Strange Academy (Hot Paranormal Romance)

by Wilde, Teresa

  Sadie’s ears popped. It was magic, she realized. She’d never seen it close up. Intrigued, she leaned forward.

  Gray ran his finger over the little nub. She gasped as her left nipple hardened. Rough pressure flicked the nub, exactly in time with his caress of the pasta nipple.

  “Fun with alchemy.” He gave her a wicked half-smile.

  *

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  ******

  ****

  *

  “I’ll beat you this time.” From the kitchen, Sadie heard Sterling trash-talking his uncle.

  “Talk is cheap.” She could almost hear a black eyebrow lift.

  As it turned out, Sterling had an insatiable appetite for the tiddlywinks game Aunt Pippa had left her in the big box o’ mysterious items. And Gray had infinite patience for his nephew. They’d played for an hour after dinner as she cleaned. Both males had offered to help wash up—Sterling with a little prodding—but she kicked them out, wanting alone time.

  One pot still bubbled on the back burner of the stove. Odd. Gray hadn’t mentioned it. Sadie threw the damp dishtowel over her shoulder and lifted the lid. A thick, slightly pink liquid gave off a mouth-watering citrusy smell. She dipped a fingertip in and licked it clean. The sour taste was cut by just enough sweetness to keep her cheeks from puckering.

  She walked to the living room. The tip of Sterling’s tongue stuck out of his mouth in a look of concentration. One of his eyes was closed as he sighted the cup with his tiddlywink.

  “Gray, there’s still a pot on the stove.”

  A smirk played at one corner of his lip. “Leave it.”

  “It tastes like lemons.”

  Gray nodded, his chest shaking with contained laughter.

  “Can I have some, Uncle Gray?”

  “No,” he said. “It’s for the adults. For later.”

  Plonk. Sterling’s wink landed on the line between the red area worth three points and the blue area worth six points. “Six points,” he said.

  “The Gray House plays by the rules.”

  Sterling stuck out his chin. “Fine. Three.”

  Gray made his shot. His wink plunked against the side of the box, not making a single point.

  “Ha!” Sterling said.

  Gray didn’t sneak a glance at her or show any indication he’d thrown the game.

  “Are you going to play, Miss Strange?”

  “Of course.” She joined them at the table.

  About every other game, Gray managed to miss that all-important shot. Making Sterling earn his victories made them sweeter to the kid. She didn’t have to worry about letting Sterling win. She never knew where her winks were going to go. Instead, she concentrated on absorbing the happy atmosphere.

  After one of Sterling’s victories, she picked up a wild shot of Gray’s that had landed in her lap and held the tiddlywink out to him.

  Their fingers touched on the game piece.

  A flash of dark light. Her ears popped. She looked at the world through eyes that weren’t her own.

  Pippa Strange studied the smoky-eyed young man sitting stiffly across from her on the Persian carpet she’d bought in Damascus last year. It was impossible to think of the ten-year-old as a child. She gathered up the game pieces.

  Time for you to go to bed, said Pippa. Or Santa won’t come.

  I don’t believe in fairy tales, young Lorde Gray said, looking down his little Roman nose at her.

  Pippa fought the urge to smother this young man in pity and love. Her heart broke for this abandoned boy who didn’t have enough magic in a childhood that would end far too soon. Such a contrast to her own niece, or what Sadie had been like before—

  “Sadie?” a deep male voice said.

  Sadie blinked, coming back to herself. The past, momentarily superimposed over the present, faded.

  Gray’s smoky eyes narrowed in concern. “You went off there for a second.”

  She swallowed to clear the pressure from her ears. She looked at the red tiddlywink both she and Gray held. These are things you’ll need, Dream Pippa had said.

  Need for what?

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Bah, humbug!” said Alastair Sim, with Scrooge’s enthusiasm. Sadie snuggled under the blanket as Pippa’s tiny TV lit the room with a ghostly flickering light.

