Thomas pulled her back. “Later. I still think you need your punishment.”
Madison’s eyes darkened. “I guess it could wait. It has all these years.” She came to him, resting her body the length of his. “Now about that punishment.”
Thomas closed his hands around her wrists. His cock was hard and pounding with need, and he wanted to consummate their engagement right here, right now.
“Cher. You are going to pay for looking so fucking adorable when you say that.”
“Am I?” She gave him a coy smile.
Thomas put his lips to her ear. “Panties. Off.”
“Yes, Thomas. I love you.”
“Love you too, Maddie.”
Madison wriggled out of her bikini panties and spent the next several hours laughing with happiness.
Epilogue
Alexi stepped onto the slopes of the magic realm within Mount Olympus, barely able to contain his joy. After all this time, all these years, he was home.
He’d left Thomas and Madison drowsing in each other’s arms. He’d whispered a good-bye, but they hadn’t heard him. It didn’t matter. They didn’t need him anymore.
Alexi didn’t worry that no one was in sight. The fact that he was allowed to step on this hallowed ground meant that Eros had kept his side of the bargain. Alexi had served his sentence, learned about the truth of love, and was now free.
He shed his human clothes and walked naked, feeling the sacred sun kiss his backside. He started running for the enjoyment of it.
“Alexi. I heard you were back.”
A female voice stopped him. She stepped out from behind a tree, a lovely thing with flowing black hair and a compact body in gauzy robes.
“Chloe?” Alexi asked. The daughter of a lesser god and a mortal woman, Chloe had been accepted here, been kind of a pain in the ass to the young Alexi thousands of years ago. “You’ve grown up.”
“I hope so.” She sauntered away from him, her thin garment clinging to every curve. Did she deliberately sway her hips, enticing him to follow?
“Well?” she asked over her shoulder, when Alexi remained rooted in place. “Are you coming?”
Alexi laughed. He shouted his laughter to the sky, and he ran through the soft grass to catch her.
Dungeon Dreams
SHERI WHITEFEATHER
Chapter 1
Kendra Madden battled an erotic chill.
This, of course, made no sense. But nothing in her head constituted logic, not since the dreams had started.
Dreams of a dark, gothic place with brick walls, iron shackles, and rough-hewn devices with leather restraints. A place that made her dangerously aroused. A place vastly different from where she was now.
Confirming her soft, fanciful whereabouts, she stopped to study the mansion in front of her. Nothing could be more whimsical, more gingerbread, more Queen Anne Victorian than the Bonswa Inn, an extravagant bed-and-breakfast located in New Orleans’s Garden District. The pink, lavender, and white structure boasted curlicue details and frosting-style scrollwork.
So why did she have goose bumps? Why did this fairy-tale structure create a sex dungeon sensation?
Because she was losing her mind, damn it. Because those dreams were interfering with her sanity. Whenever she awakened from one of those episodes, all she thought about was kinky sex: bondage fantasies, acts of debauchery, things she’d never craved or even considered before.
She took one last look at the fancy exterior of the building. Then, determined to behave as normally as possible, she proceeded to the entrance. The wheels on her basic black suitcase bumped up and over the porch steps, making a soft thudding sound.
Summers in New Orleans were hot and humid, or so she’d been told. But today the weather was warm and pleasant.
She went inside and entered an impressive foyer that served as a reception area. Decorated with rose-motif armchairs and painted side tables, it presented a colorful invitation. Seated at a carved writing desk was a middle-aged woman with fluffy auburn hair and sparkling jewelry. Flamboyant in her own right, she fit the environment.
She stood up, showcasing her full figure, and said, “You must be Kendra Madden. I’m Claire, the innkeeper’s assistant.”
Kendra smiled and said hello. She wasn’t surprised that Claire presumed who she was. Her arrival time had been prearranged. Kendra was a bridesmaid at a wedding that would take place at the inn. She’d booked her reservation a day early because she was anxious to get out of Los Angeles. The rest of the wedding party would be filtering in tomorrow and were only scheduled for a short stay. Kendra had decided to combine this trip with a much-needed two-week vacation.
Claire said, “I’ll let the innkeeper know you’re here. He’ll get you situated.”
While the assistant called her boss, Kendra noticed that the reception area led to a parlor. She caught glimpses of crushed velvet settees and marble-topped tables.
A few minutes later, a man emerged from that direction, and Kendra could do little more than stare. He owned this place? She’d been expecting an older gentleman, but he was about her age.
Mercy me, she thought.
Although he sported casual business attire and carried himself in a professional manner, he was tall, dark, and hot. Stylishly mussed straight black hair, caramel-colored skin, and strong-boned features illustrated a wildly ethnic quality.
Was it any wonder? She’d read on the inn’s website that this was a Creole-owned establishment, and from what she understood, the Louisiana Creole hailed from French, Spanish, African, and Native American roots. Or at least some sort of combination thereof.
Kendra had a fair complexion, blue eyes, and natural blonde hair, but she’d always been intrigued by exotic men. Not that she’d ever been with anyone who looked like him. Her ex was blond and blue-eyed, too.
