by Kris Starr
Turning, she pressed her palms to Nicholas’ chest, pushing him against the bare concrete wall. One touch of him, one taste and Jessie was addicted. She craved more, craved all of him. The little voice in the back of her brain continued its screaming tirade of warning, but the sound was nearly obliterated by the dreamlike, shushing beat of her pulse. And therefore incredibly easy to ignore.
Her breath coming in gasps, she gathered in the tiniest tendril of self-control and held back briefly to look into Nicholas’ eyes.
For a moment, Jessie’s lungs refused to function. Nicholas’ pupils were dilated, his eyes infinitely dark and deep, fathomless and liquid, fringed by impossibly long lashes. His full lips were parted slightly and by the quick rise and fall of his chest, she could tell his own breathing was equally labored. His skin gleamed with the faint sheen of salty perspiration—a savory flavor Jessie wanted on her tongue once again—and his strong, angular face radiated an intensity that conveyed a more powerful message than words ever could have.
“What—why—how are you doing this?” Nicholas’ tone was low, the urgency enough to carry his voice over the echoing din.
Jessie shook her head. “Don’t ask. Please. Just kiss me.”
For a second that seemed an eternity, Nicholas stared at her, his smoky gaze unwavering, seemingly negotiating with himself.
In the next heartbeat, Nicholas cradled her head in his hands, his mouth breathing the barest suggestion of contact. Jessie’s lips tingled, as though the nearness of his mouth was akin to completing an electrical current.
For that moment, the universe was silent.
And then he kissed her.
Then, as though the molten need inside of her had burst through the dam fruitlessly attempting to contain it, sensation returned to Jessie in a deafening thunderclap, and she crushed her mouth to his.
Hunger and uncontrollable need ignited in the sudden inferno. Lips scraping, teeth clicking together, Jessie was driven by the need to devour, to wholly consume. One kiss from this man was not going to be enough. Would never be enough. Ever. Gasping for breath, Jessie continued to meet his assault on her mouth with one of her own on his.
Unable to stop herself, Jessie slid a hand down his chest to his jeans, resting her palm atop the very aroused cock pressed firmly against his fly. She gave an experimental stroke and was answered by Nicholas’ full-body shudder.
Oh yes.
Popping the button open, she yanked down the zipper and was rewarded by Nicholas’ hiss of gratification. Slipping her fingers inside the opening, she caressed his cock through the soft material, the heat of him radiating through his underwear.
One of Nicholas’ hands returned to her breast, fingers flicking at her nipple, tweaking and plucking, and Jessie groaned around his mouth. Finding the fly of his shorts, she nudged the opening wider, her fingertips teasing the hot, velvet-smooth skin of his cock. Caressing him with long, deliberate strokes, Jessie delighted in the length of him, began to deliberate the logistics of getting him fully out of his jeans. She salivated at the thought of taking him deep into her throat, milking him dry.
“Well now, darlin’. Looks like you’re having a damned good time here.” Gram’s raspy whisper pierced the heady fog surrounding Jessie, and she froze.
Oh shit. Gram. Oh God. What the fuck am I doing?
Heart thumping with an adrenaline rush completely unrelated to Nicholas and his touch, Jessie broke the kiss, yanking her hand back as though his body had burned her. Glancing around guiltily, Jessie caught sight of Gram lounging indolently against the wall, a smirk smoothing her wrinkled cheeks.
“Goddammit.” Heartsick, her previous pleasure now a lead weight sinking low into her stomach, Jessie forced herself to take a step back.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
Turning, she watched Nicholas make an obvious attempt to bring his breathing back under control. His eyes were full of concern, frustration and confusion, and for a moment, Jessie wished she could just tell him everything. But there was no way that was going to happen.
Forcing her voice through a throat tightly clenched with emotion, Jessie said, “It’s…it’s nothing. I’m so sorry. This was a mistake. Please forgive me.” Heart pounding with each forced step, she began to back away, down the hall.
“What? Wait—” Pushing himself up from against the wall, Nicholas hesitated, hampered by his open zipper.