  She had watched Sterling fall asleep in front of The Muppet Christmas Carol. At the time, he’d been sitting next to Gray on Aunt Pippa’s brown-swirled couch. Sadie had watched the increasing yawns, then the drooping eyes. Eventually, Sterling had folded over onto his uncle’s shoulder and started snoring.

  Poor kid. But he had his uncle. And for now, he had her. Tomorrow, under a non-existent Christmas tree, he’d find a box of tiddlywinks and The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.

  No, she thought. The Magician’s Nephew.

  After a while, Gray had picked him up. She couldn’t keep her eyes off the sight of the sleeping kid caught up in those strong arms. Gray left without a word, as if she wasn't even there. Of course. He hasn’t stayed for her, after all. All of this was for Sterling. As it should be.

  She ate another one of the chocolates her mom had sent. It was her favorite, caramel. It tasted like sawdust in her mouth. “Bah, humbug,” she said to no one.

  On the television, Scrooge watched his nephew’s party, standing apart from the festivities. Sadie felt like rubbing her eyes, too. She’d fooled herself again, deluded herself into thinking Gray was feeling the same things she was.

  The smell of the cookies Gray had whipped up after dinner wafted in from the kitchen. Sweet cinnamon. His smell. She smiled.

  Then she whipped back to reality. She couldn’t get caught up in this game of house they were playing for Sterling’s benefit. Gray wouldn’t be here if Sterling hadn’t had a tantrum about Paris.

  Nope, she thought. From now on, I’ll just play my part. I’ll be the good little substitute mommy and keep my mind off the substitute daddy and any substitute conjugal activities implied by the imaginary substitute relationship.

  And then after, I’ll just go bash my head against that wall. Because it will feel really good when I stop.

  The door creaked.

  Every muscle in her body tensed. She pretended to pay attention to Scrooge’s denials to the Ghost of Christmas Present.

  She heard someone pouring something in the kitchen.

  A tall, broad figure came around the corner of the couch with the lithe grace of a panther on the hunt. Or a man who wanted something. She shook that thought out of her head and concentrated on the television, but the black-and-white picture turned to fuzzy lines her eyes couldn’t interpret.

  Two people who didn’t want to be alone could watch television, couldn’t they? It didn’t mean anything.

  Gray placed something on the coffee table and sprawled over the other end of the couch. He took up entirely too much space there; she curled up so she wouldn’t touch him. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him spread his legs wide in the easy sensual way of men. The vee of his inseams drew the eye exactly where she didn’t want her eye drawn. She looked straight ahead and willed herself not to feel anything.

  “You came back,” she said.

  “You left the door open. Didn’t you just watch this?”

  “We watched the Muppets. This is the 1951 version. It’s black and white.”

  “So is the TV,” he said. “Why do you want to see Scrooge’s mental breakdown again?”

  “Best character arc in all literature. He has to see the past that made him what he was, visit the present he’s missing and follow his actions to their logical conclusion. Then he can really change. A perfect hero’s journey. I could put it on as a Christmas play next year.” She paused. “But I’ll be gone by then. I’ve decided to leave.” It felt like betraying Pippa, but it was obviously the right thing to do. The revelation of the memory-erasing spell had made the decision for her. Her only regret would be forgetting the truth about Pippa and Chloë. And she wouldn’t remember to
regret it. Cross had told her not to bother writing emails or notes to herself. Her things would be searched and her email deleted. She wouldn't have done it anyway—Strange Academy might have treated her like crap, but these kids deserved security. She wouldn't put them in danger by putting what she knew in writing.

  “When will you go?” he asked, his tone flat.

  She turned to look at him. Her breath caught. A flash of light from the TV crossed his face, and for an instant half of his profile was light, the other shadowed. He looked nothing like the man who had rolled pasta like Play-Doh with his nephew.

  He looked predatory. And there was only one deer in his headlights.

  “At the end of the spring term. It leaves Christian time to find a replacement. I didn’t intend to stay here after I found out about Pippa’s death. I’ll get my Ph.D. and be Dr. Strange.” Staying a few more months would give her time to find Eton English and ask him a few relevant questions.

