More Blazing Bedtime Stories

by Leto, Julie; Kelly, Leslie

  “No,” Harper interjected. “I think she needs to stay the night. She’s really upset. She can have my room. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  “If we put her in your room, we might never find her again,” Jack quipped. “The guest room is a mess, too. She can have my bed for the night.”

  With him in it?

  She could only hope.

  After the friendly housekeeper named Mrs. Bradley made tea, Jack had Harper find something for Tatiana to wear. Harper returned with what looked like half a night gown. Tatiana accepted the sleepwear and then followed Harper upstairs, more than a tad disappointed that Jack hadn’t wanted to tuck her in himself.

  “Here it is.” Harper swung open double doors that led to the master suite. “The inner sanctum.”

  She flicked a switch near the door. A soft blue glow flared as if sapphire lights were hidden beneath the sleek crown molding. Tatiana instantly focused on the bed, which was twice as long as she’d ever seen and just as wide. The bedclothes were a deep midnight blue. The collection of pillows in white and gold reminded her of stars in the sky. The decor was sparse and modern and deeply human. She’d never find a place like this on her side of the woods.

  “Wow,” she said.

  “Pretty boring, I know,” Harper said.

  “No,” Tatiana argued instantly. “I mean, it’s a little cold, I guess, and it’s so…well, neat.”

  And sensual, in a minimalist way.

  “As I said, boring,” Harper concluded.

  Harper took the jacket from around Tatiana’s shoulders. Instantly, she missed Jack’s scent, especially when she caught a whiff of the cloak underneath. She discarded the moth-eaten covering she’d borrowed from Joe Stiltskin in a corner near the door, then looked down at her gown, which sparkled azure in the eerie blue lights of Jack’s room.

  “That’s beautiful,” Harper said, fingering the beadwork on Tatiana’s sleeves.

  She’d been wearing this dress—or similar versions—for over four centuries. The thought of taking it off thrilled her to no end.

  “There are stays in the back. Can you—?”

  Harper got immediately to work. “How’d you get in this thing, anyway?”

  “A maid,” she replied.

  “You have a maid? Are you rich? Because we are, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  Tatiana scanned the room, noting the short columns topped with sculpture and original paintings on the walls. “I noticed. And your brother made all this from playing a sport?”

  “Not all of it,” Harper said, struggling with a stay that had obviously been knotted a few decades too long. “My dad was a Broadway producer. And my mother was a stage star. They left us everything when they died. Did I say ‘us’? What a crock. I don’t see a penny until I turn twenty-five. Jack now rules my trust fund, but he used to be a cornerback for the New York Giants.”

  Tatiana swallowed a chuckle. “He is a giant.”

  “He’s a big guy,” Harper conceded. “Anyway, what else is there to do around here? Make more money and exercise. It’s all he does.”

  “That’s all?”

  Harper shrugged.

  Tatiana frowned, then unbidden, yawned. She was exhausted—and the prospect of slipping into Jack’s sheets and enveloping herself in his scent again made her dizzy with anticipation.

  “Well, you’re going to have to tell me more about him if our plan to facilitate your audition is going to work.”

  Harper matched Tatiana’s yawn with a wide maw of her own. “In the morning, ’kay? I’m beat.”

  And with that, the kid left.

  Tatiana tugged the sleeves of her dress, then stepped out of the lace, tulle and silk of her standard-issue fairy godmother gown. Now that she’d left Elatyria, she’d lost her effervescent glow—that extra “sparkle” that made fairy godmothers appear much more beautiful than they actually were. Worried about the aftereffects, she stepped in front of the closest mirror.

  Her hair had fallen out of the careful curls that had once twined around her tiara—only her tiara was gone, leaving her hair a mass of tangles. Dirt smudged her nose and cheeks and her lips looked especially pink and swollen. She turned to find a basin to wash in when her gaze drifted lower, to her breasts.

  Wow. She had really great tits.

  Funny how she’d never noticed before.

  She circled the globes of flesh with her hands and a spark of sensation struck her. Her nipples extended and she couldn’t resist running her fingers over them, gasping when twin jolts of excitement shot straight through her skin.

