Karma Girl

by Jennifer Estep

  “Did it hurt?” I could see it in my head. Henry typing away, when suddenly...BAM!

  “Not really. I blacked out after the first few seconds. When I came to, it was almost like something had snapped open inside my head, like a light had been turned on. I could see things I hadn’t been able to before. I could reach out to the computer and make it do anything I wanted.”

  “How did you get involved with the Fearless Five?”

  “Mr. Sage sensed me. He’s always on the lookout for spikes in psychic energy. He felt my...transformation. At first, I didn’t understand what had happened, and I got terrible headaches. Mr. Sage found me. He taught me how to control my power, how to use it to benefit others. Mr. Sage and the rest of the group needed somebody who understood computers and could do what I could. So, I joined the group, and the rest is history.”

  “Do you ever regret it? Having powers, I mean? Not being…ordinary?”

  “Sometimes. I like helping people, I really do, but being a superhero is a full-time job. And it’s an awesome responsibility. There’s always somebody who needs help or wants to rule the world. Sometimes, I wish I could be just like everybody else. Plus, mind-melding can give you one killer headache, particularly if you run into a virus or some nasty security firewall on the Internet.” Henry took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.

  His story awed and humbled me. I couldn’t imagine being a teenager who suddenly developed this fantastical power. I wouldn’t have been able to handle it. Yet Henry had become a good, kind man despite having this power thrust upon him. He truly was amazing.

  “Well, from everything I’ve seen and read, you do a great job, Hermit,” I said. “I’m sure everyone is grateful that you do what you do. I know I am.”

  Henry smiled.

  I grinned back. “Now, if you feel up to it, why don’t we use that power of yours to track down an ubervillain?”

  “I’m always up for that.” Henry slid his glasses back on his face. “Let’s go get her.”

  *

  We spent the next two hours going through files and reviewing all of the information we’d gathered on Malefica and the rest of the Terrible Triad. The answer to Malefica’s real identity was hidden somewhere among my papers and the information on my flash drives. I could feel it. I just didn’t know where to look. Yet.

  Henry left to go to work at The Exposé, but I stayed in the library. By the time I finished reorganizing my papers, it was close to six. I stretched my arms up over my head. My bones snapped and popped in a pleasant way. My stomach rumbled. Time for dinner. Malefica would have to wait until tomorrow.

  I turned off the light and left the library. I walked back down the hallways, rode the elevator up to the wine cellar, and made my way to the kitchen. It was deserted, just like this morning. This time, I didn’t hesitate. After all my hard work, I was in the mood for a little comfort—Southern style. I gathered up the necessary ingredients for a bona fide Southern feast. Soon, chicken sizzled in a hot skillet while biscuits baked in the oven. Peach tea chilled in the refrigerator.

  “Something smells good.”

  I shrieked at the sound of Sam’s deep voice. A spatula slipped from my fingers.

  “How many times do I have to tell you not to do that?” I clutched a hand over my racing heart.

  “It’s one of my many talents,” he replied.

  I glared at him. Or at least I tried to. He leaned against the side of the refrigerator. A navy blue business suit hugged his body to perfection and brought out his brilliant eyes. He looked good. Too good. I turned back to the stove so he wouldn’t notice the flush in my cheeks. It was a good thing he couldn’t read minds, because mine was once more full of lustful thoughts.

  Sam walked over and snitched a piece of chicken from the pan.

  “Stop that. It’s not ready.” I swiped at him, but he easily ducked out of the way. Stupid superhuman reflexes.

  “Mmmm. Tastes ready to me. Where did you learn to cook like that?”

  I sniffed. “I, sir, am a Southerner. And every Southerner, no matter the gender, learns at a very young age to make three essential things—fried chicken, buttermilk biscuits, and iced tea. All of which I have prepared tonight and will soon be dining on.”

  “Care if I join you?”

  I looked into his eyes. They were the most unusual color, and varied with his mood, from dark, gunmetal gray when he was angry or upset to light silver when he was calm and relaxed, like now. I realized I was alone with Sam aka Striker Sloane, the one person I should be avoiding at all costs, other than Malefica. I thought back to that night in my apartment and how it had all started in my kitchen.

