With the last of his spasms came a clearer head, but he still couldn’t rouse himself to full wakefulness. He tried, but something blanketed his thoughts, made them heavy and slow. “I can’t leave the jobs I already have. I’m not the kind of man to leave clients in a lurch.” I can’t leave my father. He wouldn’t leave his father. Not now. The old man wasn’t ready to be alone.
“I know,” she soothed, all warmth and understanding. He wasn’t sure if she agreed that he couldn’t leave his clients or if she meant he wouldn’t leave his father.
Either way, his mind eased, worry drifting away.
“You’re rock solid, Mr. MacKay. That’s one of the reasons I’m calling you.”
Even though he’d dropped the phone, he expected to say good luck and so long, but she went on. “I wish there was something more I could do to entice you.”
His cock filled again, insistent and throbbing.
“Your father will understand; he’ll want you to take this job.” He’ll take care of the clients, see the jobs through while you’re gone.
The thought wasn’t his own. But it was certainly in his head. He struggled to get control of his mind, but she was still there. The voice in the predawn dark held him in thrall.
Entranced, all he could do was listen.
Something of the responsible man he was stirred in him. Rebelled and tried to rise. Jake never dumped his work on the old man. Especially not now. Jed MacKay needed his son at home, taking care of business. Jake never let anyone down.
“But your father always encouraged his sons to follow their hearts, did he not?” Her whisper came warm and cozy in his ear. The heat on his cock intensified.
“If you know my father, then you know he’s had a rough time. He needs me here more than I need a job in Seattle.” The sucking on his cock started again, and he thought he heard a sigh of satisfaction and arousal.
This time he even felt wet heat on his straining shaft. Wet heat and suction.
A tickle of air blew across his balls, and he shut his eyes, letting hot licks of desire settle in the small of his back. He arched into the seeking wet heat and fell back into the dream.
“You really need to come to Perdition, Mr. MacKay. And you will.”
For two more hours, Jake MacKay had the wildest dreams he’d ever had. Sex and seduction, push and pull, man to woman. He saw himself fall, grasping a woman he’d never seen before, his arms on fire as he held her, loved her. A burning touch seared every part of him connected to her. He broke into a sweat he barely acknowledged.
When he woke up at six A.M., he was freezing cold while his blood boiled with a need to follow the voice.
Straight to perdition.
By six-fifteen he was on the phone booking a flight to Sea-Tac Airport.
By seven, he was showered, dressed, and had the coffee on. He reached for a mug off the rack he kept beside the machine and caught the time. Made a rapid calculation of the time difference between Miami and Seattle.
Who the hell called for a carpenter’s estimate at one A.M? No one he’d ever heard from. Until last night. Odd, though, he could barely remember what she sounded like. Although she had seemed acquainted with his father and, more importantly, how Jed MacKay had raised his sons.
He hit number one on his speed dial, and his father answered on the second ring.
“Got a call last night from Seattle. You know a woman named Grantham?” He thought that was the name she’d given him, but it was fuzzy now.
“No, got a first name?”
“I can’t recall. It’ll come to me later.”
“Grantham,” his father repeated. “No. Don’t know anyone by that name. Why?”
“She’s got a Victorian mansion in Seattle she wants me to take a look at. Calls it Perdition House.”
“That’s great, son. When you leaving?” No questions about why he’d go that far. No doubt that he’d want the job. That was Jed MacKay.
His father was so set on his sons’ happiness and success that he even refused to fault Jake’s brother, Jared, for his useless decision to drift aimlessly around the Caribbean on his charter boat, the SandJack. So now, it was nothing for Jed to encourage a cross-country trip just to do an estimate.
Jake frowned because this was exactly the way the woman had said the conversation would go.
“I’ve booked the first flight out. Remember, we’ve got the Jameson place to start today, the Mitchell’s renovation to finish, and three quotes to do this weekend alone.” He couldn’t offend Jed by asking if he was up to handling all of it, because in spite of everything his father had been through, he was one helluva contractor.
