Dark and Dangerous

by Anwar, Hart, Harte, Mcbride(Lit)

  She turned then and headed for the stairs. Gerard was propped against the post and she hesitated mid-step, then continued as if she hadn’t seen him, passing him and climbing the stairs. Her heart was pounding unpleasantly, but she did her best to ignore that, as well.

  He was standing by the window in her room when she opened the door and she stopped abruptly on the threshold. She’d hoped she wouldn’t see him again. She’d hoped she would be able to simply leave without another confrontation between them.

  Entering the room, she closed the door and moved to her suitcase. She’d been walking most of the day and felt the need to freshen up. Moving to her suitcase, she dropped the parcel she was carrying. She’d purchased a few small souvenirs while she was strolling about town. She had no idea why. It wasn’t likely that she would ever forget her trip to Europe, but she supposed it was force of habit. She’d always had the habit of buying something where ever she went to commemorate her trip.

  "You are going?"

  "Yes. It’s time I went back." She didn’t look at him. Instead, she riffled through her suitcase in search of a change of clothing. It was too early in the evening to dress for bed.

  Time hung on her hands. She wasn’t certain what to do with herself until it was time for bed, but she supposed she might explore the chateaux a bit and then sit in the great room and entertain herself by watching the other guests.

  "This was not your plan."

  Samantha’s lips tightened. "The thing about a vacation is that one really doesn’t make hard and fast plans. I came to relax and enjoy myself." She sighed. "And to come to terms with the loss of my mother. Coming here was something she desperately wanted. I suppose I had it in my mind that I was doing it for her, that, maybe somehow, she’d know and …. I realize now that it was just one of those crazy, completely irrational things grieving people do to appease the spirits that haunt them."

  She looked up at him. "The harsh truth is death is the end of all we know. Whether there’s an afterlife, or reincarnation, doesn’t really matter to the living. You’ve lost them. You can’t get them back and you have to learn to live with it."

  His face hardened. "Stay."

  Samantha studied him a long moment, trying to sort the chaotic emotions that swept through her. She swallowed with an effort against the knot that formed in her throat. "I wouldn’t if I could. You’re dead. The living belong with the living. Why do you linger here? Go to your beloved Juliette."

  Something flickered in his eyes and then his face twisted. "I stay because I have no choice. I can not reach the world I was banished from, but I am not a ghost, not a spirit. I am living flesh. I can not go the way of those released from their flesh."

  Samantha stared at him, almost wishing it was true, but she knew better. "You died, Gerard, long ago. You just don’t realize it. It’s your belief that you’re still alive that ties you here. The Countessa de Moyer killed you."

  Rage suffused his features. "What do you know of the Countessa?"

  "Very little," Samantha admitted. "Only what the tour guide told me that he recalled from her memoirs. But it was enough to give me some idea of what must have happened."

  He stunned her. One moment, he was standing near the window, the next he was directly in front of her, gripping her forearms tightly. "You know nothing," he ground out. "She practiced the black arts."

  Samantha stared at him blankly. "Didn’t you?"

  "I did NOT! I practiced wiccen, the white arts. There is a vast difference between the two, mon cher. She had chosen me as her consort. I declined." He released her abruptly and paced the room.

  "She summoned Juliette’s spirit. Twisted it to her purpose and used her against me."

  Samantha turned it over it her mind, but it was useless. She simply couldn’t not grasp it. "I don’t understand. How did she use Juliette against you? What did she do?"

  He rubbed a hand over his face. "If I knew how, I could’ve broken the spell."

  "Then it’s just as possible that she slew you, or had you slain, and you simply didn’t understand or realize it, isn’t it? That is what traps a spirit in a place, the emotion that tied them there remains and they can’t move on."

  "If she had killed me, I would feel nothing now," he ground out. "You are the key, cher. I felt it the moment I saw you. If you leave, you condemn me to this half-life forever."

  Anger surged through her. "You accused me of coming here to torment you further. Why would you trust me now?"

  He stared at her a long moment. "I … need you."