  I dropped my gaze to the crispy chicken. “Um, well, I’m not sure I made enough for two people.”

  “Don’t worry. I don’t eat nearly as much as Fiona does.”

  I laughed. Despite my earlier vow, I wanted to have dinner with Sam. Wanted to know the man behind the mask. So, I did something I shouldn’t have.

  “I’d love to have some company,” I said.

  *

  We settled ourselves at the island in the middle of the kitchen. Sam loosened his silk tie while I filled our plates.

  “Mmm-mmm. I think I’m in heaven.” Sam rolled his eyes for emphasis and took another bite of his buttered biscuit.

  I laughed again. “I wouldn’t go that far, but it certainly beats flat champagne and moldy cheese.”

  “Ah, the gourmet cuisine of the Bigtime society crowd.”

  For the next half hour, we regaled each other with tales from the society scene. Sam talked about how hard it was to avoid all the money-hungry debutantes and their marriage-minded mothers, while I spun horror stories about the drunken businessmen who hit on me, even though their stone-cold-sober wives stood all of two feet away.

  The conversation moved on to other topics. I told Sam about my childhood and what it was like to grow up in the Tennessee hills. He told me about taking his father’s small construction business and turning it into a multibillion-dollar empire that included everything from newspapers to computer companies to farming interests. Sam liked football, hockey, and other contact sports. I told him about my fascination with puzzles. We talked about favorite movies and books and music and more. If it hadn’t been for the fact that I was in hiding, Sam was pretty much stuck with me, and we’d already had sex, I would have sworn I was having the best first date of my life.

  I’d never found someone who was so easy to talk to. Sam and I chatted about everything—except that night in my apartment. That was the one topic I didn’t know how to bring up or even what to say. Was it good for you too? What was that thing you did with your hands that drove me crazy? Want to do it again? I didn’t have the courage to ask Sam any of those questions, especially the last one.

  Suddenly, Sam cocked his head to one side. “Nine o’clock already.”

  “How do you know that?” I didn’t see any clocks in the kitchen.

  “There’s an antique grandfather clock in the main hallway. It chimes the hours.”

  I could just barely hear the faint murmur. “You must have amazing hearing.”

  “Supersenses, remember?” Sam stood. “I’d love to stay, but I have to go downstairs. I’m on call tonight.”

  “You go ahead. I’ll clean up.” I rose from my stool as well.

  “No, you cooked. I’ll clean up.”

  We both reached for the same plate, and our hands collided. A jolt of electricity zipped up my arm at his touch. I stared into Sam’s eyes. They really were the most brilliant eyes I’d ever seen. Eyes that could look right into your soul. I wondered what he saw in mine. Wondered if he could see how attracted I was to him. Wondered if he could see how much I desired him.

  “Carmen, what’s happening between us?” Sam asked, his silver eyes burning into mine.

  I tugged the plate out of his hand, turned away, and dumped it in the sink. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I made my voice light and cheer
y, even though I trembled inside.

  “I’m talking about the night in your apartment. The night we made love.”

  “Oh. That.” I closed my eyes to try to block out the memory. But I couldn’t.

  “Oh, that? Is that all you have to say?”

  I faced him. Sam’s eyes were dark and guarded, his body tense like a coiled spring.

  “Honestly, I don’t know what to say, other than it happened, and we can’t change it.”

  “I don’t want to change it.”

  “Then what do you want?” My heart smashed against my ribs with every breath like waves crashing on a sandy beach. The wrong word, the wrong look from Sam, and my heart would break once more.

  “I want to know how it happened. Why. If you enjoyed it. How you felt…afterwards. If you thought about me.” Sam ran his hand through his thick, dark hair. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t do that sort of thing.”

  “What sort of thing?”

  “Sleep with people I barely know.”

  “Never?”

  Sam shook his head. “Never. I don’t sleep around, especially not with the women I save. I’m not that kind of superhero.”

  “Why not? I’m sure you get lots of offers.” He had to, given how scrumptious he looked in his tight, leather suit.

