And then it suddenly hit her what was bothering her about her conversation with Harvey Hodge. He’d been so impressed that she’d walked in with “George Clooney.” But Harvey was a shifter himself; he should have been able to see that the “Clooney” she’d been with was a fake.
But he hadn’t.
Why?
She didn’t for a moment think that Mick was George Clooney, nothing like that. And she knew he was a highly skilled shifter. It was just that another highly skilled shifter—and professional gossip—like Harvey should have been able to spot the deception.
Mick was watching her closely. “All right, what are you brooding about?”
“I’m not brooding,” she began.
“Oh yes, you are. When you go silent for more than a half minute, you’re concocting plots and conspiracies. So, I want to know what I’m being suspected of.” He looked at her directly, that gaze she couldn’t hide from.
“All right,” she said defensively. “All right. It was Harvey Hodge.”
He looked truly disgusted. “Oh, my God, what did that self-important, self-serving little shi— shifter have to say about me?”
“Nothing. That’s the problem.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
And she decided, I’m just going to say it. Why not?
“He came up to me and wondered what I was doing with George Clooney,” she said. There. It was out. Straight-up.
Mick stared at her, bemused. “That’s it?”
She was pointedly silent.
“And what does that translate to, in that devious little mind of yours?”
“He couldn’t tell it was you in shift,” she burst out. “Not only is he a shifter, it’s his whole job to expose people, and he couldn’t tell what was going on.” It took her a moment of mental scrambling to even be able to voice the implications. “If you can do that, you really are good.”
He held her eyes. “Oh, I am. Very good.” And then he laughed. “Barrie, I did it to please you. Does everything have to be a conspiracy?”
“What makes you think George Clooney does anything for me?” she said without thinking.
“Oh, really?” he said with a spike of interest. “Not Clooney?” He looked her over speculatively, so intimately she felt herself blush from the soles of her feet to the crown of her head. “Who, then?”
“Well...”
“Oh, come on, tell. Is it a pirate you’d be wanting, me love?”
Suddenly she was looking at Johnny Depp, pirate accent and all.
“Or maybe you prefer someone a little more classic?”
It was Cary Grant in front of her now, that sculpted face, the quirky, bemused arch of his eyebrows...
As they walked, he continued to shift.
“Nope, nope, nope, doggone it, I’ve got it....” And there was Jimmy Stewart, with his unforgettable stammer.
“A little younger?” Leo DiCaprio looked out at her with the heartbreaking eyes of Jack in Titanic.
“A little rougher?” Now she was walking alongside Russell Crowe, striding with the sexy bulk of L.A. Confidential.
Marlon Brando. Paul Newman. Robert Redford.
She was bowled over by the transitions. She was walking with a pantheon of the most gorgeous men that Hollywood had ever produced.
“Stop. Stop.” She was laughing, giddy, breathless.
Suddenly his hands were on her waist and he was looking down into her eyes. “What, then?” His voice was low and husky. “Tell me what you want.”
And Barrie looked back at him. “I want to know who you are. I want you to be you.”
He leaned down to her and kissed her, with all the color and neon of the Boulevard pulsing around them.
And as his lips feasted on hers, she felt all the sexy roughness of Russell Crowe, the dashing wildness of Johnny Depp, the innocent beauty of a young Leo DiCaprio, and the aristocratic charm of Cary Grant, all rolled into one endlessly fascinating, endlessly desirable man.
Heat flooded through her, from her lips to the very core of her; she felt she’d just burst into flame. His tongue was inside her mouth, tasting, teasing...and then plunging, sliding so deep she lost her balance. But he caught her, lifted her up and set her on the low wall of a planter, arching her backward so he could crush her mouth open under his. Her back was against the brick of the building, and he was pulling her hips forward against his, then cupping her breasts in his hands. Her nipples strained through the beaded silk of her bodice, into his palms, and now he moaned and lifted his head to kiss down her neck, biting, sucking, turning her insides molten.