“I’ll take care of everything,” Jed assured him. “At least go look at it. Talk to the woman,” he said with a ring of impatience in his tone.
His father was so damn proud of Jake and his reputation that he’d do anything to promote more business. The impatience cut him, though. Jed had been chafing at Jake’s hovering presence lately, and his father’s next words proved it.
“Go. And, Jake? Cut loose a bit while you’re there.”
The idea of cutting loose held more than a little sway. Maybe if he hadn’t been living like a monk for the past three years, he wouldn’t have succumbed to the woman’s voice and influence so easily.
Shoving aside guilt that was deep as a new foundation, he caved. “I’ll see you Tuesday at the latest. Hold down the fort.”
“No problem, son. Have a nice flight and a good time.”
His father hung up before Jake could protest.
Free.
He was free for the first time in three years.
He called the number for Perdition House he’d already memorized and spoke to a Faye Grantham to arrange a time for a meeting.
“Mr. MacKay? You’re calling about restoring Perdition?” She seemed surprised to hear from him so quickly.
“Yes, we spoke earlier?” She didn’t sound anything like the voice he remembered.
“Earlier than this? Oh, hold on, please.” Her tone was brisk, kind of pissed off, even. But then, it was still only four-thirty her time.
He heard her muffle the phone.
After a moment, she came back on the line. “You were talking with my aunt Belle; she’s a night owl.” He heard exasperation, and a lick of doubt crawled up his back.
“I’ve already booked my flight.” He wasn’t normally impulsive, but today was proving to be a day full of change.
“Of course you have, Mr. MacKay,” she said, sounding amused. The exasperation must’ve been for her aunt. “I’ll see you when you arrive. You don’t have to worry about a hotel. There’s plenty of room here. It might be helpful to get a feel for the place by sleeping in it.”
“Great.”
Next, he called Jared on the SandJack. “Hey, bro, I’ve got to be out of town for a few days. Can you fly in?”
“Where you off to?”
He explained about Perdition House and the way their father jumped in to cover for him. But he didn’t say a thing about the odd voice and the odder dreams.
“Does Dad need my help?” Jared asked. “I’ll be there if he does, but to tell you the truth, Jake, I’ve got a business started. I was planning on letting you know next time you and Dad decided to fly in.”
They managed to get together for some deep-sea fishing whenever business allowed. Jake and Jed flew in to hang out with Jared three or four times a year.
Finally! A business. No more drifting aimlessly. He’d been worried about Jared. Damned inconvenient to have a change of heart just when Jake needed him here, though. “What kind of business?”
“Honeymoon charters. Business has taken off. I’m booked solid.”
Jake blew out a breath. “Glad to hear it.” At least he hadn’t turned pirate, although he looked like one these days.
The line went silent for a long moment.
“It’s been three years, Jake.” Jared’s voice roughened. “I think it’s time we let him be alone.”
He bit back a retort. Bristling at Jared was always useless.
Their father may not fault Jared for drifting for three years, but Jake did. He didn’t know how Jared could be so irresponsible when their father needed them both. “If you won’t be here for him, then at least check in.”
The voice from the night drifted through his mind, clouding his thoughts. Your brother needs this time alone and apart, just as much as you need to spend time with your father. Jared has the touch, too, and he’ll learn to accept it just as you will.
“Dad’ll be pissed, but I’ll check.” Jared chuckled. “And, Jake, see if you can get laid while you’re out there. You need to lighten up.”
Lexa Creighton surveyed her appointment schedule with satisfaction. This spring was way better than last. Business had picked up considerably since she’d done the Proctor’s garden. Mrs. Proctor was giving her great word of mouth.
Still, as good as things were, she was thrilled to get a call from Faye Grantham at Perdition House. The mansion’s grounds were the perfect setting for the heritage gardens she loved to create.
