Tall, Dark and Paranormal: 10 Thrilling Tales of Sexy Alpha Bad Boys

by Opal Carew

  “Sleepy.”

  The kitten’s tail twitched.

  “I don’t think he likes that one, Todd.”

  Todd’s eyebrows arched. “How about Socks then?”

  “Or Boots. As in Puss-in.” As a writer, she was familiar with this process, kind of stream-of-consciousness rambling to get what she needed.

  “Fine. It’s late, I’m sweaty, and you’re naming the newest punctuation mark to join the household Boots. Shoes, Sandals, Sneakers… any kind of footwear is better than Mr. Kitty. I’ll see you both in the morning.”

  And there he went, taking all thoughts of what if with him—which was probably for the best anyway. He was just coming out of his self-imposed emotional hibernation; it probably wasn’t the best idea to read anything more into anything other than he was rejoining the world of the living and she just happened to be handy.

  Right. That was what she needed to remember.

  Jolie hunkered down to pet Boots while he slurped up his eggs—her own little “just so happened to be handy” friend. Nothing wrong with being the “handy” friend, as long as you weren’t looking for professions of undying love and everlasting commitment, though if no one claimed Boots, he could expect just that from her.

  What could she expect from Todd?

  Jolie couldn’t go there. So she chose to go to her room instead. She settled Boots on the pillow next to her, and he, sweet thing, licked her knee with his sandpaper tongue, then wrapped his tail around his body, flicking it softly against her thigh, his black paws such a contrast against his snow-white fur. He purred himself to sleep while she struggled away on her manuscript. With Todd pulling at her heartstrings, she wanted to imbue Tom with all that emotion. At least it’d be good for something.

  An hour or so later, her pencil was a nub and her brain numb, so she put the notebook aside. Tom was working very well now. Perfectly ready to let a woman into his life.

  And she wasn’t even going to touch that thought.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Jolie, you need to put the damn cat outside.”

  “I can’t. He might run away.”

  “Stop moving. He’s distracting me, damn it. Every time I move he’s swatting my shoe laces.”

  “So take off your shoes.” Did she just suggest Todd remove an article of clothing?

  “Fine.” Todd exhaled and removed them. “Why didn’t you leave him in your room? He’s going to start in on the paintbrushes soon.”

  “So give him one. What’s it going to hurt? You have yet to pick up a brush.”

  “That’s because I’m sketching you first. Turn your head to the right. There, that’s it. Now tilt your eyes up toward the top of the window. Just like that. Good. Hold it. Don’t move.”

  There she sat, staring at a piece of window trim in the west wing the Morning After. Not that this was a Morning After worthy of being called a Morning After, given that the time she was spending with him was relegated to discussions about light, positioning, and, of course, the diatribe against the kitten. An artist’s model’s life was definitely not glamorous. Quite odious, actually. They’d been there for a good two-and-a-half hours so far and Todd had said all of six words which weren’t cat-related: “Good morning,” “Sit here,” and the ever-present “Don’t move.”

  Yep, that was about it. She was hoping it was simply that he’d gotten up on the wrong side of the bed that morning and that this wasn’t his normal artistic temperament. Because, if it was, she might push for an end to his re-instituted career before he’d even had a chance to get started. Or at least suggest he find a new model because she didn’t care how cute and sweet and caring and sexy and funny and friendly and nerve-shivering he was, this was not worth it.

  “You know, Jolie, you really are a beautiful woman.”

  Well, okay, maybe it was. “Um, thanks?”

  “Don’t move.”

  And there went that moment.

  “I just hope I can do your bone structure justice. The way your lashes brush beneath your eyebrows—they’re incredibly long, but natural-looking. Not come-hither. More… inviting. Yes, that’s the word. A window dressing for your soul. I’ve got to get the curve of them right.”

  Wow. He could say that without dissolving into a puddle of mush on the floor? She, on the other hand, was getting quite boneless. “Todd—”

  “Ssh. Don’t move your mouth. I’ve got to get the tip of your lip right where it vees into the middle.”

