by Anna Durand
Contents
Front Cover
Other Books by Anna Durand
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Epilogue
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Copyright Page
Other Books by Anna Durand
from Jacobsville Books
Dangerous in a Kilt (Hot Scots, Book One)
Willpower (Psychic Crossroads, Book One)
Reborn to Die (Reborn, Part One)
Reborn to Burn (Reborn, Part Two)
Reborn to Avenge (Reborn, Part Three)
Reborn to Conquer (Reborn, Part Four)
Passion Never Dies: The Complete Reborn Series
The Falls: A Fantasy Romance Story
from The Wild Rose Press
Tempted by a Kiss
Chapter One
Grace Powell slammed the front door. The cool air inside the house flushed away the sultry October heat pasted to her skin. She stalked across the living room, down the hall, and into the bedroom. She fumbled for the light switch, her fingers slipping off the plastic. Dammit. No one but David Ransom detonated her temper like this. She flicked the switch, and light flooded the room. The bed stood empty, the sheets crumpled at the foot.
They'd fled the house in a near-panic, racing from their home to the Cincinnati airport with tires screeching, all because of a thirty-second phone call David received at one a.m. Another tip from a questionable source. Another threadbare clue in his quest for vengeance. Another search that yanked him away from Grace. Away from their home, their life.
The emptiness of the bed tore at her heart like tiny claws. Sharp. Hot. Fresh tears pricked her eyes, and she gnawed her lip to stave off the downpour. No crying.
She fingered her engagement ring. A tear sneaked out of her eye to roll down her cheek, painting a hot trail on her skin. No crying, dammit.
She resisted the impulse to tap into their telepathic bond and check on her fiancé. It was an invasion, one she understood all too well, but how else could she know David was all right? She had to trust their latent connection, however faint, to warn her. If he stumbled into trouble, though, what could she do from here, over a thousand miles away?
Her heart clenched. Losing her parents ripped her world asunder. She could not lose David too. Her head told her she wouldn't, yet the fear chilled her down to the essence of her being.
She trudged into the bedroom, kicking off her shoes. The lonely tear crept into her mouth, infecting her tongue with a salty tang. She tugged the cell phone out of her jeans pocket and tossed it onto the bedside table. Her muscles, stiff and sore, begged for a rest. She collapsed onto the mattress on her back. Her gaze hit the ceiling, where little acoustic balls clung to the paint, stuck there against their will. I know the feeling.
When they'd reached the security checkpoint at the airport, she'd longed to plead with David to stay. Instead, she cranked her lips into a smile, pecked a kiss on his cheek, and all but shoved him through the gate. Her stomach wrenched into knots recalling that moment, as he strolled into the main terminal. When he paused to glance back, she prayed he would change his mind. But he simply waved, then strode out of sight.
Grace rolled onto her side. Her nose bumped into David's pillow. She drew in a long breath. The spiciness of his aftershave flooded her senses, along with another scent — a subtle, masculine smell unique to David. Indescribable. Delicious. Warmth suffused her, seeping into her heart and mind, smoldering in parts of her that ached for him. She inhaled another draft of his scent, her body responding as if he were there, caressing her. He may drive her nuts at times, but…
Oh, the way he kissed. Her lips tingled from the memory of it.
A chill whispered over her skin. Every hair on her body stiffened. Her sixth sense burst out of its slumber, clanging alarm bells in her psyche. Someone is here.
She bolted upright and whipped her head left and right. Nobody there. She swung her legs off the bed and pushed up onto her feet, nabbing her .357 Magnum revolver from the bedside table. A chill trickled down her spine. Eyes watched. Invisible, ethereal, but real. She turned toward the doorway. Nothing lurked there.
Why couldn't she pin down the source of the sensation? Her paranormal radar was blanked out, as if overwhelmed by input.
Psychic energy crackled through her. Behind you. She whirled around, thrusting the gun up, clamped in both hands, and confronted —
The lamp.
Hell. She'd let her unease blossom into paranoia. Nobody hunted her anymore. Probably. Tesler wouldn't find her here.
Her cell phone buzzed. A text message had arrived.
David. She snatched up the phone, tapping the screen until the message popped up. As she scanned the words, a shiver rattled through her.
"Come to me," it said, "I can help you. 1325 Meroz Road."
She didn't recognize the phone number the message came from, and no name was given. Oh sure, she'd rush right out to the address texted to her by an anonymous whackjob.
The phone buzzed again. Another text message: "Your lip is bleeding."
Her lip? She dabbed a finger on her mouth. It came away wet. Blood stained her skin. How did the texter know she bit her lip? Her heart pounded. Without moving, she searched the shadows for a figure, a camera, something to explain this, though she knew she'd find nothing. A thick curtain shielded the window. The person sending the messages could either see through solid objects or had another means of viewing her. Extrasensory means.
The phone tumbled from her hand, clattering on the floor.