Working with heritage plants like hollyhock and American Pillar roses gave her a sense of continuity. What was once long gone was revived in the cottage gardens and formal Victorian designs she loved most. Thankfully, home owners were beginning to agree with her.
She drove up to the mansion’s front gate for her initial appointment, climbed out of her pickup truck, and pushed at the wrought-iron gate. It swung inward silently and easily.
The driveway was lined with thirty-foot weeping cedars on each side. They hadn’t been pruned in years, and the boughs touched in the center of the narrow unpaved drive.
No way would she leave the boughs like this. They were overgrown to the point of hiding the rest of the property; she could work her ass off to produce an incredible garden, and no one would ever see it.
To Lexa’s mind, the point of landscape design was to highlight a house and add to curb appeal. No one would want their home hidden behind eighty-year-old hedges.
Luckily she hadn’t yet been able to invest in a new truck, so it wouldn’t matter if she poked the nose of her old one through the boughs. New scratches would hardly be noticed on top of all the old ones.
She inched her way through the gates. In an optical illusion, the trees seemed to sway open to let the truck pass. She slammed to a halt. Blinked. No, the boughs were still there, covering the drive.
She rolled forward again. The illusion continued. She could swear the boughs separated just ahead of the truck hood, then closed up again behind her.
Freaky weird.
As was a sudden stab of sexual arousal. It was so intense she shifted in her seat as heat crawled under her skin, down to her belly, up to her breasts, along her neck, behind her ears. Heat and want and need that she hadn’t felt in too long flowed through her veins, right out to her fingertips. Spicy and delicious, she closed her eyes to enjoy the deeply moving sensation. She flexed her fingers around the hard smooth steering wheel, felt the firmness warm in her palms.
She blossomed with moisture. Her labia plumped, her clit rose, juices flowed down her channel.
Welcome to Perdition House. Maybe the family legend was true. Maybe the place really was haunted by salacious ghosts.
Maybe the very walls were imbued with sexual memory. The gardens too.
At this point she didn’t much care; the feelings were so intensely delicious, all she could do was ride them out. She rolled her head back on the headrest as her fingers skimmed her crotch. She hadn’t felt an urge like this in months. Maybe it was time to see to some neglected business.
Closing her eyes, she touched and teased. No one could see, as the boughs surrounded the truck front and back.
She couldn’t recall her last date. Sex? She remembered vowing to have it sometime this year. Yeah, oh, that was good. Her fingers rubbed harder, lining the seam of her denim shorts along her clit.
Her breathing picked up, becoming deep and shallow at the same time that she panted and rubbed. Her hips rolled toward her hand, legs splayed as she worked her pussy.
She moaned, needing more than her own hand, needing stronger fingers, a bristly chin…a man.
Oh, yes! A man—that was exactly what she needed. Breathing harder, deeper, she continued to reach for her pleasure.
2
A sound crashed through her own heaving breaths, and Lexa opened her eyes. Startled by more rustling and footfalls, she slid her hand away from her crotch to her thigh, where it warmed her flesh.
Her pussy wept and pulsed with the denial of her need. Her cheeks heated as she saw movement in her driver’s side mirror.
“Hello, need some help?” A man walked alongside her truck and looked in her open window. His gaze, mere inches from hers, was electric blue, like the hottest flame, and surprise filled his eyes.
“Ah, no.” Yes, do me, do me now. She licked her lips, fought back the urge to place her palms on his cheeks to drag his mouth in for a kiss. Tasting a mouth like his would be heaven. Thin, straight lips that twitched into a lopsided smile at her startled face drew her toward the stranger. “No, I don’t need any help. Why?”
She glanced down his body.
Hot.
Hard.
Built.
His blue eyes were killer, set against black eyelashes and thick curly hair.
Oh, man, the guy had delicious written all over him. Mouth watering, she felt invisible fingers pluck and pull on her nipples, distending them. She crossed her arms, then decided what the hell, let him look. Her vow to have sex this year rang through her mind. If this guy was involved, she’d get her wish today.