Their gazes met from across the room, and she sensed that the attraction was mutual. He glanced away first, but the male-female ritual had already begun, creating an awkward moment.
He apparently did his best to recover. As he moved closer, he played the perfect host and smiled. But that only made things worse. His smile was slow and naturally sexy.
He closed the gap between them, and she waited for him to speak, wondering if he would greet her in a local accent.
“Hello, Kendra,” he said, making polite use of her name. “Welcome to the Bonswa. I’m James Rideau.”
He didn’t speak in the “Nawlins” way. In fact, aside from reciting Bonswa and Rideau with a gentle French inflection, he sounded as West Coast as she did.
Even more intrigued, she extended her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
He reached out, too. “The pleasure is mine.”
Oh, no, she thought. No. Pleasure was the wrong thing for him to say. The very instant they touched, the tie-me-up hunger associated with her dreams slammed straight into her.
She wanted to pull away, but she followed through with the handshake, pretending that her heart wasn’t sticking to her throat.
“Would you like a tour of the inn?” he asked. “Or would you prefer to go to your room first?”
“I’d like to see the inn.” She was too nervous to enter a bedroom with him. She needed time to get a grip on reality, to clear her mind of forbidden fantasies.
“You can leave your bag with me,” Claire said.
Kendra started. She’d actually forgotten the other woman was there. Pasting a smile on her face, she handed over her suitcase.
James gestured toward the parlor. “Ready?”
She nodded, and they passed a sweeping staircase that most likely led to the room she was avoiding.
Soon they were alone in the parlor, and she struggled to focus on what he was saying: something about guests gathering for afternoon tea.
From there, they entered a formal dining room, and he explained the breakfast routine. She nodded as if she were paying attention. But at least she’d caught enough to know that the buffet-style morning meal was serve
d between eight and ten.
The tour continued to the library, and he pointed out tapes, books, and tourist brochures about New Orleans, along with whatever else the floor-to-ceiling shelves contained.
Once they reached the opulent ballroom where the wedding reception would be held, he engaged her in small talk, forcing her to use her bumbling brain.
“Is this your first trip to New Orleans?” he asked.
“Yes. My first time as a bridesmaid, too. But weddings aren’t really my thing.”
He flashed a playful smile. “And here I thought weddings were every woman’s thing.”
“Not me. But maybe it’s because I’m divorced.”
His smile fell. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
Kendra could have kicked herself for revealing something so personal. In fact, she had no idea why she’d said it, other than because the dreams had started after the divorce.
She tried for a little damage control. “It’s okay. The divorce was my choice. And it’s been over a year. Plenty of time to move on.”
He didn’t respond, and in the silence, the air seemed to thicken, intensifying the body heat between them.
“I’ve never been married,” he finally said.
To keep herself from moving closer, from breathing him in, she remarked, “A bachelor who hosts weddings.”
“It goes with the territory.” He made a wide gesture, indicating their surroundings. “But I enjoy making other people’s dreams comes true.”
She didn’t want to discuss other people’s dreams, not when all she wanted was for hers to disappear.
She cleared her mind. “The inn seems quiet today.”
“It is. Aside from you, we only have a few guests tonight. But they’ll be checking out tomorrow before the rest of your party arrives.”
“Then you’ll be full.”
He nodded. “And busy with the wedding preparations.” He opened a set of stained-glass doors. “The ceremony will be out here.”
Together, they stepped onto a courtyard surrounded by ancient oaks and thriving magnolias. Scores of potted plants and flowers lined the way to a majestic gazebo.
“No wonder Cathy picked this place,” she said.
“Ah, yes, the bride. She and Ken have stayed at the inn before. They’re a great couple.”
“Yes, they are.” And this was getting awkward again. She and James had walked onto the wedding aisle and were standing much too close.
Several beats of silence passed. She couldn’t think of anything else to say, and apparently neither could he.
Not until he asked, “Do you want to see your room now?”
“Yes, please.” It was better than being trapped on a wedding aisle.
They returned to the foyer and got her bag from Claire, who remained at the desk.
Kendra and James ascended the stairs to the second floor. Her room was located near the stairwell.
“Do you live here?” she asked, curious about how close he would be at night.
“My apartment is on the third floor.” His voice went a little rough. “And above me is the attic.”
She frowned at his reaction. “It’s not creepy, is it? Or haunted or something?”
“The attic? No. There’s just a bunch of junk up there. Typical stuff.”
None of this seemed typical to her. When James unlocked her door, she braced herself for the intimacy of being in a bedroom with him.
They stepped inside, and he showed her around.
The room was decorated with antiques, and the bathroom offered modern conveniences with antique-style fixtures. There was a balcony, too, with a lovely view.
But it was the bed that attracted her attention. She kept glancing at it, wondering if she would dream there tonight and wishing that she wouldn’t.
She looked up at him. “When I was little, my parents used to say that if you wished hard enough, you could make anything happen.” Of course, in her case, she was trying to make something un-happen. “Do you think that’s true?”