  Yeah, well, he’d better get the droplets of moisture (not sweat because she didn’t) beading above said lip before they cascaded all over the place.

  “I’ve got an itch.”

  His sigh was loud enough to wake the neighbors. “Fine. Take a break.”

  She scratched the itch on her hand, rolled her head, worked the kinks out of her shoulders, did a few arm swings. At least she had a pillow on the stool so Tush was in decent shape, but her right calf felt as if it’d fallen asleep. She did some toe-pulls to stave off a charley horse and a minute or two of run-in-place.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Stretching?” Novel concept.

  “You need to stop. You’re shaking the floor and your lip line is going to bleed charcoal as if you don’t know how to use lipstick.” He rubbed the canvas with his little finger and his brows scrunched down until his eyes were almost invisible. And there he went with that hand through the hair again.

  “Are you always this chatty when you paint?” She couldn’t help the nudge. It was like some little imp got inside of her and wanted to push Todd’s buttons.

  I know some buttons I’d like to—

  Be quiet, Naughty Girl.

  Spoilsport.

  “Huh? What?” Todd took the stick of charcoal from his teeth, leaving a gray smear beside his mouth.

  “I said, don’t you think you should take a break? Your hair is sticking up from where you’ve run your fingers through it too many times, you’ve got a streak of charcoal across your cheek, and your personality is as sparkling as a flat bottle of old cider.”

  “What?” He sighed. “Sorry. I guess I got involved.”

  “A bit.”

  “I just want to get this right. It’s much different trying to convey the intelligence and beauty of a face than depicting nature. Portraits are so, well, personal. I’ve got to capture the essence of my subject in a way I’ve never done before.”

  Forget those quivering thighs. Face, portrait, subject—she was just a facial subject on a piece of canvas and she really had to concentrate on remembering that.

  And not let Heart slip into Stomach at the realization.

  “Can I see it?” She did a little hop-step over to the easel.

  “No.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No, actually I’m not.”

  “But it’s a picture of me.”

  “And I’m the one painting it, therefore, I call the shots. No one sees my work until it’s ready for presentation.”

  The half-grin on his face told her he knew it was bugging her not to see it, and that he was enjoying bugging her, but no way was he going to let her see it.

  “Fine.” Two could play that game. “Then you can’t see my book until it’s finished.” Oh lord oh lord oh lord. Open mouth, insert kicky yellow flat-less foot.

  “Fair enough. Now are you finished stretching?”

  Shoot. He won that round. She glared at him as she re-took her perch on the boring stool, readjusting her purple t-shirt. “What time’s lunch? As the chef, I need to get started.”

  “Have you really worked up an appetite sitting there?”

  Truly, he had no idea. “Actually, I thought you might have, seeing as how you’re working so hard.”

  “Why, Jolie, is that sarcasm I hear?” He raised his eyebrow, which raised her body temperature, and she had to look somewhere else. “Let me finish your cheek while the sun is at this angle and then we can call it quits for the day. Okay?”

  Smooth, warm
-as-honey, conciliatory words did wonders in an argument. “Okay.”

  ***

  Just how long did the sun remain in one angle? Didn’t it travel across the sky in something like sixty minute intervals until high noon, at which point the sun was, well, high? As in, straight up in the sky? As in, it couldn’t possibly be casting any shadows because it wasn’t on an angle?

  Apparently such knowledge was beyond her hero over there, who was still sketching away. She must have an awfully big cheek if he was working on it for over an hour. Talk about unflattering.

  The charley horse was coming; she could feel it. It was about the only thing she could feel. Her feet were asleep, her legs were cramping, and her tush had high-tailed it to China about twenty minutes ago.

  “I’m sorry to be a nudge about this, Todd,” she said in the sweetest voice petrified lips and a dry throat could muster, “but is there any chance we can stop? If nothing else, Mother Nature needs a visit.”