  She felt Gray watch her. A million silent years passed. Or it could have been a second.

  “Black,” he said. “Definitely wearing the black ones.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I didn’t mean to say it out loud.” But his tone of voice said he didn’t give a damn.

  The tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood to attention like good little soldiers.

  “Who’s your favorite spirit?” she asked. Maybe she could distract herself. Maybe she’d forget his left hand had just come to rest on his inner thigh, about halfway up, his thumb on the inseam.

  “Red,” Gray said. “I like red.”

  She didn’t understand his answer. “I love Christmas Yet to Come. The most frightening ghost does the most good. Fascinating how Dickens built the symbol of the future out of the ancient archetype for Death.” She bit her tongue to stop from babbling about Albrecht Durër woodcuts and the misinterpretation of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

  “No. I think it’s the pink ones.”

  “What are you talking about?” she blurted.

  “Thinking out loud. Still doing it, actually.” He leaned closer to her. “Wonder which pair of panties she’s wearing.”

  Her spine jolted straight. Every nerve in her body went live and zeroed in on Gray’s big body, shifting in the dark, two feet away from her. She forgot how to breathe. Blood thundered through her veins. Her hormone production went into overdrive.

  On the TV, Scrooge begged the spirit to leave him alone.

  Her brain spun. She should yawn and excuse herself. But what did it matter? She would leave soon and forget him.

  Her body made the decision for her. She stood and walked to him, stopping between his knees. His heated gaze traveled up her body, lavishing attention on every part of her. He wasn’t looking down his nose at her now. His breath hitched when she crossed her arms under her breasts.

  “You want to know what panties I’m wearing, Gray?” She took his hand and guided it to the button of her jeans.

  He grinned wolfishly for an instant. But then the smile fell away. “Sadie, I’m marrying April. This changes nothing.”

  She shrugged, hiding her irritation with herself for being irritated at his reminder. “What the hell does it matter? I’m leaving. I’ll forget you.”

  Gray nodded. Shivery heat crawled up her spine as he unzipped her jeans, peeling them off like the skin of an orange.

  He traced the words on her panties with his finger. Do not open ’til morning.

  Gray showed her his watch. The hands pointed to 11:45.

  “Lucky me.” His voice was a growl. And then, somehow, she was beneath him on the couch.

  Everything in the world disappeared, except for Gray. There was only his silky hair under her fingers, his hard chest against her needy body and his mouth opening her own. Pleasure shook his body as he tasted her. His hand grazed the side of her breast through the fabric of her shirt and it was her turn to shudder from the sensation.

  But it wasn’t enough. “Shirt. Off,” she told him, between sucking at his lower lip.

  He ignored her and kept kissing, intimately invading her mouth; hot lava pooled between her legs.

  “Shirt. Off,” she demanded.

  He grinned a lopsided smile against her mouth. “I’d be happy to, if you’ll let go of your death grip on my hair. And stop making me talk.” His hot breath made the hairs on her nape sit up and beg. “I have better things to do.”

  She lay back as he kneeled up between her thighs. The t-shirt came off. He was glorious. Michelangelo-sculpted muscles adorned his chest. Air came out of her in a whoosh.

  She breathed in his cinnamon scent. She ran her fingers up the patch of dark hair trailing out of his jeans.

  Sure fingers undid her blouse as her hands worshipped his abs and unzipped him. Click. Her bra came open.

  A hot tongue left moist swirls on her aching breasts. There was an ache at the apex of her thighs, too. She arched into Gray, reached down and freed his shaft. The hard jab of it into her belly promised relief for all her aches.

  The television threw shadows and light over Gray’s hard body. She nestled against him, hungry for his touch. But part of her screamed this was all wrong. He had a fiancée. He’d try to take over her life. She was terrified she’d let him.

  But the way he kissed her, strong and gentle at the same time, drove logic from her brain.

  He groaned animal desire and took a breast into his mouth. As he moved a tongue around her nipple, he caressed her between her legs. The double assault of masterful hand and skilled tongue was more than she could bear. She nearly shattered on the spot.