“I believe in magic, voodoo, and whatnot. But I suppose it’s in my blood.” He made a serious expression. “If there’s a wish you need fulfilled, you can visit Marie Laveau’s tomb. She’s considered the queen of voodoo, and they say that you can call upon her spirit to grant your wish. I can give you the spell. Lots of tourists do it.”
Kendra made a face. She didn’t want to create hocus-pocus at a gravesite, no matter how commercialized it was. “How about something simpler, like a good old-fashioned wishing well?”
“You could toss a coin into the Jaillissement de Plaisir fountain.” He cleared his throat. “But then your wish will probably turn sexual.”
Kendra blinked. Had she heard him right? “I’m sorry. What?”
“The fountain was favored by Marie Laveau’s daughter. She was a voodoo practitioner in the eighteen hundreds, too. They say that she used to cast erotic spells there. So now if you wish upon it, it’s supposed to grant sexual fulfillment. Jaillissement de Plaisir means Spurt of Pleasure.”
She went silent. Her wish was already sexual, wasn’t it? If her dreams went away, she would stop having kinky fantasies, and her sex drive would return to normal. To her, that would be fulfillment.
“I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” he said.
She met his gaze, and his dark eyes nearly penetrated her soul. He’d mistaken her silence for shyness.
Kendra took a step back and bumped into the bed. Bad move. Bad girl. Bad everything. “I’m not embarrassed.”
“That’s good.” He cleared his throat again. “If there’s anything you need, just let me know.”
She released a shaky breath. “I will.”
He gave her the key to her room, along with the combination to a lockbox at the front door, which would give her access to the inn after hours.
She tried for a casual tone and failed miserably. “Thank you, James.”
He seemed just as rattled. “It’s my pleasure.”
There went that word again. Only this time, she associated it with Spurt of Pleasure. And, heaven forbid, she could totally imagine him spurting into her.
When he turned to leave, she caught his attention.
“Where is it?” she asked, desperate to make a wish.
He didn’t stop to question what “it” was. He quickly responded, “In the French Quarter.” He reached for a pen and paper on the nightstand and wrote the directions for her. “You can take the St. Charles Avenue streetcar to get there.”
He handed her the paper, and their fingers brushed in the process. Every cell in her body reacted, sending little shock waves straight to the V between her thighs.
Luckily, he ended the madness, saying good-bye and making his retreat.
After he left the room, she sat on the edge of the bed, gearing up for the fountain.
Damn, James thought. Damn. He knew better than to get hot for a guest. It was wrong; it was unprofessional; it was his worst nightmare.
Could Kendra look any more innocent? Could she drive him any crazier? Such soft skin and pretty blonde hair, such sparkling blue eyes. So different from the darkness twisting and turning inside him.
Worse yet was her interest in the fountain. He had no idea what her wish entailed, but he sure as hell could make a few of his own. He wouldn’t, though. His libido was already bursting at the seams.
He’d told Kendra that he had magic in his blood. But the only thing he could feel right now were hard, hammering jolts of testosterone.
How was he going to survive the next two weeks? How was he going to sleep under the same roof with her? He should have built a cottage out back. He should have separated himself from his guests.
For all the good that did now. Besides, he’d chosen to live in the mansion so he could be near the attic.
His obsession. His sin.
He glanced at the stairwell, cursing its winding path. He wanted so badly to go up there and release the tension.
But he knew it wouldn’t cure what ai
led him. His lotion-slicked hand wasn’t going to take the place of a woman. Nor would it quell the salacious things he hungered to do to her.
Maintaining what was left of his sanity, he expelled the air in his pent-up lungs and went downstairs to immerse himself in the upcoming wedding preparations.
But before he headed to his office, he decided to check in with Claire. She was his girl Friday, and her husband, Leon, was the chef who made taste buds come alive at the inn.
James entered the foyer, and Claire glanced up from her desk, where she was typing away at her laptop.
“Hey,” she said in her usual upbeat way. “I just e-mailed you the rehearsal dinner schedule.”
“Thanks. Will you send over a copy of the menu, too?”
“No problem.” She leaned in and lowered her voice. “So, what do you think of Kendra? If I’m not mistaken, I detected some chemistry between you two.”
Please, Lord. The last thing he needed was a happily married matchmaker watching his every move. “She’s a guest, Claire.”
“Yes, but she’s also an attractive young woman who was checking you out. And you”—she wagged a finger at him—“were trying way too hard not to look back.”
He scoffed at her observation. “I was not.”
“You were, too, and I’ll bet you could have a nice little affair with her if you quit being such a stick-in-the-mud and enjoyed yourself once in a while.”
A nice little affair? If he wasn’t so stressed, he would have laughed. “I don’t do flings, and I certainly don’t do them with guests.”
Claire rolled her eyes. “You don’t do anything, James. When’s the last time you had a girlfriend?”
“I’m too busy for a relationship.”
“You know what they say about all work and no play.”
Yeah, and if she knew the type of play that consumed him, she would probably fall over and die. “It wouldn’t be proper to pursue her.”
Claire rolled her eyes again, and he turned away, hoping his stick-in-the-mud manner would get him off the hook.
Anxious to take refuge in his office, he exited the foyer. But he get didn’t far.
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