  He was really into the sketch, arm extended, swishing across the canvas in quick little strokes. His lips were a thin line and he was biting the top one a bit. Too cute. A lock of that gorgeous hair was flung sideways across his forehead, just begging to be smoothed back. Well, in her imagination anyway.

  “Yoo-hoo. Todd?”

  “Give me a minute,” he gritted out between his teeth.

  She was so tempted to do the Jeopardy theme, but that might really bug him. And, even though he bugged her with not letting her see the piece, she didn’t want to put any onuses on his painting. Instead, she elected to pass the time quietly—a rarity for her since silence made her edgy, which only underscored her determination to help him out.

  Besides, she’d been staring at that darn window trim for so long she hadn’t really noticed the rest of the place. He’d painted three walls a bright yellow and the other a sky blue, as if he wanted to bring sunny days inside. And he must have actually done that, opening every window in the joint (of which there were many) for the last two days because there was only the faintest trace of new paint smell. But it was closed up today, so it was a good thing he’d installed a wall A/C unit because any more heat in this place could melt a glacier or two.

  A plump white sofa sat in the corner, a comfy chair also in white near it, a couple of orange throws flung over the arm rests, and a geometric-design rug under the grouping on the hardwood floor. One lone chrome floor lamp rose up and over the seating area and colorful tropical plants in beautiful clay pots dotted the set-up. The guy definitely had an eye for color.

  Finally, he sighed and gave one last two-handed rake through his hair, hiking his faded royal blue t-shirt up a bit over his waist. Between the glimpse of naked abs and him working out his own kinks, her traitorous fingers were itching to do some walking, and she didn’t mean through the Yellow Pages.

  “Thanks.” He stretched his palms outward, fingers interlaced. “That—” he indicated the canvas, the brushes, and his whole studio in general—”felt good.”

  “I’m glad.” There was a moment of silence, expectant, eager, while their eyes did some heavy-duty communicating. She wasn’t quite sure what they were saying to each other, but if the smiles were anything to go by, it was all good.

  “Ready to grab a bite?”

  The man did have a way with words.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  After four hours of sketching, Todd had a new appreciation for the human form, but that appreciation took on new meaning as he followed Jolie back to the kitchen along the flagstone path. Long, toned legs, rounded butt, the silky fall of her hair…

  Staring at her for so long today, tracing the curves of her face with his eyes, then doing it on paper—he was only human. And there was that kiss between them that just wouldn’t leave him alone.

  “So is it almost done?” Sunshine bubbled over Jolie’s shoulder with her smile when she looked back.

  “Done? No, not yet. There are so many nuances. Take the nose, for example. It has so many contours, the shadows, the bridge. It can take a while to capture it perfectly. And a cheek—just a curve, right? Not really. The tightness of the skin, the imperfections, the texture… What a challenge to—”

  “Imperfections? My cheek?” Jolie stopped in front of one of the French doors and ran her fingertips over her cheek. “Where?”

  Todd stood behind her and their eyes connected in the glass pane.

  Time stopped.

  Which it shouldn’t. Not if he wanted to be able to finish the painting. Not if he didn’t want her to quit because of inappropriate advances. She was his employee and that kiss should never have happened—not that he could have stopped it. Just like he couldn’t stop staring at her. Couldn’t stop wanting to touch her.

  Todd swallowed. “Not your cheek, Jolie. Yours is flawless. You… your skin is flawless.”

  “It is?”

  “Jolie, I told you. You’re a—” His voice deepened and he couldn’t stop that either. Hell, he was having a hard time breathing. “A beautiful woman.”

  She turned around. To face him. Up close.

  “I am?” she whispered.

  “You are.”

  He should take a step back. Turn around. Something. It was too intimate. They were too intimate. He had to stop noticing the warmth in her violet eyes, that slight curve of her mouth—hope or happiness? Maybe both. She hadn’t taken this job to have him maul her. He had to put out of his mind how she was the perfect height for him. How her head would fit beneath his chin if he were to embrace her, how the fall of her hair would brush his stomach, how her breasts would press against his chest—

  His fingers strayed to that flawless cheek, a breath away from her skin and—

  “Boots!” Jolie yelled, jostling the suddenly squirming little bugger in her arms, who was, if Todd read it right, digging his claws into her skin.

