Hold Me If You Can

by Stephanie Rowe

  “Frigid? I’m not frigid!” Oh, well, this was certainly fantastic. Nothing like being completely embarrassed in front of Nigel. “I just want to maintain complete and utter control of all hints of passion or sexual need within me. That is completely different from being frigid!”

  Nigel coughed, a pathetically inadequate attempt to hide his amusement at her protest. Perfect. Just perfect.

  “You’re blocking your sensuality.” Ella nodded at Nigel. “Use him to tap into your inner vixen.”

  Nigel raised his brows. “Yeah, feel free to use me however you want.”

  Something began to pulse deep in her abdomen at his dark and hooded look. “I—”

  “He’s sexy, he’s masculine, he’s got so much testosterone that he’d turn a nunnery into a lusty den of iniquity, for God’s sake,” Ella said. “With all his sexuality and yours, you should be able to get him to give you a naked lap dance by only thinking about it.”

  Oh, God. She was thinking about it. She was really thinking about it. Nigel, his torso bare, his decadently soft leather pants low across his hips. His abs flexing as he moved his hips in a suggestive invitation, his hand reaching for her breast—

  “All she needs to do is ask,” Nigel said, his deep voice rippling through her. “No influencing necessary for that.”

  “Yes, yes. Can you feel that sensuous current building between the two of you?” Ella’s voice was quiet, almost husky. “Feed upon it, Nat. Let it wrap around your belly. Allow it to crawl up your thighs, caress your belly. Feel the delicious pulse of desire and awareness. Close your eyes and imagine Nigel’s hands on your body. Starting with your hips, moving over your butt.”

  “Oh, lordy.” The throbbing inside Natalie’s belly was deep and penetrating. Her skin was hot and prickly. And then she felt it. A stab of uncontrollable need for Nigel’s touch. For intimacy. For connection.

  She’d been here before. Felt this same deep, dark sexual attraction when she’d been under the deedub thrall and drawn so lethally to the Godfather. But this was worse, more powerful, because she knew Nigel and she liked him. She took a step toward him, and his hands lifted, reaching for her—

  “No!” She leapt back, tripping over the crate. “God, no, no, no. I can’t do that!”

  Nigel caught her arm just before she fell. His grip was solid, warm, and reassuring. Secure. Not threatening or scary. “Hey, babe,” he said quietly. “It’s okay. I won’t let anything happen to you. I swear it.”

  “No.” Her heart was pounding, her mouth was dry. It was too close, too vivid. She was panicked, scared, and back in that hell when she’d been staring into the eyes of the Godfather, knowing that to go with him would mean she would die, and yet she’d been unable to stop. He’d been a stranger, she’d hadn’t even liked him, but she’d been willing to trade her life for his kiss.

  Yes, yes, she knew that it had been because of the deedub curse, but the curse only tapped into that which was already there. It had been her that had been so drawn to the high of letting herself go, of indulging in her dreams and fantasies, of allowing herself to fly without fear of repercussions—it had been too much to resist, especially after a lifetime of living in fear.

  God, how many times in her life had she fought down euphoria, forced herself to remember to be serious, to fight, to stay in control? Afraid that any sign of ebullience or physical well-being was an indicator that the deedub poison was going active?

  Her rigid self-control had allowed her to stave off the onset of the deedub symptoms for years longer than her sister, and then it had been sex that had pulled her out of her safe zone. Sex! There was nothing like orgasming yourself to death to make you realize that you have an addiction to the high that will fast-track you toward your own demise. “I can’t open that door.” She pulled her arm free, and Nigel allowed her to go. “There has to be another way.”

  “Ella.” Nigel didn’t take his gaze off Natalie. “Is there another way for Natalie to tap into her powers?”

  “No.” Ella stood up. “We all have our power base, and Natalie’s is sensuality.” She gave Natalie an encouraging smile. “Nat, sexual passion and desire are the strongest power sources in existence. The fact you can tap into them means you have practically limitless influence.”

  “Well, that’s great news.” Natalie bit her lip and hugged herself. Limitless power? It was her dream. But through sex? It put it out of her reach.

