But it wasn't really a cigarette he wanted anyway. His entire body was edgy and hungry. A strange energy flowed over his skin tonight, making it tingle and his clothes feel tighter than normal. He was horny, but it was more than that. Much more.
Chi? Natural galvanic electricity? What the fuck ... His jeans clung to his crotch and his buttocks, embracing his cock like a stern yet dismissive hand. The feel of the rough denim – without the ameliorating effect of underwear – made him hard.
He needed sex as well as a ciggie. Real sex. Not the fabricated, supposedly mind-expanding little encounters with the overtanned, over-made-up matrons who frequented Inner Light for some of his special, under-the-counter 'hands on healing'.
No, he wanted a proper fuck. A hard fuck. A wild meeting of equal bodies and minds with a woman who'd give at least as good as she got.
Cracking his knuckles involuntarily, he suddenly felt an overpowering urge to look upwards. There, on the mezzanine, stood what could be just that woman. She was watching him, her eyes bright and focused, even in the gloom.
Are you the answer to my prayers, lady? he wondered.
Probably not. She didn't look as if she was anything to do with prayers. And nothing to do with faith, goodness or enlightenment either.
Oh fuck, lady, I want you!
The ever-changing lighting was a mess, but suddenly he could see her with preternatural clarity. She wasn't a fabulous beauty, but there was a power about her that called to him, an intensity of eye and of the way she held herself. A dark fire that spoke loud to his unsettled mood.
She didn't move at first, or even acknowledge him, but she kept on staring. Then, a few moments later, her bright eyes twinkled and she nodded in the direction of the emergency exit.
Not bothering to look at him further, she began to move towards the stairs.
And so did he.
What am I doing here?
The cold moist air in the alley behind the club cleared Paula's head. It had rained on and off for days, and the dew-laden freshness of the atmosphere was as reviving as an icy downpour. Her eyes stopped itching and aching and her limbs felt lighter and less wracked by nervous tension.
I could just walk away now, and nothing would happen, she thought.
That was it. All she had to do was just get out of the alley, walk, run or get a taxi back home. Then continue her search and her battle to understand herself another day.
She'd find Belinda and Jonathan, and this Sedgewick Priory place that they'd kept banging on about when they'd visited her in hospital. Sighing, she wished she'd listened properly, but they'd just gone on and on about their adventures at what sounded like a haunted mansion. And this man they'd met there, its owner, Count André Von Kastel or whatever his name was, who they'd claimed was over two hundred years old – and a sorcerer into the bargain – but who had now disappeared off this earthly plane after some kind of ritual. It'd all sounded stupid and far-fetched, like something out of a very cheap horror movie, and her head had been hurting so much that she'd just lost her temper with them, especially when they'd kept bugging her, and asking her if she remembered meeting anybody. Eventually, she'd told them to 'just fuck off'. And unfortunately they had. Her missing car had turned up in a Tesco's car park a week later but her friends seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth, and now she couldn't find them or their miraculous priory.
But it had to exist, there had to be a way to locate it. Presumably Belinda and Jonathan had returned there and they knew more than they'd been letting on about what might have happened to her. She'd hit the library and local reference sources. She couldn't just keep drifting around and letting herself be driven mad, day after day, by a voice in her head.
Tomorrow she'd get online and start checking. Or just get in her car, drive north to Belinda and Jonathan's hometown and try to track them from there. No more unanswered phone calls and emails. She'd do something active instead of just faffing around and letting things happen.
A smile curved her lips. Suddenly she felt lighter and happier. She began to walk. Swiftly and with energy, she headed for the main drag and a nearby taxi rank. She was back in control again. She could do this. She could get back her peace of mind, and her mind itself.
Fool!
The hated inner voice chimed in her head and she faltered. Gritting her teeth, she kept on walking, but it was as if she were wading through dark mud or treacle and between her legs she felt so heavy and slippery and sexy that it made her gasp.
You feel horny, little bitch, why deny it?