  She did it again, marveling at how a sizzle of warmth speared between her legs each time she touched herself. This wasn’t lust—it was arousal. Sweet, torturous and mind-numbing. She continued to pluck at her nipples mercilessly, her breath catching with each spiral of pleasure when she heard a soft knock behind her.

  She spun, her hands instinctively covering herself.

  “Harper?”

  The door opened an inch. “No, it’s Jack.”

  4

  SINCE he’d installed the ultra-thick doors on his bedroom himself, Jack knew that Ana Starling, or whatever his sister had said her name was, wouldn’t hear him knock unless he opened the door a crack. He’d had no idea that the thin sliver of space was enough for him to spot her standing beside his dresser wearing nothing but pale panties.

  He stepped back, but the image of her breasts—plump and pale and centered with dark, erect nipples—burned into his brain like ignited flash powder. The fire quickly blazed down to the areas of his anatomy that had been long ignored.

  She was a guest. She was a friend, however new, of his little sister. And he’d nearly walked in on her while she…what? He didn’t want to think about it. Well, actually, he did. But he didn’t think his neglected libido could stand it.

  He cleared his throat, hoping his voice wouldn’t sound as strangled as his insides.

  “Are you decent?” he asked, closing his eyes and hoping she’d buy his implication that he hadn’t seen anything.

  “Wh-what?”

  “Are you dressed?” he said, more loudly. “I need to grab a few things.”

  Again, he pictured her totally grab-worthy breasts. He cursed quietly, then tried to come up with something to say that didn’t contain a lusty double entendre. He settled on, “I need to gather a few belongings.”

  “Just a moment, please.”

  With his eyes shut tight, he found himself fantasizing about her dashing across the room, those lovely, pale breasts bouncing, her slim stomach fluttering, her round ass curved in offering as she bent to retrieve her dress. He’d only caught a quick view of her erect nipples, but his brain had registered the precise size and shape with the same accuracy he used to calculate exchange rates and predict the yo-yo movements of the Dow Jones. He would never have imagined she was so shapely underneath that horrible, smelly cloak. Now, he doubted he’d erase the picture of her luscious, naked body from his memory—ever. Good thing she was leaving in the morning.

  “O-okay. You can come in now.”

  He opened the door, expecting to see her back in her cloak, but his lungs seized when he saw how she’d wrapped herself in his jacket. Only his jacket. The hem reached almost to her knees, but the distinctive curve of her hips would not be hidden, nor would the generous helping of cleavage peeking out from the loosened zipper. Any other woman might have looked like a gray mushroom in his oversized hoodie, but somehow Ana Starling looked more like a stone that, if polished with precision, would become a priceless gem.

  “I’m sorry,” he apologized as he entered, trying to keep his mind focused only on the supplies he needed. iPod. Toothbrush. Book. iPod. Toothbrush. Book. iPod. Toothbrush.

  Condom.

  “No,” he muttered.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Nothing,” he said, grabbing a small overnight bag from the bathroom closet. He shoved his personal items inside, leaving the condoms in the back of the medicine cabinet
where they belonged.

  “Oh,” she said, sounding slightly disappointed.

  He chanced a quick glance into the bedroom. She seemed to be holding the fabric of his jacket up to her nose. Had he washed it since his last workout?

  “I hope you’re comfortable,” he said. “You can take a shower in here or whatever. Not now,” he said, just in case she misinterpreted his invitation. “After I get out of your way. And if you need anything, there’s an intercom beside the bed. I’ll be able to—”

  “An intercom?”

  Her intense curiosity drew his attention, even as he threw a second stick of deodorant into his bag. At the rate he was suddenly sweating, he’d need double protection. He glanced into the bedroom and watched Ana explore the area around his bed. For the first time, his mattress looked entirely too big for one person. Two, however, would fit quite nicely.

  “It’s built into the nightstand,” he explained, then grabbed a bottle of aspirin. He’d been fighting a tension headache since his argument with Harper. The agony had just exponentially increased. “Just press the silver button on the end. That connects to the guest room.”