  Samantha shook her head, as much to shake the lure of those words as to deny them. "I can’t help you. I don’t know how. I couldn’t stay even if I wanted to—and—I don’t want to." She turned abruptly and went into the bathroom to take a shower. More than half expecting him to follow her, she was vastly relieved when he didn’t. He was gone when she returned to the room.

  Exploring the chateaux had little appeal. Restlessness consumed her, however, and after a little thought, she decided she might as well prepare for departure. She would leave as soon as she woke in the morning. After selecting a change of clothes for traveling, she repacked all of her suitcases except for her overnight bag, hefted one and started downstairs with it. The bellhop, Antoine, met her halfway down the stairs and offered to help, but she declined. She needed something to do or she would’ve decided to take her bags to the car the night before her departure. When she’d tossed it into the car, she went back up to the room and grabbed the other large suitcase and carried that down, as well. After locking the rental car, she strolled around the grounds for a little while, wondering if she’d be able to change her departure date on her plane reservation, or if she’d be forced to stay until the end of the week as she’d originally planned.

  What, she wondered, would she do if they wouldn’t change it?

  Deciding she’d face that hurtle when, and if, she came to it, she went back inside. She didn’t want to chance running into Gerard again, but she couldn’t very well pace the grounds until bedtime. In any case, there was no way to stop him if he was determined to confront her again unless she wanted to sleep in the car, beyond his reach. And she had no intention of sleeping in the car.

  She wandered aimlessly through the public areas of the chateaux for a while and finally climbed the stairs once more. It was still earlier than she liked to go to bed, but if she could sleep—and she felt emotionally and physically weary by now—then she would wake early, as well, the sooner to be off.

  She paused when she reached the upper landing, however, glancing toward the portrait of Gerard down the corridor. Finally, unable to resist, she moved toward it. Oddly enough, now that she’d come to know him, it seemed to her the portrait had more life than she’d noticed before, more energy, more personality. A faint smile played about his lips and she wondered why she hadn’t noticed that before. Antoine had said that the portrait had been painted shortly before his disappearance and she couldn’t help but wonder what he’d been smiling about. What thoughts had gone through his mind to produce just that expression?

  It almost seemed to beckon her and, without quite realizing it, she moved closer. Lifting one hand, she touched the painting curiously.

  It felt warm, as if ….

  The hand she touched turned, clasping hers. Startled, she glanced up at the face, but it was no longer flat and one dimensional. The smile on his face was grim, purposeful. His hand tightened on hers and tugged.

  Samantha gasped, felt herself falling forward and threw out her free hand to catch herself. She touched nothing but air.

  Her cheek collided with something hard and solid—not the wall or portrait, but living flesh. She struggled for balance and looked up in stunned surprise.

  "I can not allow you to leave, mon cher."

  Samantha gaped at him. "You can’t stop me!"

  He shook his head slightly. "But I have, cher. If you will not free me, then you will join me."

  Catching the hair at the base of
her skull, he tilted her head back and opened his mouth over the pulse in her neck. Heat surged through her blood stream. Dizziness followed. She clutched his shoulders for purchase. "Don’t," she said shakily.

  He lifted his head, stared at her for a long moment. "You want me," he said harshly.

  She did, desperately, but she feared she would be consumed by him and never be the same again. Moistening her lips, she swallowed with an effort against her dry throat. "No," she lied.

  Releasing her arm, he placed his palm above her pounding heart. One dark brow rose. "Non?"

  Samantha bit her lip. "In my heart, no."

  He paled slightly and she felt the jolt of shock that ran through him. Abruptly, his face hardened. "I’ve no need of you heart, cher. Only your body," he said harshly, dipping his head and covering her mouth with his own. The hunger of his mouth was consuming, pulling forth sensations she was reluctant to feel, that she tried her best to suppress. It was useless. The battle was lost the moment she felt the heat of his mouth upon hers, the rake of his tongue along her own in an intimate caress that plundered her depths.