And God, it was true, her body wanted sex. But who was in the driving seat? Was it she who wanted the familiar yet unfamiliar man with the leather jacket and the dangerous eyes inside her? Or was it the thing, Isidora, who fancied a shag with him?
Paula stopped dead. Thought hard. Examined her senses. Goddamnit, she was the one who wanted him! She, Paula Beckett!
And there was nothing wrong with that.
The realisation was a jolt. But reassuring. For all these weeks, she'd been hating herself more and more for giving in to this volcanic sex drive, and for actually enjoying it. But no more. If she wanted sex, she would have it, and she would glory in it!
Good girl, purred the hateful inner voice.
'Oh, fuck you,' muttered Paula, turning on her heel. Shut up. I just want him, nothing more than that. You go to hell.
Swift steps brought her back to the shadowed, litter-strewn alley behind the club. As she'd half expected, the tall man from the dance floor was there, leaning against the stained wall, dragging hard on a long cigarette.
'Ah ha, another smoker. I guessed as much,' he said as he spotted her. Blowing out his smoke, he gave her a thin, almost weary smile as if they really did already know each other. As she approached him, he fished in his pockets, pulling out a packet of unfamiliar-looking cigarettes, his own ciggie still dangling louchely from his lips.
'No thanks, I've given up, sort of.' Paula hesitated, watching him cock his head on one side, making light from a window above glint on his short dark hair. At close quarters, she could see it had a slight curl where it clung to the strong shape of his head, and just a touch of silvery grey among the near-black at his temples. 'I'll have a drag of yours though,' she conceded. 'I don't know that brand.'
'They're special. A Turkish mix. An indulgence from the days when I had a bit of cash.'
After snagging the cig from his mouth, he put it to her lips, his fingertip brushing her mouth for a fraction of a second. The contact was brief, almost non-existent, and yet it jolted her, making her sex clench between her legs, deep and hard. For a moment, she seemed to see him not in a murky alley, but a luxurious bedroom, wearing a beautiful robe of star-strewn blue silk, not an old leather jacket.
'OK?' His eyes narrowed in the shadows, his brow puckering. Up close, she got the impression that he was maybe not as young as he'd first appeared. His forehead was quite smooth and his lightly tanned skin was relatively unmarked by time but, to go with his touch of grey hair, he had a few character lines around his dark eyes and in them there was a strange and haunted aura. He was definitely older than her dream lover, André, but the chief difference between them was that this man was far from patrician. He was wilder, coarser and more muscular, but just as attractive in a down-to-earth, gutsy way.
And his eyes were brown. Dark brown, like antique mahogany – troubled and deeply, deeply beautiful.
'Yeah, fine, thanks.' She took the cigarette between two fingers and dragged on it. Rather harder than she should have. The foreign tobacco was fiercely strong and scoured at the lining of her throat like a sand-blast. Coughing furiously, she almost threw the thing back at him, doubling over. The exotic cigarette went flying, arcing upwards then plummeting down again to plop in a puddle, fracturing the water's reflective surface.
The tall man gripped her by the shoulder, slapping her back until the wheezing subsided. 'There...' His smile was warm as he looked down into her face. 'Nothing like
a bit of rough shag to drive out the inner demons.' Touching her delicately, he smoothed away the moisture from beneath her eyes.
Paula laughed, almost starting to cough again. Inner demons? My God, she thought, if only you knew!
'OK now?' His eyes wide with concern, he looked younger and kinder. His features were strong and masculine, but there was a quirk of sympathy there too. And the mouth that had looked hard now seemed full and soft and passionate.
'I'm fine ... thanks. Sorry about your special cigarette.'
Big shoulders shrugged, and that rather special mouth curved into a smile. 'No, I should thank you. I shouldn't smoke. In fact I'm giving up.' He laughed, a soft rough sound, and the way he shook his head suggested the return of his cynicism. 'I'm supposed to be on the side of light and purity, not abusing my body with the demon tobacco. You've done me a favour.'
Light and purity? Now there was an odd turn of phrase. Paula's eyes narrowed as she scrutinised him. If she'd been forced to assess him, she'd have classified him as 'dark'. Disreputable. Dark of clothing and eye and hair. Everything.