Her legs curled around his thighs, and the huge bulge of him was pulsing urgently against her. She gasped in delirium as he kissed her cleavage, his tongue slipping inside her bra to lick her nipples, and she could feel him throbbing against her core, half-inside her even through their clothes. She felt herself opening from within, feverish to feel him inside her....
“God...oh, God...”
And suddenly he was pulling back, dragging her to her feet and holding her against him hard, but no longer kissing her. She could still feel the pulsing bulge of his sex against her thigh, but he’d ceased moving urgently against her, and she was reeling with desire and confusion. “What...?”
His fingers were strong on her back, and his voice was gruff and shaky, but resolved. “Our first time isn’t going to be in an alley. I want you in silk sheets and a proper bed and completely to myself.”
He held her close, and she stood pasted against him with her eyes closed as their racing hearts slowed... feeling his touch in every cell of her body as his fingers caressed her waist, and she breathed in the faint smell of cologne and the heady scent of pure male. He whispered her name against her ear, and she opened her eyes dreamily....
“Let’s go home,” he said huskily.
She turned in his arms—and froze.
Behind Mick, halfway down the block, a slim shadow was crouched down on the sidewalk. She stiffened against Mick and clutched at his arms. “Oh, my God...”
She broke away from him to run down the street, but in the few seconds she had taken to react, the figure had vanished.
She could hear Mick pounding down the sidewalk after her.
The mysterious shadow was gone, but there was a bouquet of flowers lying in the middle of the sidewalk. She stepped up to it slowly and looked down.
In a second Mick was by her side. “Barrie, what—” Then he fell silent, seeing what she saw.
They were looking down at Johnny Love’s star. Someone had placed a bouquet of flowers on it.
“I thought I saw Tiger,” she said to Mick softly. “But it couldn’t have been.”
She looked up and down the sidewalk. They were alone.
Chapter 13
For the first time in her life Barrie had species envy, wishing at least to be a different kind of Keeper, maybe an Elven Keeper like Sailor, so they could just teleport and be back at home, in bed. There were more kisses in the dark luxuriousness of the limo on the way home, deep, delicious, toe-curling kisses that set her ablaze again...but no matter how she teased and writhed and caressed, Mick kept deliberately moving her hands above his waist and concentrating his oh-so-skillful efforts on her throat and ears and mouth until she was nearly mad with desire.
“I hate you,” she murmured into his ear with the last breath she had left, and he laughed into her hair, and said, “Oh, just wait.”
As the limo pulled up toward the gate of the estate, Barrie somehow found the presence of mind to get the remote from her purse. As the limo headed up the drive, Mick suddenly rolled on top of Barrie, and for the first time since they’d gotten back in the car, he not only kissed her but let her feel the whole hot, hard length of him on top of her, bruising, demanding...until she was liquid in the seat...
And then he pulled back and opened the door to lift her out of the car, because she was too dazed to manage it on her own.
At the doorway he took the key
from her, scooped her up in his arms and kicked open the door.
Low lights were on in the front hall, and they were reflected in the antique mirrors on the walls. He took a glance around at the art, the mirrors, the sculpture, and she could see he was pleased, but also that there were more important things on his mind.
“Bedroom...” he said huskily.
“Down the...hall to the left.”
He was kissing her neck as he walked in, and all she could feel was fire rising from the very core of her, so she didn’t understand why he stopped still in the doorway.
She opened her eyes in a dreamy haze, looking at the room through the romantic spill of moonlight through the French doors...and realized that there were piles of clothes all over her bedroom, including covering the bed, with the cat sleeping on top of the biggest mountain. She’d forgotten her dress crisis of the afternoon.
“No closets?” he asked her dryly, and she blushed from head to toe.
“I couldn’t figure out what to wear.”
He set her down and looked her over in the copper dress. “You did perfectly,” he whispered.
And then she was on the bed, where he was unbuttoning her dress, and his fingers were tracing trails of fire down her bare back, up her thighs. Then the perfect dress was on the floor and Mick’s hands were on her body, and she was lost.