  Her fingers clenched, dug into his arms as her body seemed to grow weightless and heavy at the same time. Her flesh became hypersensitive almost with his first touch. Each slightest brush of his body against her own as their breaths mingled and their breathing became labored with need created ripples of exquisite sensation that was drugging in its lure. Moisture gathered in her sex, pooled, dampened her panties as her body, regardless of her will, readied itself to receive him.

  She struggled to close her mind to the temptation to yield to him. She couldn’t be only a warm body to him, couldn’t bear to think it meant no more to him than that. Regret filled her with the realization that she could not simply enjoy their joining as pure animal lust.

  He released her so abruptly that she stumbled back. To her surprise, she encountered the yielding surface of a mattress. Disoriented to find herself in her own room, weak from his kiss, she felt backward onto the mattress, staring at Gerard in surprise.

  His face a grim mask of both anger and barely suppressed passion, he discarded his jacket and loosened the ties of his shirt. Jerking the tail of the shirt from his breeches, he pulled it over his head and tossed it aside.

  Recovering her presence of mind, Samantha rolled onto her stomach. Before she could either push herself away from the bed or climb across it, he caught her. One hand like a manacle across the back of her neck, he held her against the bed and reached beneath her to unfasten her jeans. Samantha slapped at him, but she could do little, pinned on her stomach to the bed. Despite her efforts, he jerked her jeans and panties down.

  She went still as she felt his palm skate over her buttocks. His fingers found her cleft, traced it until he discovered the heart of her pleasure. She moaned as he massaged it, uncertain of whether she most wanted to evade his touch or move toward him. He leaned over her, teasing her clit, delving a finger inside of her and discovering the creamy moisture that beckoned his possession. Gasping, Samantha squeezed her eyes tightly shut, feeling her body succumb to his persuasion despite her will.

  When he ceased to torment her and reached to unfasten the closure of his breeches, she began to struggle to free herself once more. Something hard and rounded parted her buttocks, slipped along her cleft and pressed into her. Samantha bit her lip, holding onto the moan of pleasure that threatened to escape. Panting, she lay perfectly still, fighting the urge to push back against him, closing her mind to the building desperation to feel him forcing his turgid flesh deeply inside her.

  Need won out. She parted her thighs wider, pushed back against him, moaning as she felt his cock stretching her.

  The heat and weight of his body settled over her as he leaned forward. Slipping one arm around her waist, he slid a palm over her mound, parted her flesh and rubbed her clit. Her belly clenched with need. A moan scraped past her throat as it jolted her.

  Panting, he pressed more deeply inside her, stretching her to her limits. She shuddered in intense gratification as he filled her completely and withdrew slowly until only the head of his cock remained inside of her. When he thrust again, he slipped more smoothly through the juices her body had produced for him. Grinding his hips against her, he pulled away once more.

  She stretched up on her tiptoes and he pressed inside of her again, aching, needing to feel him deeper, deeper. Her body began to hum with electric shocks of intense pleasure.

  Abruptly, he withdrew completely. Scooping her up, he tossed her fully upon the mattress and followed her, burying his face against her lower belly. Catching the edges of her pants, he tugged both jeans and panties down her legs and off her feet and then tossed them aside. Catching her ankles, he pushed them up the bed until her knees were bent, her feet flat on the bed. He dug his fingers in the curls of her pubic mound, his eyes gleaming as he smoothed the hair away and studied her clit, teasing it. "Mine," he murmured with satisfaction, then glanced up at her. "You are mine."

  Samantha swallowed convulsively. Before she could decide whether she would or would not dispute his claim, he leaned forward, covering her mound with his mouth. His tongue teased her as his finger had, but far more devastatingly. Samantha gripped the sheets, her back arching, her hips lifting to meet him. Struggling for breath, she lost it as he sucked her clit. Her heart seemed to jolt to a halt. It began to pound frantically as the pleasure intensified with each stroke of his tongue, the suction of his mouth.

  He lifted his head, sucked the tender flesh at the top of each thigh and then moved up her belly, sucking a string of love bites across her quivering flesh.