He laughed again. 'Yeah, I know. I don't come across as a devotee of peace and inner harmony, do I?' He reached out, touched her again, his fingers smoothing her hair.
'I really don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about,' Paula answered, laughing too. 'Are you some sort of guru or something?' She looked up at him, trying to figure him out.
'Nah.' He shrugged his solid shoulders in their leather carapace. 'But I am a therapist of sorts – massage, hypnotherapy, that kind of thing. I work at Inner Light, in the marketplace. Every been there?'
The idea of him as a masseur shook her. Her sex fluttered again and for an instant she seemed to feel thick fingers inside her, flexing and stretching her. Oil on her skin, slowly sliding as he fondled her. Perfume and spices filling her head as she climaxed.
Can you heal me? she asked him silently. Can you irradiate me with pleasure, the way he did? And drive her out?
She wondered if he'd heard her. It seemed he might have, because his dark eyebrows lifted. Or maybe he'd heard the laughter of the evil presence inside her, the thing, Isidora, now so mightily disdainful of the possibility of ever being ousted.
'I've not heard that one before. Is it a line? Does it work?'
Real laughter rang out, not the imaginary psychic kind.
'Well, I have used it as a pulling strategy. Far too often, in fact.' He was grinning, showing unexpectedly white teeth for a smoker, but there was still that pall of darkness in his eyes. She smiled crookedly back at him, experiencing a piercing sense of affinity, of fellow feeling. 'But the therapist angle is true. Cross my heart. I can give you my card if you don't believe me.'
'It's OK. I believe you.' Her voice shook as she spoke, the images intensifying. Her skin rippled as if those long, elegant hands of his really were sliding over her body, skin on skin, riding on a veil of exotic oil, and alternating between cruelty and exquisite beneficence. Just like in her dream. 'It's not what I would have pegged you as. But then, appearances can be deceptive.'
His hand cupped her face, the fingertips just resting against her skin. Could he sense what lay beneath it and within her? His eyes – intense, dark, yet strangely glittering – gave nothing away. What she did feel though was energy, five little points of it where his fingers and thumb hovered.
Was it her? Was it him? Impossible to tell. Where the contact was, it felt as if they were one.
'Indeed,' he whispered, edging a little closer. 'But you, what about you? Do you have inner demons?' His eyes flicked downwards as if commenting on her unwise clothing.
Paula blushed. Why on earth had she put on this outfit? It must have been Isidora's doing. An impulse that had got the better of her at the critical moment.
'I've got dozens,' her companion continued, his eyes puckish despite their strange sorrow. 'But you look like a good girl masquerading as a bad girl in that skirt.' His free hand dropped to her hip, curving and gripping. Instead of dressing safe, she'd ended up in her sexiest outfit – a leather mini skirt and a thin cotton camisole. Thank God that underneath she'd managed to exercise a degree of caution. The thought of the strange mark on her belly had made her change her knickers at the last minute.
If only she could tell him. If only she knew what all this was. Belinda and Jonathan could probably tell her, but, because she'd alienated them, they were going to take some finding.
'Yes, I have got one, actually ... an inner demon, that is.' She smiled, hoping she wasn't going to sound like a complete fruitcake. 'There's the spirit of an evil woman, some kind of disembodied sorceress or something, inside me. And she keeps goading me and making me do bad things.' Which was the truth. As far as she understood it.
She waited for the laughter. The backing off. Or worse, a look of humouring and 'she's drunk, but I'll go along with her to get a shag'.
But his strong, sculpted face remained calm, more curious than anything. And he didn't back off. 'What kind of bad things?' His hand slid over the leather of her skirt, smoothing it across the surface of her hip and thigh beneath.
'Things like following a man I don't know from Adam out into an alley as if I want to have sex with him.'
He laughed again. Not mocking. Not hard. It was almost a happy sound.
'Now that is a bit mad.'
Take him! Take him! chattered Isidora, rampant.
'OK! I will!'