  “It’s not fair. They don’t owe me anything, especially not their bodies. I save people because I want to, not because I expect some reward.”

  “And what about your personal life? When you’re Sam Sloane?” All the tall, beautiful supermodels I’d seen him squiring around Bigtime danced through my head.

  He sighed. “Not then either. I have a hard time trusting women, letting them get close to me, what with the secret identity and all.”

  “So why did you sleep with me? I would think after what happened with Tornado you would hate me. That you would want nothing to do with me. Ever.” The words popped out before I could stop them.

  “After Travis died, I did blame you, Carmen. I did hate you.”

  Sam’s words pierced my heart. I closed my eyes.

  “But I came to realize that Travis’s death wasn’t your fault.”

  “Of course it was,” I snapped. “How could it not be?”

  Sam shook his head. “You might have exposed him, but he’s the one who decided to take his own life. Travis made that decision, not you, Carmen.”

  “But I drove him to it,” I whispered. My stomach turned over.

  “No. I don’t think that and neither should you. Being exposed is a fear every superhero lives with. It’s one of the job hazards. Travis knew that, he accepted the risk. We could have gotten through it, if only he’d given us a chance to.”

  Sam’s words did little to comfort me. He might not blame me for Travis’s death, but I knew the truth—it was my fault. It would always be my fault.

  I’d learned the answer to one of my burning questions. I had to know the other one. “But why sleep with me?”

  He stared at me as if the answer was obvious. “You’re a desirable woman, Carmen.”

  I snorted. “Oh, get real.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Sam, you’re an incredibly handsome man. You look better in a business suit than any guy I’ve ever seen. Not to mention the fact you’re smart, charming, and incredibly rich. You’re every woman’s fantasy. And when you put your superhero suit on, well, let’s just say it doesn’t hurt matters.” I gestured at my ratty jeans and T-shirt. “I, on the other hand, am not the stuff men’s dreams are made of.”

  Sam tilted my chin up until my eyes met his. “You’re a beautiful, strong, intelligent woman, Carmen Cole. A man would have to be a fool not to want you.”

  The sincerity in his eyes startled me. Could billionaire Sam Sloane really be attracted to me? Could he want me like I wanted him? Could our time together actually have meant something to him?

  The image of Matt and Karen doing the deed flashed through my head. “Tell that to my ex-fiancé.”

  “He was an enormous idiot to let you get away.” Sam grinned. “Besides, have you seen Crusher lately? She’s almost as ripped as Scorpion. That can be a little intimidating, even for a superhero.”

  His catty comment brought a smile to my face. I stood on my tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Thanks for that. And for lying.”

  Sam stared at me. Then, he backed me up against the sink and put his hands on either side. I caught a whiff of his musky, manly scent. His silver eyes locked with mine.

  “What—what are you doing?” I asked, breathless.

  “Proving to you I’m not lying.”

  Sam lowered his lips to mine. For a moment, I couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t believe this was happening again. I’d never thought it would. Never thought I would be this lucky.

  Sam nibbled at my lips. I opened my mouth, and he slipped his tongue inside. Desire exploded deep within me. Every part of my body hummed and throbbed at Sam’s firm touch. At the feel of his lips on mine.

  “I can’t think straight whenever I’m near you. All I want to do is touch you, Carmen. Taste you. All of you,” Sam whispered. He pressed hot kisses against my throat.

  I buried my hands in his thick, silky hair and pulled him closer. I wanted him to touch me. All of me.

  Sam picked me up and set me on the edge of the sink. His hands trailed up my leg to the junction of my thighs, stroking my wet heat. I hissed. The touch scorched me, even through the thick denim of my blue jeans. I ran my hands up and down his back, marveling at his taut muscles. Why did the man always have to have a shirt on? He’d look so much better without one. He’d feel so much better without one.

  We kissed again, long and hard and deep. Sam’s hands ran up my body and dipped under the bottom of my T-shirt. His hands cupped my swollen breasts, while his fingers traced my hard nipples. Waves of pleasure cascaded through me. Thank heavens I’d decided not to wear a bra today.