She pulled his tux shirt out of his pants and slipped her hands into his shirt, finding smooth, warm skin and rippling muscles...breathing harder and harder as he kissed her mouth, her neck, her ears. Her hands were fumbling with buttons, zippers, needing him naked, needing him against her, inside her.
He lifted her onto the bed, and for a moment he was not touching her as he made the piles of clothes disappear, and those few seconds were the longest of her life until his hands were on her again and she was arching up with her whole body, so she could feel all of him against her.
Their bodies lifted, fitted together, and his lips on her throat practically made her burst into flame. Her hands were moving on his back, reaching down for him, when he took her wrists in a strong grip and pinned them above her head as he moved on top of her, opening her mouth under his, opening her legs with his hips to rock against her, rubbing the ramrod bulge of him against her, slow and teasing, as his right hand caressed her breasts until moans were coming out of her throat.
His hand was between her legs now, opening her, thumb and finger circling and teasing until she was slippery wet against his hand, and then somehow it was no longer his fingers but the huge head of his sex, velvet softness over steel hardness, the ridge of him exciting her into madness, and she moaned and arched her back, urging him inside her. “Please...”
“Barrie...” he muttered roughly. He plunged, and she cried out, and he plunged again with a low growl in his throat, and their bodies found that ancient, intoxicating rhythm, desire and longing and knowing.
Moonlight flooded the room, bright and blue on their skin, and their bodies were reflected over and over in the mirrors, a hundred thousand times, and it seemed to Barrie that she could feel the ecstasy of every version of herself as they moved together. It was better than dancing, better than flying, a tidal wave of pleasure rippling through every version of themselves until they were crying out together, a thousand lovers and just two, melding into one.
Chapter 14
Barrie woke slowly. Her room was flooded with afternoon light, and she felt deliciously sore—and not just from dancing. She could still smell Mick’s aftershave on her pillow and on her skin, mixing with her own scent and the smell of passion, and she felt flames between her legs as fantasies of their lovemaking invaded her thoughts. No, not fantasies, memories. It had all really happened, every exotic detail. She sighed, rolled over and opened her eyes.
She was alone in bed.
But she saw a note and a rose on the pillow beside her.
She reached for the paper and read, and felt her breath stop. She dropped back on the pillow, delirious with sudden wanting, imagined his body rising up hard and naked over hers, to claim her again....
And then a sudden and unnerving thought.
I want him. Not just want him, like, now.... I want him. Always.
The heat in her face was no longer desire but confusion mixed with a little bit of terror.
Oh, my God. This is real.
The erotic afterglow disappeared in the overwhelming reality crashing in on her.
After all, where was he? Rose on the pillow and pornographic note aside, she was alone in bed, wasn’t she? Except for the cat. Who was giving her a wide berth this morning, as she absolutely should be, given that her mistress had apparently lost her mind.
Focus, focus, focus, Barrie told herself with a touch of panic, or maybe that was hysteria. You’re investigating a murder—or two, or three. Do your job.
She sat up and looked at the clock. Amazingly, still before eleven.
She knew she was in for a barrage of questions from her cousins, but she couldn’t very well miss the Morning Report, so she jumped out of bed and headed straight into the shower to wash off the telltale traces of the night, absolutely not allowing herself to think of Mick in the shower and almost succeeding, and then pulled on a severe gray dress that was the closest thing she had to a nun’s habit. She forced herself to slow down and walk what she hoped was nonchalantly over to the main house. It wasn’t easy, given that her body felt both charged with electricity and lighter than air.
All pretense of nonchalance instantly vanished as she walked through the back door into the kitchen. Sailor and Rhiannon were there at the breakfast bar, and they both jumped up as she walked in.
“Tell tell tell!” demanded Sailor.
“Tell what?” Barrie said innocently. She closed the door behind her and tried to keep a straight face as she walked to the counter to pour herself coffee.