  The intercom screeched. Before he could disengage the device, Mrs. Bradley’s voice asked, “Yes, Mr. St. Cloud?”

  “Um, now what do I do?” Ana asked.

  “Say goodnight,” he grumbled, reaching for the button.

  She slapped his hand away. No wonder his sister adored her on sight.

  “Goodnight, Mrs. Bradley,” she said.

  “Oh, Ms. Starling! Were you looking for me? I’m tidying the spare room for Mr. St. Cloud. Do you need anything?”

  “No, thank you. But this is a nifty little piece of magic, isn’t it?”

  Unwilling to listen to his housekeeper and his unexpected guest chat it up over the communication system he’d installed in order to be available to Harper even when he was in his room with the door locked, he snared Ana’s wrist and guided her away from the bed.

  The minute their flesh made contact, he understood his error. A jolt of heat surged through his system. Her skin was soft as chamois. Her eyes, blue as a spring sky, darkened to charcoal. He snuck a glance down and saw that her nipples were poking pleasurable dents in his cotton jacket.

  “Sorry,” he said, releasing her. “You’ve probably been manhandled enough for one night.”

  “What? Oh, right. Manhandled.”

  Her voice was throaty and low. For the briefest moment, he wondered if she might not mind being handled by a man with a little more finesse and expertise. A man like him.

  “Well, if you need me,” he said, moving to leave before he embarrassed himself.

  “What will you do?” she asked, grabbing his arm.

  Again, a spiral of heat spiked from her fingertips into his bloodstream. Her eyelids were suddenly hooded with what he suspected might be desire.

  “If I need you, I mean,” she clarified.

  He cleared his throat. He wasn’t entirely sure if she was coming on to him, but all evidence pointed in that direction. And while he couldn’t deny the instant attraction rampaging through his system, he also knew that he’d been abstinent long enough to not trust his instincts. She was a stranger who’d showed up in the bayou in the middle of the night, claiming to be some sort of damsel-in-distress. Wealthy men rarely stayed wealthy when they fell for uninvestigated seductresses who might or might not be as innocent as they appeared.

  “I’ll alert Mrs. Bradley,” he replied. “She’s very efficient.”

  Her lips curved into a tiny frown.

  “Good night,” he said.

  He closed the door behind him and took in a huge breath, trying to blow out the heat that was searing the inside of his lungs. Marching around the corner and toward the stairs, he wasn’t entirely surprised to see Harper peeking out of her bedroom at the other end of the hall.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “You want your punishment for running away now? Geez, Harpy, I thought you’d at least give me until morning to come up with something good.”

  “You’re so not punishing me,” his sister said, her voice surprisingly confident for a teenager who’d just sneaked out of the house after midnight and returned with someone she’d never set eyes on before. “I meant about Ana. She’s pretty, isn’t she?”

  “I didn’t notice,” he grumbled.

  “Yeah, right. Anyway, I saved her life,” Harper continued. “She said she owes me.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  Harper came out of her room and skipped quickly to keep up with his long strides as he turned toward the stairs. “No, it isn’t. Stories about life debts are in books, movies, plays. Look at Peter Pettigrew in Harry Potter. Azeem and Kevin Costner in Robin Hood. Heck, there’s even this episode of The Brady Bunch where Peter almost gets hit by a falling ladder, but Bobby saves him and—”

  “You watch too much television,” Jack muttered.

  “Only because there isn’t much else to do around here.”

  “You could study,” he said, turning on her. “Your French teacher sent me an interesting e-mail about your most recent grade.”

  “When?”

  “Yesterday,” he replied.

  “You didn’t say anything.”

  “We seemed to have enough to argue about.”

  He was on the landing when his sister shouted, “Ana speaks French.”

  “What?”

  His sister’s clever eyes slashed toward his bedroom. “Ana. She’s like a specialist in languages. She could stay here for a while and help me get my grade up. She owes me.”

  “She has a life,” Jack argued, though a quake of anticipation rumbled through his body at the thought of Ana Starling remaining in their household past sunrise. A purely physical response. Because he hadn’t had sex in so long.