Briefly relieved that his apparent sense of decency would give her a few moments of lead time, Jessie had turned and fled.
* * * * *
“Hey! Whoa! Uh, miss? Jessie?” An edge of hysteria tinged Peter the cabbie’s voice, the sound jolting Jessie out of her reverie. She glanced toward the front seat, noticing that at some point Gram had maneuvered herself into the passenger seat next to Peter. Jessie took a moment to purposely slow her breathing and heartbeat down to normal levels.
“What is it? Gram? What are you doing? Get out of the front seat!” Jessie groaned inwardly. The woman needs a leash.
Gram cackled. “Never you mind, Jessie darlin’. I’m showing dear Peter here one of my specialties.”
Voice cracking, Peter warbled, “Uh, ma’am, I don’t think what you’re doing is appropriate, uh, given the particular circumstances, and frankly, if you keep that up I’d be forced to let you ride for free tonight… Oh sweet Jesus!” Peter let out a rumbling groan and the taxi jerked violently to a stop.
There was an awkward silence. Peter’s head lay against the headrest, his breathing labored. Jessie watched, dumbstruck, as Peter glanced down at himself, mumbling.
“Christ. And this was a clean shirt too…”
Jessie bit back a surprised snort of laughter. Gritting her teeth together, overwhelmed by memories of her earlier romp and fighting to ignore the throbbing pulse in her clit and her wet panties, she finally found her voice, even though the damage had already been done. “Gram! Get your ass out of there and into the back. Now!”
With a decidedly naughty chuckle, Gram gave Peter’s cheek an almost imperceptible little pat. “Oh Peter darlin’, I was just playing. It was fun though, wasn’t it?” Gram dissolved through the bench, appearing again in the back of the taxi.
Finally making eye contact in the rearview, Peter’s face was flushed, his gaze more than a little wild. “Oh sure. So much fun I think I’m going to need to find some therapy of my own,” he muttered, stepping on the gas pedal a little too roughly. “Definitely a new shirt.”
Jessie turned to the elderly woman, wildly grasping to keep her temper under control—no small feat considering the adrenaline roller coaster she’d been riding all evening. “I think you need to go to sleep, Gram. Don’t you feel tired?”
Gram vehemently shook her head, the feathers in her headpiece dancing at the same tempo. “Not at all, darlin’.” She settled back against the seat again. “I’m just havin’ a little too much fun toni—”
A loud snore reverberated through the taxi. Gram’s head was thrown back against the headrest, her mouth hanging open.
Jessie blinked. “Huh. It worked again. I wish to hell I could do ghost hypnotic suggestion more often.” She sighed softly and settled back against the vinyl herself. Scrunching her eyes closed, she apologized to the cabbie. “I’m so sorry. She’s not normally that aggressive. I’ll pay to have your shirt cleaned, if you want.”
Slowing down for a red light, Peter glanced at her in the mirror, his expression calmer. “Don’t worry about it.” He let out a short laugh. “Tell you the truth, that’s the most action I’ve gotten in months. Although,” he added sheepishly, “I don’t normally have an audience.”
Jessie laughed. “It’s okay—I promise you I wasn’t paying attention.”
They rode in companionable silence for a short while, before Peter spoke again. “She’s a wild one, huh? What’s her story? How’d you get saddled with her?”
“Gram, well… She’s Gram. She’s been with me since I turned nineteen. It is true that we’re not related
, and I’ve never been able to get her to explain why she’s hanging around. She’s appeared to the women in my family for as far back as we can remember, and everyone has been just as stumped. I’ve tried to research her and find out just who she was, but she refuses to give too many personal details, so I haven’t had much luck.
“She just showed up in my living room on the morning after my birthday.” Jessie snorted at the memory. “She’d somehow hijacked a cable porn channel and was sprawled in an armchair, cackling away. And when I crawled into the room, the first thing she asked me was if any of my male guests were hung like horses. It’s a good thing most people can’t see her. I would have had a hell of a time explaining her to all the party guests who’d crashed at my apartment.