“A certain shifter departed the house at dawn in a limo,” Rhiannon said mock-sternly. “And these came an hour ago.” She indicated a huge spread of flowers displayed in a vase on the cutting board. “I had the deliveryman bring them here, because I think we have a right to know.”
Barrie felt her breath quicken at the flowers, an absolutely breathtaking tropical arrangement. There was a card, but she certainly wasn’t going to read it in front of her cousins.
Instead she took a casual swallow of coffee. “I had a nice time.”
“Oh, a nice time,” Sailor mimicked her. “You look like you swallowed a klieg light.”
Barrie gave up on nonchalance and what was left of her mind as a rush of endorphins and exultation rushed through her. “All right, I had a fantastic time. A fabulous, mind-bending, once-in-a-lifetime time.”
And all the cousins burst into giggles like teenagers.
“That’s more like it.” Sailor shoved her playfully. “The man is stunning. He could be a movie star.”
“Oh, he was,” Barrie said, and burst into giggles again. “He was about ten of them.” This time Sailor and Rhiannon stared at her, mystified, and she got hold of herself enough to tell them about the little shifter show Mick had put on for her.
“Wow,” Rhiannon said admiringly. “Not just gorgeous but fun. You may want to keep him.”
“Shifters do have their uses,” Sailor said.
“It wasn’t all fun and games, you know,” Barrie said, trying to get some control over the conversation. Good luck with that, she thought to herself. “I was working. And I got an interview with DJ.”
“You’re kidding!” Sailor was wide-eyed. “Barrie, that’s fantastic.”
“He wants me to come to his house today. Tonight. Well, at dusk.”
“At dusk?” Rhiannon looked skeptical. “What kind of a lame vampire trope is that supposed to be? Vamps are just as capable of moving around in daylight as we are.”
“Oh, I think he was just being edgy,” Barrie said, but Rhiannon was on a roll.
“That’s not edgy, that’s perpetuating a damaging Hollywood-created stereotype.�
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Sailor rolled her eyes and held up a hand to stop her cousin. “Rhiannon, it’s DJ. He’s being a movie star.”
Rhiannon wasn’t placated. She turned to Barrie. “Is Mick going with you?”
Barrie hesitated. “DJ only asked me.”
“I’m not sure I like that.” Rhiannon frowned. “Is it going to be safe for you?”
Sailor chimed in, “Yeah, last we heard DJ was one of your suspects for Johnny Love’s murder.”
“If it was murder,” Barrie corrected absently, but she knew her cousins had a point.
“And DJ is a vampire,” Rhiannon reminded her. Rhiannon never let her cousins forget that vampires were potentially the most dangerous of the Others.
“I don’t think you should go alone,” Sailor said.
“That’s two of us,” Rhiannon said firmly.
“I’ll go with you,” Sailor said.
“We’ll all go,” Rhiannon corrected.
Barrie stood, raising her voice just to get a word in. “Wait a minute, wait a minute. What do you think he’s going to do, murder me in his own house?”
“Mansion,” Sailor said. “More like a palace. With lots of grounds to bury you on. In.”
“He’s a vampire,” Rhiannon repeated. “And it’s a murder case.”
Barrie threw up her hands in frustration. “We can’t show up en masse. I’ll never be able to get anything out of him. I need to have a casual, personal, one-on-one chat with him, and I can’t do that with you two hovering.”
But she knew immediately from the stormy look on Rhiannon’s face that that wasn’t going to fly, so she reversed tacks. “I’ll take Mick, then,” she said quickly. “All right?”
Rhiannon and Sailor looked at each other, and after a moment they both nodded warily. “That should be all right,” Rhiannon said.
“I guess,” Sailor said.
Rhiannon added, “And you make sure he knows that plenty of people know you’re there.”
“I will,” Barrie promised, although she intended no such thing. She wasn’t going to scare off the best lead she’d had so far.
Keeper of the Shadows (The Keepers: L.A.) Page 14