  His kneading touches didn’t take long to draw her to her peak. She threw her head back and cried out her pleasure as she came. When she could breathe again, she grabbed Gray and covered his mouth with hers, desperate to communicate her appreciation.

  Gray slipped out of his jeans and underwear. His shaft was long and thick, the height of male beauty, and she had never wanted anything more. She wiggled out of her trousers and was about to remove her thong when he caught her hand.

  “It’s my present,” he said, referring to the words on her panties. “I want to open it.”

  His rough hands explored every inch of her butt as he did.

  He reached for his mug on the table. It was filled with the lemon liquid she’d tasted earlier. He tipped the mug to pour it on her. Intimately.

  “Wait,” she said, shocked. “What is it?”

  He gave her a heated, mischievous look. “A potion.”

  “A lemon-flavored potion?”

  “It’s different for every woman. You’re a lemon-flavored woman,” he said, sounding pleased. “It’s better than a condom.”

  “Birth control?” She hadn’t considered protection. She’d just thrown herself into sex with Gray, forgetting the potential consequences. “It’s a prophylactic potion?”

  “Completely effective. I won’t be getting you pregnant. Now, what did I tell you before about the talking?”

  Lorde Gray knocking up a Non; the end of the world, thought Sadie, with a stab of bitterness. Then the sensation of warm wetness as he poured the spell on her sex shocked all thought from her brain. The citrus scent mixed with Gray’s cinnamon musk. Her thighs fell apart, and Gray growled at the view.

  He positioned himself at her entrance and entered her with one hard thrust. Her eyes closed in ecstasy. He was so big and filled her to bursting, but they fit together perfectly.

  “You’re tight. It’s been a while for you,” he rasped.

  She nipped his tasty-looking shoulder blade. “No talking.”

  He didn’t talk, but made appreciative sex noises as he rocked inside her. She locked her ankles around him and met each thrust with one of her own.

  “Look at me,” he said.

  She opened eyes that had closed in her pleasure. Gray stared down at her. The intensity of raw emotion between them scared her a little. She was afraid he’d see in her eyes what she was starting to feel for
him. His gray gaze created a connection she didn’t want to feel. Panic whipped through her; she was going to fall harder than she already had. Not good.

  She dug her fingernails into Gray’s buns, wordlessly urging him to finish her. The cords in his neck strained against his skin as he thrust.

  They crashed together like a head-on collision. She shattered like glass hitting metal. She half-sung, half-screamed out her pleasure, the sound mixing with Gray’s throaty gasps.

  Sated and panting, Gray lowered himself to touch lips with her in a laughably chaste kiss before maneuvering her onto his chest. She didn’t have the strength to resist the intimacy. She could only lie there, rising and falling with his deep breaths.

  “God bless us all, every one,” said Tiny Tim.

  *

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  *

  Gray lay in Sadie’s bed in the dark and tried to think. There didn’t seem to be any room in his head for thoughts. As soon as he put together a detached argument and rolled over to wake her, she gave a quirky little sigh, forcing reason from his brain. Or shifted her thigh against his leg. Or threw off the scarlet duvet to reveal a pink-nippled breast.

  All these things made him forget what he needed to say. The words to tell her they couldn’t do this again. It was particularly hard to say, since he already wanted to do it again.

  Her brown hair falling over her shoulder, she looked like a slumbering sex goddess. And he was in severe danger of worshipping at her feet.

  She snuggled against him, making his mouth bone dry and his cock rock hard. Still asleep, she laid her head on his shoulder. “Mmmm,” she said, and mumbled something like “cinnamon.” The feel of her soft body pressed against him sent his brain into nuclear meltdown.

  He would have to be cold and hard and tell her. It was the last thing he wanted to say. But she’d recover. Eventually, he’d be another arrogant jerk in her alphabetical line of arrogant jerks. She’d move on to someone whose name started with H.

  He sought a distant, unemotional place where he could deal with all of this but couldn’t get there. Dammit, he’d never had this trouble before.