“Anyway. She really was a bordello girl in New Orleans, around 1850 or so—that’s one thing she’s been forthcoming about. She goes everywhere I do, which sucks, frankly, and she generally makes my life a pain in the ass. That’s about all there is to her.”
Peter eyed Jessie shrewdly in the mirror. “Nah, that’s not everything, is it? There’s something else you’re leaving out of your little story. And it has to do with sex. Am I right?”
Jessie flushed. “Wha—how’d—” Meeting Peter’s unwavering stare, she groaned. What was with this guy? The last thing she wanted to do was start spilling her guts to him, yet here she was doing it. “Fine. Yeah, you’re right. See, Gram likes looking at good-looking men, which on its own is bearable. The problem is—and I don’t know exactly how this works—whenever she gets…um, turned on by looking at some hot guy…I get turned on. And there’s nothing I can do about it. It’s driving me nuts. I’m sick and tired of being her Pavlov’s dog. It’s been about six years now, and nothing’s changed.” Frowning, Jessie turned her attention out her window to the lights and throngs of people still on the street at two in the morning.
Peter grunted. “Yeah, I can see how that would be a bitch. But you know, Jessie, there’s more to her being here than just to annoy you, and I’m willing to bet there’s also more to her turning you on than you think. The dead don’t just hang out here on Earth for fun. She’s got a purpose, and I think if you pay attention, you’ll figure it out.”
Jessie thumped her head back against the seat, feeling not unlike a cranky, spoiled child. “What are you, the cab-driving shrink? At this point, I don’t care. I need to get her out of my life. Haven’t you ever been in a situation where you wished there was something—anything—you could do to change it?”
There was a long moment of silence, punctuated only by Gram’s snores, before Peter spoke again. His voice was low, subdued, but strangely full of conviction.
“Yeah. Yeah, I know exactly what you mean.”
Chapter Two
Dr. Nicholas Federov closed his eyes in exhaustion. Eight thirty in the morning, and he was already done for the day. He’d tossed and turned all night, unable to get that lithe, blonde minx out of his head, and then the stress of settling into this office didn’t help either. If he could have called in sick today, he would have strongly considered it. But he’d only just joined the practice, and immediate absences would certainly be frowned upon. He wasn’t about to start rocking the boat—not when it involved such a high-paying, plum job. The icing on the irritation cake, however, had been the ringing telephone the moment he entered his office. Exhaling softly, he focused his attention back to the currently one-sided conversation.
“I understand your situation, Dr. Murray. Dr. Garrett explained everything to me during my interview. The woman does sound like she needs some assistance but—” A flurry of language assaulted his ear. Nicholas slipped off his glasses and dropped them on top of the desk blotter. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. If this was a sign of things to come, this Murray character was going to kill him.
“With all due respect, Dr. Murray, I can’t take on any new patients right at this moment. Having your caseload on my plate hasn’t left me with any available openings—certainly not today, by any means—”
With a discreet knock, Edie, New Perceptions’ ever-chipper receptionist, poked her head through the door. An energetic smile beamed from her round face, and for a moment, Nicholas wondered if the woman was ever grouchy. Or tired. Or hung-over. Not bloody likely.
He interrupted again. “Just a moment, Dr. Murray.” He turned his attention to the petite woman. “Yes, Edie?”
“Sorry to bother you, Dr. Federov. Wanted to let you know that your two o’clock just cancelled. Would you like me to try to fill the time slot for you?” Edie chirped, her nasal, Minnesotan twang sending a twinge behind Nicholas’ right eye. He immediately felt guilty. Edie had done nothing wrong—he was just being an ass today.
Nicholas took a deep breath. If it was the only way to get Murray off the phone… He held up a hand to the petite dynamo in baby-blue wool, indicating for her to wait, and turned his attention back to the receiver. “Dr. Murray? You’re in luck. She can come at two o’clock. It’s all I’ve got—you can take it or leave it.”
With Murray’s gleeful acceptance still echoing in his ear, Nicholas disconnected the call. He glanced over toward the doorway. “Edie, I’m going to see a Jessie LaFontaine at two as a favor to Dr. Murray. Could you add her to the appointment book, please?”