  Sam pushed my shirt up, and I shivered as the cool air hit my flushed skin. I wrapped my legs around his waist and leaned back, knowing what he wanted. It was the same thing I did. Sam dipped his head to my stomach. He kissed his way up my chest and took my exposed nipple in his mouth. He ran his tongue round and round and round until I felt dizzy from the pleasure.

  I moaned, on fire, burning alive from the inside out. There was only one thing that could quench the heat in me, the raging need. Sam.

  Suddenly, Sam froze, his tongue hot and wet on my breast. A second later, someone called out.

  “Sam? Are you up here?” Fiona’s lilting voice echoed through the manor.

  My eyes widened. Fiona was the very last person I wanted to find out about Sam and me. She’d fry me alive.

  “She’s coming this way,” Sam said.

  I dropped my arms from Sam’s neck and pushed him away. I pulled my T-shirt down, darted around him, ran to the island, and lunged onto my stool.

  “Carmen, wait—” Sam put his hand on my arm.

  Sweat popped out on the nape of my neck. My temperature shot up at least five degrees.

  “Well, isn’t this a cozy little scene?” Fiona Fine called out from the doorway.

  *

  I froze. And tried to avoid thinking about what had just happened between us. It was a good thing Fiona wasn’t a psychic like her father.

  “Mind if I join you?” she asked.

  Fiona pulled out a third stool at the head of the island and wormed her way in between Sam and me. She sat down and flipped her long, blond hair over her shoulder. Every strand landed perfectly back in place. I eyed Fiona’s outfit. The fashion designer had on a neon pink dress dotted with black-and-white spots. She looked like a cross between a flamingo and a Dalmatian. Somehow though, Fiona still looked fabulous. I stared down at my T-shirt that read Addicted to shopping, chocolate, and men. Not necessarily in that order. Truer words had never been printed. I was addicted all right. To Sam Sloane.

  “We were just finishing up dinner,” Sam explained. His voice was co
ol and calm, even though we’d been engaged in some hot ’n’ heavy action a minute before. How had he regained his composure so quickly? My heart was still beating so fast I thought it might explode.

  “Really? I’m famished.” Fiona reached for a piece of chicken.

  “Actually, Carmen cooked tonight. You should try her fried chicken. It’s excellent.”

  Fiona’s hand hovered over the plate. I watched as the other woman debated with herself, weighing her burning hunger against her intense dislike of me. Fiona dropped her hand.

  “Actually, I had chicken for lunch. And fried chicken isn’t terribly good for one’s figure. Too much fat, too many calories.”

  “I thought you weren’t concerned about calories, what with your fiery metabolism and all,” I said in a snide tone.

  Sam coughed, although it sounded more like a laugh. Fiona glared at both of us.

  “Your loss,” I continued in a cheerful voice, trying to take my mind off my latest encounter with Sam. “I make excellent fried chicken. The best there is, or so I’ve been told.”

  Fiona gave me a sour look.

  “So how was your day, Fiona?” Sam asked, changing the subject.

  “The usual. Made some sketches for the new collection. Screamed at my suppliers. Sewed my fingers off. By the way, Sam, I have some more models I’d love to introduce you to. Really beautiful women.” Fiona shot me a pointed look.

  I gripped the counter so hard my knuckles turned white. “So that’s where Sam gets all his dates from. I didn’t know you ran an escort service, Fiona.”

  I was being bitchy, but I didn’t care. Images of beautiful, buxom, blond models drooling all over Sam floated through my mind. I felt fat and inadequate and depressed. My ego deflated like a popped balloon. Who was I kidding thinking someone like Sam could be interested in me? I hadn’t even been able to keep my ex-fiancé away from my ex-best friend. How could I hang on to super rich, super cool, super sexy Sam for any length of time? Sure, we had great chemistry, but it took a lot more than that to make a relationship work.

  “I take the models out as favors to Fiona, that’s all,” Sam responded, almost as if he knew my dark, depressing thoughts. “Being seen with me helps them get other jobs. It ups their credibility or something like that. I’m not sure how it works.”