  Samantha reached for him, desperate to feel him inside of her once more. Instead, he moved up her belly, shoving her shirt upwards until he’d uncovered her bra. Pushing the thin fabric aside, he scooped a breast into each hand, suckled first one nipple and then the other.

  Samantha arched met him, digging her head into the pillows, crying out.

  She could stand no more. She reached for him, slipped her hands beneath his clothing and cupped his buttocks. He ignored the silent plea, teasing her nipples until she was writhing, until the pain of need wrestled with the pleasure that continued to build and build inside of her. She slipped a hand between them, grasping his cock, massaging it. Gritting her teeth against the exquisite pain/pleasure of it, she rubbed the head of his cock back and forth against her clit.

  He gasped, let out a sound that was part growl, part groan of sweet agony. Brushing her fingers aside, he grasped his turgid flesh and guided it into her once more. Lifting her hips, she thrust, gasping as she felt him filling her, slipping deeply inside her with agonizing slowness.

  "Gerard," she gasped. "Please."

  Slipping a hand beneath her hips, he drove deeply inside of her. She raked her nails lightly down his back and gripped his buttocks, demanding. A shudder ran through him and then he began moving, thrusting hard, deep, almost painfully so. She welcomed it, urged him with counter thrusts, licking and biting his shoulder and neck and throat.

  Release caught her unaware, explosively. She felt her body convulsing around his, clutching his cock like a massaging fist, milking him of his seed. His cock bucked, tugging against the mouth of her passage, jerking as her body brought his own culmination upon him.

  The effort sapped every ounce of strength and will from her. Her arms and legs, too heavy to move, went limp even before the last echoes of pleasure dissipated. She lay still, struggling to catch her breath. Gerard, sated, lay limply on top of her. The urge to caress her lover was nearly overpowering.

  Samantha ignored it.

  He wanted her body, not her love, and only that because it was a handy vessel. He’d made that clear enough.

  Moments passed. Finally, he gathered himself and rolled off of her. Samantha lay as she was for some moments and finally turned on her side, giving him her back. From no where, the urge to cry welled inside her. Ignoring it, she focused on the room, wondering now that her mind had beg
un to clear of the haze of lust, how she’d come to be here.

  It wasn’t her room, she realized.

  Sitting up abruptly, she looked around. "Where am I?"

  "In my own private hell."

  Samantha glanced toward Gerard. She saw that he had rolled onto his side and was watching her, his head propped in one palm. His breeches were around his hips, his sated cock wresting against one thigh.

  It seemed obscene, suddenly. She glanced away, faintly embarrassed by his half dressed state and her own. Lust wasn’t so pretty in aftermath. With no tender emotion to tie them together, and no passion to blind one, it became nothing more than a sordid tryst between two strangers.

  "I don’t feel like playing riddles," she said tightly, scooting off the bed and searching for her discarded clothing. The stickiness from their lovemaking felt suddenly repellent. She glanced around, feeling the need to shower. "Where’s the bathroom?"

  He gestured toward a door near the head of the bed. Samantha moved toward it but discovered, to her surprise, that she couldn’t grasp the knob. She stared it, stared at her hand in disbelief. She turned to look at him, wide eyes with dismay, her heart beating fearfully in her chest. "I don’t understand."

  His lips tightened. "Don’t you?"

  Samantha frowned, trying to remember how she’d come to be in the room with Gerard. She shook her head.

  "I am not without power."

  "What is this place?" Samantha demanded, fighting a sense of panic.

  Gerard shrugged. Rising from the bed, he adjusted his breeches. "A dimension between two worlds?" he hazarded. "You are as I am, neither living, nor dead."

  "That’s … that’s not possible."

  "Unfortunately, mon cher, it is."

  Samantha stomped her foot. "Stop calling me that! I am NOT your dear! Why would you do this to me?"

  He frowned. "I have needs."

  Samantha stared at him. "So my own needs … my wishes, are of no importance?"