No, she was jumping to conclusions. An intruder must've stolen into the house. With the revolver in hand, she sprinted out of the bedroom, down the hallway, through the kitchen, and into the living room. Vacant. All vacant. She rushed back to the bedroom and dug through the closet, scoured the dresser, even dropped onto her belly to investigate the space under the bed. No cameras. No stealthy intruders. Not a damn thing. Which left her with one unthinkable possibility.
Maybe she should call the police.
What for? They couldn't help her with this kind of problem.
"You belong with me."
She jumped. Her head smacked into the bed frame. She clutched the gun tighter. Where had the voice come from?
No, no, no, not again. Nausea swelled in her stomach, bile rising high in her throat. The voice did not originate in this room, or from outside. The source was much, much closer. Someone rammed the words into her mind.
A psychic intruder just hacked her brain.
&
nbsp; Grace crawled out from under the bed. She pushed up onto her knees, set the revolver on the carpet beside her knee, and grabbed her phone off the floor. Her heart implored her to call David, but her head warned against it. What if the psychic intruder bugged the phones? She shuddered. An invisible stalker needed no bugs or cameras to track her every movement. He might spy on her anytime, anywhere.
Grabbing the edge of the mattress, she heaved herself up and onto the bed. Her eyes stung. Her lip throbbed from chewing it. She yearned to lie down and drift to sleep. As if she could sleep now.
Her phone buzzed.
She lifted her hand. On the screen, a message glowed. "Come to me when you're ready. No pressure. Last message, promise. Good night."
Grace gulped. The rock in her throat stayed put.
Good night? Sure, she'd sleep. Like a freaking baby — if the baby downed a pint of tequila. Unfortunately, she didn't drink, never had. Thanks to her new "friend," however, she craved a big, tall glass of anything alcoholic, to soak her fears in the vaunted bliss of drunkenness. Maybe then she could pretend nothing happened.
David needs to know. Given her past, he'd want to hear about an intruder hacking into her mind. She punched the button to call up his cell number, but then froze. He was in the air right now, on his way to Utah. Did the airlines let passengers use cell phones in flight? Better stick to the one means she knew would work.
Ohhh, David wouldn't like this.
Screw it. He ought to know.
Grace slapped the phone onto the table. She slumped onto the bed on her back, folded her hands over her belly, and shut her eyes. Tension tugged her muscles taut. Thoughts swirled in her brain. If she couldn't block out the anxiety, she'd never tap into her powers. Drawing in a deep breath, she let it out bit by bit. Relax. Picture the target.
David. His face glimmered in her mind as if lit by heaven's own glow.
Her mind snapped free from her body. She floated in nothingness for a second, and then whoosh. She rocketed up through a dark tunnel into a field of blackness dotted with stars. Her mind drew lines between the lights, sketching out the connections between places and events and psyches in the crossroads, the ethereal source of all psychic power. A white line stretched out toward a pinpoint far away. The star pulsed. David. She'd found him.
Grace hurtled toward him through the darkness into the light, smashing through it into another tunnel. Psychic gravity hauled her downward, closer and closer to her destination. To David's mind. His presence cascaded over her, through her, penetrating deeper with each second, overwhelming her with warmth and love and belonging.
She tumbled out into the world. Shapes blurred into each other. Up, down — her senses struggled to separate the two. Precious seconds ticked by until her mind acclimated to the change. It shouldn't have hit her so hard. Something was different this time, but she couldn't deduce what.
Solid earth supported her feet. Though she lacked a physical form, her mind conjured an image of her body that behaved like the real thing. She turned in a circle, inspecting her surroundings. Trees loomed overhead. Green moss squished under her feet. The sun blazed behind the treetops, its rays puncturing the shadows below. This made no sense. She watched David walk into the terminal. He should've been in the air, not down here in the woods. Down where? She'd figure that out later. First, she must find David.
She stopped. Her heart thudded. A dozen feet away, David crouched in front of a thick pine tree. Facing away. Hands bound behind his back. Ankles bound too. Head tipped up. Grace zeroed on the object of David's attention. A man, engulfed in shadows. His face obscured.
She tiptoed closer. Still couldn't see.
The stranger swung his arm up. His hand. He clutched something. A shiny, metal object. He hoisted it higher. Shit. A knife.
"David!"
Her cry ricocheted off the trees. He didn't react. She charged forward.
And whacked into an invisible wall. Pain exploded through her. She staggered backward. What the hell?
The stranger drove the knife downward. The blade plunged into David's chest. He gurgled. The stranger tore the knife out. Raised it high. Blood drenched the blade. He jammed it down. David convulsed and crumpled to the ground.
Grace screamed.
She flung her arms out to David, but the barrier hurled them back. She toppled over, scrambled to her feet. The stranger ripped the knife out and braced for another blow. Grace flailed for the knife. Her fingers smacked into the barrier. Pain racked her joints. She attacked the barrier with every ounce of psychic energy in her, pounding on it with both hands. It shattered with a whoosh of air that bowled her over backward. She scrambled to her feet. Rushed toward David. Grappled for the knife. Her hand sailed right through it.