  Ella looked at Nigel. “She would be powerful enough to help you, and not many would be able to get through your will. She’s enough for you, Nigel. I can feel it in her.”

  Brief hope flickered through her, and then Natalie’s stomach turned. She was all too aware of the ruthless allure of sensuality. She knew how powerful it was. How destructive it was. “There has to be something else for me to tap into.”

  “No, there isn’t, so you need to access your tools.” Nigel grasped her shoulders, his thumbs caressing small circles. “Don’t disempower yourself, Natalie. You’re a warrior.”

  “I am not a warrior!” She pulled herself free. “I just want to find a way to stay alive and run my store. That’s it! I don’t want to go jumping naked all over furniture just to tap into some inner power.” Oh, God. Had she jumped naked over the furniture when she’d been under the deedub thrall? She couldn’t even remember—

  Sudden pain congealed in her belly and she grabbed for her stomach. “Oh, no. Not again.”

  Ella and Nigel were suddenly in front of her, concern etched on their faces. “What’s wrong?” Ella asked.

  “Tell me what hurts.” Nigel caught her, his powerful arms supporting her as the pain shot through her again. “Has this happened before?”

  “A couple times,” she gasped. “But not like this.” She’d dismissed it before as stress and assorted emotional baggage, but not this time. This time was different. The pain was insidious and stabbing, twisting through her body. Agony bounced around inside her like a pinball gone haywire. To every corner of her body, her fingers, her toes, her belly, her chest. “Oh, God.” She went down on her knees, but Nigel pulled her to his chest, easing her down gently.

  Then he swore, and his protective embrace loosened. “Mother of hell.” Raw shock stunned his voice. “You smell like Mari.”

  She didn’t have time to respond before the blackness hit her mind and the world disappeared.

  ***

  Having a woman swoon in his arms had never been on Nigel’s top ten list of things he wanted to accomplish in a lifetime. Yeah, true, an unconscious female was somewhat limited in her ability to hurt him, but the fact she was limp and vulnerable put the responsibility on him to go into nurturing mode. With a woman.

  That was against everything he’d ever learned.

  You respected women.

  You acknowledged that one or two might be a decent human being.

  You always remembered their ability with a knife, black magic, and poison darts.

  And you never, ever saw them as a fragile bundle of femininity that needed support, because the minute a man dropped his shields to give her some TLC, the chick would turn that vulnerability on him in a heartbeat.

  He’d go from cradling her in his arms to having his balls in a vise faster than it took to lose a boner at the sight of Angelica or her girls. He knew, because it had happened to him. The other warriors had learned faster not to nurture a woman, but it hadn’t been until number sixty-one that Nigel had finally gotten smart enough to realize a man never, ever saw a woman as vulnerable and treated her that way.

  But as Natalie sagged in his arms, all he wanted to do was cradle her to his chest. To bring her peace. To keep her safe. To protect her as he’d never protected anyone in his life. In that moment when Ella had been bringing them together, connected their energy, he’d felt something come to life inside him, a warmth that had eased the hardness inside him.

  It had been dangerous to allow himself to burn for Natalie like that, but he’d realized that it was necessary. Natalie nee
ded to feel a safety net around her, and she needed his help to tap into the power within her. It had been a calculated risk to reach out to her like that, and it had made him apprehensive… until he’d felt her spirit reach for his.

  And then he’d simply known it was right. That moment, that choice, it had been beauty unlike anything he’d ever drawn in his life. The he caught a whiff of a scent he knew all too well.

  Mari. The woman who had tumbled so fragilely into his arms smelled like Mari. He lifted her hand and inspected her fingers. Black magic residue pulsing even more strongly than before. He swore as blades instinctively came to life beneath his skin. The shit racing around inside Natalie was everything he’d spent the last hundred and fifty years fighting against so he would live one more day.

  Natalie Fleming was black magic, and she was Mari’s black magic. His skin was tingling everywhere they touched, and his palms were smoking. A knife sprang up in his hand before he’d had time to think.

  “What are you doing?” Ella grabbed at his arm, trying to wrest the knife out of his grip. “Something’s wrong with Natalie! Can’t you see? She’s not attacking you, for God’s sake! Look at her!”