  Again, the image of her standing naked in front of his mirror flashed in his brain. His tongue practically swelled with wanting. Just a taste. A quick, brief sampling. Nothing too filling. Nothing too permanent.

  “No, she doesn’t,” Harper added, bouncing down the stairs. “She told me she was between jobs and that’s why she was staying with the friend who has the octopus for a brother. She probably doesn’t want to go back after what happened. I bet she’d love to stay. And if she can help me pass French, then her debt to me is repaid.”

  “You live in a fairytale world, Harper.”

  She thrust her hands onto her hips. “Only because you won’t let me venture into the real one, big brother.”

  Then her entire demeanor changed. The way she could shift a scene from angry and annoyed to hopeful and giddy in a fraction of a second, Jack knew she had inherited her acting chops from their mother. She slapped her hands together in mock prayer and did that thing with her eyes that somehow made them round and glossy and impossible to ignore.

  “Please, Jack. If you won’t let me go to Broadway, at least help me pass French. Maybe I’ll go on to be a curator at the Louvre. Or study archeology like Belloq in Indiana Jones.”

  At his doubtful stare, she smirked.

  “Okay, but it’ll be fun to have Ana around for a while. I’m sure she’s not a secret serial killer or anything. You can check her out. We haven’t had anyone new around here in years.”

  He tried to keep his face expressionless, but the kid wasn’t wrong. Ana was interesting, at the very least.

  “I’m bored, Jack,” Harper continued, no doubt sensing his weakness. “And so are you. Sooner or later, one of us is going to get into trouble because of it.”

  Jack knew this was a bad idea, just as he’d known that investing in Nintendo months before they released Wii had been a good one. But Harper was bouncing on the balls of her feet in anticipation and frankly, he hadn’t seen her this keen on anything remotely related to school—with the exception of the end-of-the-year musical—in a very long time.

  And he wasn’t exactly unhappy with the idea of having Ana around, either.

  “I’ll talk to h
er about it in the morning,” he promised.

  Harper leapt up, flung her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek.

  “You’re the best brother in the universe.”

  “You didn’t think as much a few hours ago.”

  She danced back up the stairs and turned the corner toward her room, not replying. His sister was smart enough to know when she’d won—which meant Jack now had a tick in the ‘lose’ column. Making him, officially, a loser. Though judging by his prepubescent reactions to three seconds of his unexpected houseguest’s nudity, he certainly couldn’t argue.

  5

  ONE REQUIREMENT of fairy godmotherhood was a good night’s sleep. At home, down plucked from geese raised on lavender and chamomile had filled her pillows. Her sheets, woven by enchanted silkworms, were cool and fluid in the summer and warm and cozy in the winter. Even her mattress had been stuffed with wool from Bo Peep’s infamous flock.

  There were some perks to servitude.

  But while Tatiana guessed that Jack’s mattress, sheets and pillows were all top-of-the-line, the fact that they belonged to him kept Tatiana wide awake.

  She’d done as Jack had suggested and had taken a shower. She’d heard that cold water could douse the internal combustion that came from excessive sexual desire. She’d even prescribed a few icy swims to the occasional over-randy prince. But she learned quickly that a frigid shower was a really stupid idea.

  Goosebumps had erupted over her flesh. Her puckered nipples yearned to be enveloped by the heat of Jack’s hands and mouth. Icy drops slicing into the curls around her sex drove her to twist the hot-water faucet with such enthusiasm she nearly scalded herself.

  And since she’d had no choice but to use his shampoo and soap, sandalwood with subtle hints of amber, cedar and musk clung to her skin as they had to his jacket. He was everywhere and nowhere all at the same time.

  Inexplicably hot in the temperature-controlled room, she’d removed the nightshirt Harper had given her. With the lights out and the sheets silky against her skin, Tatiana’s every nerve ending itched for attention. And yet, she resisted. She hadn’t crossed over between worlds to lose herself in the madness of sexual pleasure. She’d come to grant a wish and gain her freedom.