nothing truly personal, he offered to show her around, starting with the body-piercing shop he owned, a block away.
Remembering her cell phone, she told her sisters she was going to get her navel pierced, ending the call on their imploring voices. Her finger traced the name of Travis’s business printed on his tee and the five gold studs he wore in his right ear. In a kittenish voice, she asked, “Do you take late appointments at your place?”
Within fifteen minutes, he had her stretched out on his vinyl table, her cotton shorts lowered to bare her navel. He pierced her flesh with metal and quieted her gasp with his mouth, his beard-roughened face scouring her cheeks. Her fingers groomed his wild chestnut locks as she purred, “What now?”
“Let’s have some fun.”
Racing forms and body jewelry catalogues littered his worn sofa in the small apartment above his shop. Remnants of a fast-food lunch, or maybe breakfast, remained on the counter.
Unceasing lust blinded her to the clutter and the edge in his voice as he ordered her to undress.
Staring at the dark fur between her legs, he asked, “You like being tied up, Jasmine?”
His question sparked her first taste of panic. She wasn’t certain how he’d react if she said no. Once he’d lashed her ankles and wrists to his bed, he brought out his drug paraphernalia, taking a hit of crystal meth, then offering it to her with a chilling smile.
She refused. Determined, he pressured her to try it. She started to sob, telling him she wanted to leave. It triggered his rage. Unbuckling his belt, he pulled it from his jeans, saying he didn’t like a tease. The belt sliced through the air, sounding like a shriek.
Primal terror stole her ability to cry out. Even if she had, no one would hear her. The surrounding businesses had closed for the night…his was the only apartment. The bed shook with her futile struggle to get free. At last, she found her voice and screamed. Seconds later, something crashed into his front door.
“Jas!” Lily’s voice hollered, followed by Violet’s and Ben’s.
In an area overcrowded with body-piercing shops, her sisters had located the one nearest the convenience store and saw her car parked outside. Ben used his baseball bat to beat on Travis’s door, leaving several gashes in the wood. Travis’s hostility turned to self-preservation. He took off through the back way, leading down to his business. Her sisters and Ben brought her home. Safe, desire ate at her.
Jasmine trembled at the memory and what she’d learned later. Travis had served time for brutalizing a girlfriend. Whimpering, she welcomed Violet’s gentl
e hug.
Lily insisted, “We’ve come this far. Mike Stearn is not going anywhere. We have to keep him here. It’s the only way. At least until we find Desiree.”
Jasmine dug her nails into her palms. “We’re never going to find her. She didn’t leave with the Wanderers.”
“So that means she’s still in the Keys,” Violet said. “She’s probably looking for Connor.”
Lily snorted. “Did you ever think his disappearance might be because Desiree killed him after seeing him with Jas?”
Jasmine answered before Violet could. “She wanted to punish me, not Connor. She blames me for seducing him or luring him or whatever went through her mind. He’s the only man she wants. I don’t think she’d harm him.”
“I agree,” Violet said. “She’s still in the city looking for him. All we need is time to locate her, beg or force her to lift this damn thing, and keep you safe in the interim. That means here with Mike.”
No. Jasmine argued, “We’re talking about a man’s freedom.”
“We’re talking about your life.” Violet eased her hold and leaned back. “As far as I’m concerned, nothing’s more important than that. Right, Lil?”
“Fucking A.” Lily shoved her fingers through her short hair. “Besides, what will he have to complain about? So he’ll be stuck in a soft bed with a beautiful woman and room service for a little while. We’re hardly talking Attica. And even if he doesn’t like it, what’s he going to do? Complain to the cops? Think they’ll believe Jas locked up the big, bad former US Marshal?”
It was still kidnapping. Jasmine pressed her fingers to her forehead, wanting to reason with them, but could not. A new wave of lust, ferocious and frightening, seized her.
Chapter Five
In his dream, Mike heard the Sirens’ voices, young and filled with tension, speaking not singing. Didn’t make sense. What were they talking about? He listened and caught the sound of water dripping. On the boulders where the Sirens lured the doomed sailors?
He tried to reason it out. The voices fell quiet, though the water did not. Its plunk-plunk-plunk made him think of his Glock. Why? And then he knew. Jasmine had put his pistol on the bath’s counter. Her leaking faucet must be making the noise he heard. The last of his dream vanished like warm vapor on a frigid day. Rolling over, he sensed he wasn’t alone.