  Nigel instinctively glanced down, and her eyes fluttered open. The emerald green depths weren’t Mari’s. They were Natalie’s. How many times had he drawn those eyes, the turmoil within? From across the room he’d watched her, compelled by those eyes—

  “No.” He knew what women were like, and this woman was bleeding Mari from every pore of her body. His instincts ordered him not to be taken in again. He would not.

  But as he held Natalie in his arms, as he felt her body convulsing in agony, heard the moan of dismay deep in her throat, as his warrior side ordered him to drop her, stand back, and pull out his weapons, he couldn’t stop thinking of her eyes. Of the woman who had such ghosts in her soul.

  He knew what ghosts were like.

  “For God’s sake, drop the knife,” Ella ordered. “Give her to me. I can help her—”

  “Don’t touch her.” He suddenly realized his blade was inching too close to the tender skin of Natalie’s throat. Son of a bitch! He was better than that!

  Swearing, he hurled the knife against the wall. It hit with a loud thump and sank deeply into the wall. He hooked his left arm around Natalie to anchor her against his chest, then rubbed his palms together as she convulsed again. The moment a faint glow began to emanate from his palms, he set his hand on her chest, over her heart, to heal her from whatever was eating away at her.

  He closed his eyes and opened his soul to hers, to the pain within her. The taint within her hit him hard, and he swore as the darkness swirled over him. The blackness. It was raw black magic, and it was Mari’s, and… mother of hell. Angelica.

  Now both women’s auras were swirling inside Natalie, thick and black. He could taste the bitterness, like black licorice mixed with sulfur, burning his mouth, his nose, his cells. It was acrid and harsh, bleeding through him. It wasn’t just magic, it was the darkest part of black magic. Images flashed in his mind. Of the bronze metal beasts that had attacked him such a short time ago.

  Demons.

  There was demon magic inside Natalie.

  Chapter 8

  Charles Morgan had no time for deals. Now that he was back, he was going to be a little busy saving every living creature from themselves. No one would ever suffer the fate of his darling Prunella. Not ever.

  Mari eyed him. “Don’t you want to hear what the deal is?”

  He gave a lofty snort that felt delicious. It was wonderful to be sane enough to remember how arrogant he was supposed to be. “I am far too powerful to resort to deals.”

  “Are you so powerful?” Mari sighed and waggled her weapon with a decided lack of enthusiasm. “Because it seems to me that if you were that magnificent, you wouldn’t have been stuck as Angelica’s smut monster for the last three hundred years.”

  “She caught me off guard.” And that would never happen again. It was time to go on the offensive and tap into his best weapon: dream manifestation. Charles began to search Mari’s mind for a dream he could use against her long enough to shift the balance of power between them.

  Every creature was a constant swirl of dreams. Some desires were little, like wanting to reach the itch in the middle of her back. Some were big, like pining for some bastard who would never love her. Most were fleeting, not focused, not pure of heart, and he couldn’t do a damn thing about them.

  But sometimes, there was a dream that the wisher was in complete alignment with, even for a split second, and if Charles caught that moment, he could make it come true.

  In Mari’s dream field, he saw the name Christian again and again and felt the desperate love surrounding it. Her unrequited love for Christian was destroying her.

  By all saints, she was just like Prunella! Pining for a man she didn’t believe she was worthy of. And just like Prunella, there was nothing he could do to grant dreams that were so bogged down with denials of self-worth, with doubt, with that agony of undeservedness. The poor child. She was blocking so many dreams—

  One flared into focus—bright, bright focus.

  I am so hungry. And then she thought of a pizza with pure, unfettered, beautiful longing.

  Bingo! He snapped his fingers and a spinach salad appeared out of nowhere. It hovered in front of her for a moment, and she yelped in surprise. Shit. Where was the pizza? It had been a pizza, right?

  Then he noticed the shocked look on her face. Yes, yes, he was impressive, wasn’t he? Pizza or greenies, it was still quite a move, eh?

  The salad leapt off the plate and flung itself toward her mouth. Because, you know, she was hungry, right? And she wanted to eat it, right? Dreams come true, baby.