“Oh well, of course, Dr. Federov! Isn’t that nice of Dr. Murray—sending us more patients? Is there anything else I can get you, doctor?”
Nicholas shook his head with a weary smile. “No, thank you, Edie. That’s everything.”
The receptionist gone, Nicholas folded his arms on his desk and dropped his head down on top of them. Immediately, visions of the mysterious blonde from the nightclub appeared in his head. Not for the first time, Nicholas wondered just who in the hell she was. And how he could possibly find her again—nearly impossible in a city the size of New York, especially considering that he hadn’t even gotten her name.
His cock didn’t care though—he’d been aroused to varying degrees all night long. The mere memory of that platinum hair, the silky skin, the vibrant green eyes, those perfect-handful tits—it was enough to get him completely hard again. It was almost as though Nicholas could still feel her mouth on his, her hands touching him, and he groaned. Loudly. He’d taken a bracingly cold shower on his return home and even finally resorted to jerking off—but even coming harder than he could ever remember doing before had, in the end, been futile. He’d been rock-hard again mere seconds later. The mystery woman was in his blood, and there was diddly squat he could do about it.
There was another knock at the door. Straightening, he turned in time to see Edie poke her beehived head in once again.
“Your nine o’clock is here, Dr. Federov.” She hesitated. “Are you okay, doctor? You look somewhat…ah…discombobulated.”
Nicholas forced a smile. “I’m fine, Edie. Please just show the patient in.”
Her own perky expression firmly back in place, Edie nodded. “Okie dokie, doctor. Will do.”
Sliding the top drawer of his desk open, Nicholas located the bottle of ibuprofen and swallowed two tablets with the dregs of his cold coffee. They were no substitute for sleep, but they’d have to do for now.
Selecting the patient’s file at the top of the stack on his desk, Nicholas flipped it open and skimmed the first page of notes—Dr. Murray’s notes—and tried to suppress a groan. The patient thought she had a demon living in her refrigerator? Good God. Probably some form of hallucination or manifestation, but how in hell was he going to tackle this one?
Unbidden, the face of Grand-mère Federov appeared in his mind. He wondered idly what his staunch guardian would say if she could see his appointment book for today—a demon, two poltergeists and astral projection. And that was just before noon. Nicholas slipped his reading glasses back onto his nose, Grand-mère’s booming contralto echoing through his brain.
You’re a Federov, Nicholas. Federovs do not dally in such foolishness.
“I
t’s my life, Grand-mère. You can’t tell me what to do with it anymore,” he muttered aloud to the empty suite. Frowning, he pushed the woman’s image away. That had been a long time ago, and he’d surely made his peace by now. Hadn’t he?
A tap at the door had Nicholas reaching for his notebook and pen. He pasted what he hoped was a friendly smile on his face and forced himself to think about demons. One way or another, he’d manage. It was just like eating the proverbial elephant—you did it one bite at a time.
Only he desperately wished he could be nibbling on that blonde instead.
A loud cackle pulled Jessie from a deep and vividly dream-filled slumber. Peering at the digital clock on the bedside table, she groaned. It was only eight-thirty in the morning, and Gram was already up and at ’em. Perfect.
Rolling onto her stomach, Jessie pulled the pillow over her head and tried to block out the sunlight, traffic noise and Gram. No use. Instead, she turned again onto her back and stared up at the stucco ceiling. What was the use of being a freelance IT troubleshooter who set her own hours if she couldn’t even sleep in the way she wanted to? Definitely another strike against Gram.
Oh in a weird sort of way, Jessie had grown somewhat fond of the crazy old lady—when she wasn’t causing trouble. But enough was enough. She’d put up with Gram for far longer than was surely necessary. There had to be some sort of timeline on these kinds of spiritual burdens. Hadn’t she paid whatever mystical dues were required by now? Honestly.
Frustration rising further, Jessie turned her head toward the window, fixating on the gap between the pale green curtains. Focus on something else. From what she could see, the sky appeared to be cloudless, and the most brilliant blue she’d ever seen—with the exception of a certain pair of stunning eyes.