No body, dammit. No hands. No hope.
Like hell.
The stranger stabbed David again. A red stain erupted on his shirt. The blows wrenched Grace's astral body as if the knife shredded her own flesh. The slickness of his blood oozed over her skin, and his life spewed out of her as if it were her own.
No, no, no. I won't lose him too.
The assailant tossed his knife aside.
Manifest now, dammit. Construct a body. Nothing happened. She staggered forward, gasping, tears cascading down her cheeks. They stung like the real thing, and her chest ached from the pain of her hammering heart. She must manifest a physical form right now.
But she couldn't.
She pumped every ounce of psychic energy she had into the task, draining her metaphysical power lower than ever before. Her head throbbed. Everything twirled around her. The tether between her and David unraveled.
"No."
The word whispered out of her. Faint. Distant. Every bit of energy inside her vaporized.
The stranger waltzed into the light. Grace peeled her gaze from David and stared at the assailant. The sunlight glistened on the bald spot atop his head. A breeze ruffled his gray hair. His freckled face warped into a smirk. Recognition jolted through her. She knew this man.
Karl Tesler. The scientist David had hunted for six months. The man who captured and tortured psychics. The object of David's obsession, and the reason he fled to Utah.
Tesler surveyed the area. A cold draft whispered over her in the wake of his gaze. Goose bumps prickled her skin. He couldn't see her. Could he?
The scientist sneered down at David, his dark eyes narrowed and burning with an amber fire. He fingered the blood stain on David's shirt, then lifted his hand to his face. He sniffed the blood. And grinned.
Grace clenched her fists, gritting her teeth. "Tesler, you bastard. You'll pay for this, I swear it. You'll pay."
Anger boiled inside her. Scorching. Swelling. Obliterating reason. Propelling her to do something. Anything.
She could do nothing.
He would pay for this. Somehow, some way, she would summon the strength to rip his heart out.
The tether snapped. Her mind plunged back into her body, ramming into it with a force that punched the breath out of her. A vice bore down on her head, the pain so intense she nearly vomited. She jerked upright, still on the bed. A salty flavor drenched her mouth. Tick, tick, tick. Dampness pasted her clammy shirt to her chest. Tick, tick. Sobs twisted her gut. Tears dripped off her chin to plop onto her shirt, ticking like a countdown timer. One thought consumed her.
David was dead.
CHAPTER TWO
The sun had long since breached the horizon by the time David smacked the car door and leaped up the front steps of their home, two at a time, at nine o'clock. The morning light glared in his eyes as he grabbed for the knob. It slipped in his damp palm.
What would he find inside the house? Was he too late?
He wiped his hand on his jeans and seized the knob.
The front door swung open, releasing a blast of cool air from inside the house that chilled the
sweat on his face. Grace hunched in the doorway, her bleary gaze aimed at him.
He staggered backward a half step, the air trapped in his lungs. She was okay. Freaked out, but alive. He hauled in a breath, shoving aside his own anxiety, and moved toward her.
Grace's hazel eyes widened. Her fair skin blanched. "You're alive."
"Obviously." He tilted his head, baffled by the way she stared at him like he'd hopped off a unicorn's back. "Are you all right? I sensed… something."
More than something. A tidal wave of fear and anger had battered him with such power that he nearly tumbled off the hard, plastic chair in the Denver International Airport, where he'd been waiting for a connecting flight. He recognized in a heartbeat the source of the icy burst of sensations. Grace. He'd sprinted to the ticket desk, his pulse racing, seized by a wild panic that hammered one thought into his brain over and over.
Grace is dying.
Yet she wasn't. No blood, no bruises — unless her clothes masked them. Other than her bloodshot eyes, nothing betrayed the terror that had coursed down their connection and skewered his heart. He touched his fingertips to her cheek. Warm. Smooth. Undamaged. The electrical charge of adrenaline that buttressed him on the flight home flooded out of him. The world rocked around him. He sucked in a breath, jerked his hand away from her face, and willed his mind to settle.
Grace launched her body into the air, sailing through the doorway and straight into him. He caught her in both arms. She hoisted herself up to wrap her arms around his neck, her feet dangling several inches off the ground. He tugged her against him, gripping her sides to press her closer. She flinched and gasped.
He snatched his arms away. "What did I do? Are you hurt?"
She bent her head back and chuckled, her voice chiming like tiny bells. "I'm fine. Your fingers were digging into my ribs, dummy."
"Oh. Sorry."
She tucked her head under his chin. He nuzzled her neck, breathing in the clean scent of her. He beat back the urge to scoop her into his arms and whisk her away to some deserted island, a safe place, where they could pretend the past year never happened. He would stir her memories — the ones buried under eight months of amnesia — and then let her tender caresses and fiery kisses scour away his secrets. His nightmares. His past.