  “Hey!” She ducked and batted away flying spinach leaves as he lunged for her pink baton of hell.

  He yanked it out of her hand just as the food went flying. “Victory to the king!” He held it above his head and grinned as she wiped blue cheese splatterings off her face. “You will bow to me. I am a god.”

  And hot damn. He was. Three hundred years without granting a dream and he’d gotten it almost right on his first try. He’d tried for food and actually gotten food! He was magnificent. It really was time to save the world.

  Mari peeled a piece of spinach off her right eyebrow. Surprisingly, she looked disappointed. “I was thinking of pizza, not salad. I thought you were better than that.”

  “I’m rusty.” Then he realized the implications of what she’d said. “You wished for a pizza on purpose?”

  “Of course. I wanted to test you.” She cocked her head, studying him thoughtfully. “So, that’s really all it takes for you to do your work? One thought of pizza and you turned into Chef Gourmet?”

  “Oh, yes. I need only a split second of pure longing, and I can tap into it.” He spun the baton. “Now open the door, salad girl, and release me.”

  Mari sat down on the couch and patted the seat beside her. “Come talk, Charlie.”

  He brandished the weapon he’d stolen from her. “I’ll shoot you.”

  She froze. “Oh, no, don’t shoot that gun. It’ll turn on you.”

  “Hah! Why would I believe that?” He sensed that Mari wasn’t half-bad, but he could not fulfill his mission while he was locked in her dungeon. “I appreciate you relieving me of my smut, but I have important things to accomplish. Let me out.”

  “I can’t.” She folded her arms, and her chin jutted out. “I need your help to fix everything that I’ve done to the men here. You aren’t leaving until we’re finished.”

  “The world needs me!” He picked up the gun. “Open the door or I will force it.”

  Mari sighed and leaned back. “Fine, be that way.”

  “Fine.” He aimed the gun at her heart and pulled the trigger.

  The pink stars of pain shot out, whipped around, and hit him right in the nuts.

  “Mother of pearl!” Charles dropped to the ground, grabbing for his manl
y regions again. “That wasn’t supposed to happen!”

  “My spells go to the nearest XY chromosome in the room,” Mari said as she picked up the baton. “None of my weapons can be used on me. Now, are you ready to talk?”

  His nuts had already swollen to the size of grapefruits, and they were red and inflamed. Elephantiasis on the way. “A man’s jewels of ecstasy are personal zones of safety, woman! Attacking violates every rule of combat in the universe!”

  “You did it to yourself! I tried to stop you!” Mari shoved the baton into her pocket. “For heaven’s sake, this kind of thing isn’t supposed to happen in the Den anymore! Men are supposed to be safe here! Don’t you understand what I’m trying to do? Don’t make me do this kind of thing!”

  Dear Lord. His nuts were like watermelons with poison ivy. “You are a crazy bitch.”

  Mari’s face crumpled with dismay. “I am not crazy, and I am definitely not a bitch. I’m trying to fix things.”

  “You develop weapons to turn a man’s pride and joy into leprosy. Crazy and bitch, all in one.”

  “But it’s for good reasons. It’s not to hurt you.” Mari sighed. “As much as I think Angelica had her values all screwed up, sometimes I understand her frustration. I am not doing this because I like to hurt you. We all must sacrifice for the greater good.”

  “Ah… the greater good.” Yes, yes, that was what he lived for. He liked the greater good. Charles unbent himself enough to get his elbows on the couch. “Shangri-La, you mean?”

  “No.” She frowned. “Loving, lasting partnerships.”

  Oh, that. He rolled his eyes in disgust. “Not love again.” He struggled to his feet, keeping his thighs well spread so his overly inflated regions of pleasure had room to throb. “Listen, hotlips, let me tell you something. Dreams destroy.” He eased down to the couch next to her with a groan he couldn’t stifle. “People get so obsessed with what they aren’t getting that they lose the ability to appreciate what they do have. The unrequited yearnings eventually ruin them. And unrequited love is the worst culprit of all.” Darkness settled in his chest as he thought of his dear, sweet daughter. Destroyed by a love so deep.