Her companion's eyes narrowed, but Paula was beyond caring what he thought. Lifting herself on her toes – this close, she realised, he was very, very tall – she reached up and grabbed the nape of his neck, pulling his face down to hers.
The taste of the dark tobacco was like a potent drug on his tongue and, hungry for oblivion, she sucked on it. His body was solid and muscular beneath his leather jacket and, as she slid inside it, she encountered the heat of his skin, burning through the thin cotton of his black T-shirt.
Savouring his fragrance, she breathed in deep through her nose as she took advantage of his mouth. He smelt of herbs and cinnamon, like a health-food store or an apothecary's shop, pungent and invigorating. The flesh and bone beneath her fingertips was hard and fine, and so was his cock when she let her hand drift to his jeans.
'Hey, are you sure about this?' he gasped, pulling back, 'I mean ... I'm not complaining. I mostly get propositioned by middle-aged ravers during massage sessions, and you make a refreshing change from wrinkles and a sunbed tan.' He touched her face, a puzzled expression in his eyes. 'But I'm not sure this is really you, is it?'
Paula crumbled. Was it just Isidora driving her lust? Would she ever be able to have sex just for herself again? Before she knew what was happening, tears were pouring down her face, making a streaky mess of her mascara.
Big powerful arms, clad in leather, encircled her, and drew her into a warm stronghold. He felt like home, mad as that seemed, far more so than her own flat or any place she'd ever lived. She slumped against him, sliding her arms around his big, muscular torso and pressing her lightly clad body against his. Holding on to him, she felt safer than she had in weeks and yet, at the same time, subject to the low pull of sweet desire. She felt it more powerfully than she'd ever done before because his body was such a refuge. But it felt natural. It felt right. It felt clean.
'Look, do you want me to take you back inside? Or get you a taxi?' He paused and seemed to sway, as if he too was affected by this mutual care-taking. Was he just as lost and confused as she was? And grasping, however briefly, at the same sense of Tightness? 'What about a coffee? There's an all-night place just a short walk away, and I think you need to talk rather than fuck.'
He was trying to be the chivalrous knight, bless him, but the iron thrust of his cock against her belly told another story.
'No! Please ... I want to fuck. I want to fuck now.'
And she did. She wanted sex, but she wanted it for herself, not the dark bitch inside her. There was no manipulation here. This strange tall man was a
therapist, and she needed therapy right now, from his cock.
His brows shot up, but he smiled, tilting his head on one side again as if he didn't quite know what to make of her. 'Well... er ... yes then. No problem. I just wanted you to be sure.' He reached behind her and pulled out the couple of pins that held her hair in a sexy knot, then ran his fingers through it as the tiny bits of metal hit the ground. After pausing only to sniff the scent of her shampoo, he cradled her cheeks between his hands and then leant right in to take a first kiss.
This time he was in control, thrusting with his tongue in a way that was teasing yet gentle. Paula teased back, wanting to smile beneath his lips. Their tongues were duelling but it was nothing like the dream.
For several long moments, they let their mouths enjoy each other. Lips, tongues, dancing and licking and darting. Nothing too rough, nothing too harsh, just playful hunger.
But, eventually, the wild imperative of lust ramped up a notch.
Then another, then another, then another.
Her companion spun her round and placed her against the wall. Paula almost sagged into the stone when he launched himself into kissing her again. This time they were deep, deep kisses that stretched her lips and jaw in a way that exhilarated her senses. This was the fuck-kiss, raw and primitive. It made her sex weep slippery fluid in sumptuous readiness.
When he pulled back, she whimpered aloud in thwarted frustration.
'Don't worry.' He darted forwards, kissed the corner of her mouth quickly, then pulled away again, reaching for the strap of her shoulder bag which lay diagonally across her body. 'Just getting things out of the way.' He flipped the bag clear of her and let it drop at her side.
Then he set to opening the little buttons down the front of her flimsy cotton camisole. Isidora's choice, Paula accepted, but now she was glad of it. Her tall lover was able to bare her without wasting time.
Gothic Heat Page 3