  Foiled by a cat.

  He should probably thank the little furball. He needed distance from Jolie. Professional distance.

  And emotional.

  ***

  Phew! That was close. Jonathan wrapped all four of his paws around Jolie’s arm and hung on, not daring to take one off to smooth out the twitch by his eye. He hadn’t meant to dig his claws in so hard, but being squished between the two of them in the approaching kiss hadn’t been part of his plan.

  Not that he didn’t want them to kiss again; he just didn’t want to be such an intimate part of it. Besides which—

  “We’re back.” The sing-songy voice was just what Jonathan had been expecting.

  Thank goodness Jasmine Gray had finally shown up. It was about time. She had a part in this whole thing, and her gallivanting around someplace else was not going to help these two. Still, one couldn’t stop Mother Nature when the will to procreate was upon Her, and Jasmine did deserve to see her grandbaby. It was just unfortunate timing that the baby had arrived when Jolie was set to meet Todd.

  “Jasmine.” Todd’s greeting was about as short as one could get. Probably because he realized how close he’d come to embarrassing all of them if he’d acted on that kiss. But Jonathan had plans for that.

  Raphael had been right; this being-part-of-the-action was a good thing. Todd and Jolie needed to come together and do so seamlessly. Each had been too hurt, through too much. It was their time now. With no bumps, no dings, not even a swerve.

  A kitten was the perfect, inconspicuous cover and he was going to make sure everything that needed to happen, happened. With Jasmine’s help. After all, it’d been her idea in the first place to lead Todd back to the land of the living.

  “Oh, Todd, it’s so good to be back. I, of course, loved seeing our grandson, but there’s no place like home.” Jasmine stepped from the kitchen and Jonathan raised his head, thankful for once for the twitch. Jasmine would recognize it. And him.

  He hid a smile when her eyes narrowed. She’d figured out exactly what his presence meant, even though he hadn’t warned her Jolie was The One. Every other chef the agency had sent over had be
en in preparation, but Jasmine, a mortal, was not permitted to know the Ultimate Plan before it unfurled.

  Jasmine smiled one of her biggest smiles. “You must be the new chef.”

  “Yes, I am.” Jolie stuck out her hand. “Jolie Gardener.”

  Jonathan waited. Jasmine was nothing if not predictable.

  He was proven right again as Jasmine shook Jolie’s hand for a mere second before pulling her into an embrace. Plump and round, with gardenia perfume and a gray topknot on her head, Jasmine was everyone’s idea of motherly, something and someone Jolie sorely needed in her life, and the only reason Todd hadn’t been able to give in completely to his despair.

  It was because of this woman’s unselfish love that her prayers for a new wife for Todd were about to be answered. If Jonathan could ensure their path was smooth.

  “Welcome, Jolie!” Jasmine tucked Jolie’s arm under hers and pulled her close—just as Jonathan knew she would. “We’re going to have such a lovely time. I’ll go over Todd’s schedule with you and tell you what he likes to eat and—”

  “Jasmine,” Todd interrupted, “Jolie’s been here almost a week.”

  “A week? But you weren’t supposed to have anyone—”

  “I know, but somewhere the lines got crossed.”

  Jonathan wondered if those crossed lines were part of The Plan. Apparently Guardians didn’t get to know the entire Plan either. The Boss did like to work in mysterious ways.

  “She started a little early,” Todd continued. “Good thing, too. She made cookies for the annual picnic. The kids gobbled them up.”

  “How wonderful. Those kids need some treats in their lives.” Jasmine released Jolie and, going along with Jonathan’s charade, plucked him from Jolie’s arms and held him beneath his “armpits.” Dangling was not fun. “And what have we here?”

  “Oh, well, he found us, and Todd said—”

  “How precious! Does he have a name?”

  “Boots,” Todd and Jolie answered together, one with a smile, the other with a snort.