“Looks like your truck’s dead.” He set down an oak-colored leather duffel bag and walked toward the truck hood.
She hadn’t been aware of turning off the engine, but obviously she had. She leaned out the window. “No, really, the truck’s fine. I was just thinking.”
“In the driveway?” A quizzical arch of his eyebrow made her think of pirates and booty and, oh, dear God, rapacious lust.
“Yes, it’s a good place to gather first impressions.” She was so turned on she could barely concentrate. She pulled her mind back to the conversation. “I’m here to discuss a project with the home owner.”
She poked her head out the window to watch his ass as he bent over to grab the handles of his duffel bag.
The man was hot with a capital H. Low-riding jeans, tight, hard butt. Fabulous arms, strong and muscular.
He read the sign on the side of the truck. “Creighton Landscape and Design.” She knew she needed new lettering. Needed a new truck, too, but all that would come with time—by the end of the summer, if business continued the way it had been going.
He turned to survey the green wall of cedars and scratched his head. “I can’t see a thing but green. That’s my first impression, but then I’m not a landscaper.”
And I can’t see a thing but you. “My point exactly. These cedars are overgrown. But I like them. And I’m a landscape designer,” she corrected.
He turned and the gleam in his eye said he knew exactly what she’d been up to, landscape designer or no. Ridiculous to think that a woman would stop on the way to an important meeting for a moment of self-pleasure. Where would he get such an idea?
But the tent in his jeans said he was in the same state of need that she was.
Interesting. Must be the ghosts of Perdition, because it couldn’t be from first sight of her. She looked like shit this afternoon. No makeup, her hair was tied back with an elastic band she’d pulled off a stack of mail, and her shorts were cutoffs that were nearly worn through.
But she had good breasts, if she did say so herself. To make certain he noticed, she stretched her arm along the back of the seat. Her high round breasts perked up and out when she gave a slight stretch.
And like every red-blooded male she’d ever known, he noticed.
“I’m Jake MacKay,” he said with a
brisk step back to the truck window. He stuck his hand inside, offering it in greeting. His fingers extended toward her taut left nipple.
She clasped his hand, gave it a brisk shake. An arc of electrical charge snapped from where they touched and went up her arm and into her heart. She slammed back against the seat, and he jumped away from the truck.
“What the hell?” he said. He shook his hand several times, then rubbed his arm from wrist to shoulder, finally smoothing his square palm across his chest over his heart.
“Wow! You felt it too?” Her heart thudded while her whole arm sparked. She flexed the fingers of her right hand. They felt okay now, but her arm still buzzed. “Wow!” she repeated. “I’ve never had that happen before, have you?”
He stared hard at her, like a drowning man reaching for a life preserver. “No, never.”
“I’m Lexa Creighton,” she managed. “Are you staying at the house?”
Jake MacKay, electric man. Apparently close to stunned by the charge they’d sparked in each other. He was still staring at her as if she’d done something outrageous like cut out his heart.
Eventually, he pulled himself together and glanced down at his bag. “I’m here until Tuesday. Giving an estimate on the interior of the mansion. I specialize in restoration.”
“Want a lift? I’m not sure how long this driveway is; could be quite a walk.” The odd buzz still ran under her skin, but at least it didn’t hurt anymore.
She watched him cross in front of the truck while she started the engine. He climbed in beside her, careful to put the duffel bag between them. She glanced at it and smiled. “Good idea. Whatever that spark was, we don’t need another one.”
He snorted. “You can say that again. It snapped like a live wire.”
“Hot, though,” she said as she put the truck into gear.
“Very,” he agreed, but the glint in his eye was anything but agreeable.
Lexa and Jake got their first look at the mansion as she followed the circular drive to the veranda. She parked and they both leaned forward to peer out the windshield, straight up the front wall.
Three stories of Victorian splendor stared back down at them. “Faded glory,” she said.
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