Chapter Six
Drake
I don’t often get requests from royalty—both the Hollywood and the crown variety.
I certainly don’t get transported around in private jet.
And I most certainly don’t travel around the country on the whim of my girlfriend.
However, this is an unusual situation.
I feel like my life has been one huge blob of unusualness since David died, and now Jayce is a part of my life, I doubt it’s going to get any less strange.
I’ve had to cancel a week’s worth of appointments to come and help Marla Davison. My patients were not pleased, and I know that I’ll be handling a lot of calls from them while I’m at Marla’s home. I don’t mind. If they’re content to talk to me on the phone, then that’s fine by me.
I hate disrupting their schedule. Some people lead their lives around their appointments with me. I value that and understand why such a level of control about their routine is required, so being amenable about their contacting me is easy.
The weird thing about this trip?
I don’t actually know where I’m going.
Sure, I know the end destination. Marla Davison’s house. But I don’t know the coast, I don’t know the state, and I don’t know the regional city. Never mind anything as paltry as an address.
The level of hush, hush beggars belief, but from what Jayce told me, I guess it makes sense.
Marla has to maintain a level of anonymity thanks to contracts she’s signed with her husband. In exchange for her current living arrangements, she has to lead a very quiet life.
And truth be told, that’s going to be one of the issues I deal with first.
In a week, I can’t work miracles. But maybe Jayce and I can work together to at least bring Marla and her son some peace.
When the plane pulls lands on firm ground, I’ve been in the air for six hours. That means I could be in Canada, down by Florida, or somewhere more central. I was asked by the polite steward not to use my cell throughout the flight, so when I land, I guess I could use my GPS locator to figure out where the hell I am. But truth is, I kind of like the secrecy.
Shaking my head at my own folly, I watch the view outside the dew-speckled window as the jet taxis to a halt on a private airstrip.
In the distance, I can see a car’s headlights and assume that’s my ride, because there sure as hell isn’t a taxi stand in the vicinity. There is nothing but green and more green out there. In fact, I don’t think I’ve seen as much greenery in my life. And I’ve been to the Emerald Isle plus Kew Gardens in England. You don’t get much more verdant than the UK.
The rolling hills do have a charm of their own, and the area makes me wonder if we have actually crossed the border into Canada. Silly things like Immigration Control don’t matter when you’re talking about the amount of money Saudi Princesses have to play with, right? Or maybe I’ve read too many spy thrillers in my spare time?
As it is, the hills don’t give me a clue, and when the plane finally comes to a halt, the temptation to look at my phone’s GPS burns a hole in my gut. Trouble is, I feel like I’d be betraying Marla. I get the feeling she hasn’t told Jayce where she is, because I think my girlfriend would have told me if she knew. I can imagine that Jayce doesn’t really give a damn about the specifics. She’s far too psyched about what’s going on for silly things like location to matter.
The thought makes me roll my eyes because I can see that being the truth, and it’s something that needs to change, if after three days, she still has no idea where she is.
I get to my feet, make to grab my bag, but the steward is already there with a friendly smile and my bag in hand. He presses some buttons and opens the door, letting a huge burst of frigid air into the luxurious cabin.
Sighing, I look around the warm tube that was my ride, silently bid farewell to the wide leather recliner I’ve been sitting on and the walnut veneered table I’d been leaning against as I completed a couple of Sudoku puzzles. Shrugging into my coat with regret, I step toward the exit. The heat of the plane clashes with the cold from outside, and my cheeks immediately feel pinched as I reach the top step that will lead me onto the runway. Pulling up the lapels on my coat, I burrow beneath the thick wool and take the plunge.
Twilight has hit, and it makes the shining black limo seem more in shadow. Through the faint light, I can see someone standing there, huddled against the cold, a person who has flying strands of white gold hair wafting about in the cold breeze.
Jayce is here. Waiting for me.
Considering how cold it is, I really wouldn’t have expected her to come out and wait for me, but that she has fills me with a warmth that combats the bitter winds.
God, what this woman makes me feel.
I’ll not lie and say that a week spent in close quarters with Jayce didn’t convince me to shut my practice for the following seven days.
This connection between us, innocent as it’s been so far, is ready to deepen.
I’ve never felt surer about anything in my life.
I rush down the stairs, smiling widely when she bustles forward in a huge down-filled parka. I open my arms, the instinct as natural as breathing, and she runs into them. The instant she’s against my chest, she burrows her head under my chin, and I close my eyes to savor the sensation of feeling her near me.
Behind us, the steward passes over the luggage to the driver who climbs out of the car to stow my suitcase away. There’s a glower on the guy’s face though, and I can sense he doesn’t approve of Jayce or me. Or maybe it’s that he doesn’t like public displays of affection.
Either way, it’s tough shit.
We’re here, and if this guy doesn’t want us to help his employer then that just makes him a jerk.
“It’s good to see you, Drake,” she mumbles against my chest. I shouldn’t be able to hear her over the dying splutters of the engine or the chatter between the steward and the driver; her words are all that matter, and their meaning just confirms that I did the right thing by coming here.
It’s only been three days since I last saw her, and it’s felt like a lifetime.
“It’s wonderful to be with you again, Jayce,” I tell her earnestly, my comment a little more expansive than hers.
I’m done with beating around the bush, watching my words, trying not to frighten her with my intensity. That intensity is fueled by her. If she can’t handle that then she isn’t the woman I know her to be.
She pulls back a little to look up at me, but sadly, her features are in shadow. Twilight set in quickly, making me wonder if we are in Canada. The further north we are, the quicker it gets dark. At least, that’s my reasoning.
What I can make out are the gusts of steam that make up her breath.
She’s freezing. Come to think of it, I am too.
Shivering, I clasp her shoulders under my arm and tug her forward to the waiting limo. Opening the door, I let her climb in first and then jump in after, slamming the door shut to block out the bitter chill, which seems to have the power of working its way in between your joints.
Rubbing my hands together, my teeth start chattering. When hers do too, we both start laughing.
“Great chorus we’d make,” I tease around the snapping of our teeth, then grunt when the engine starts. We take off, and more heat blazes through into the back of the limo. “God, I thought New York was cold this time of year. Where the hell are we, Jayce?”
I hear her shuffle about, then there’s the sound of a click and a light pops on. Her nose is wrinkled at me as she confesses what I knew to be so, “I don’t really know.”
“Haven’t you asked?”
She grins. “No.”
“Jesus, Jayce, how did you not check on your phone?”
“You can do that?”
Her question has me shaking my head. “I’m a decade older than you, and I know you can.”
That has her waving a dismissive hand. “You know me and technology don’t get on.”<
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“Bullshit. You understand TiVo and how to work Netflix.”
“That’s different.”
“Is it really?” I tease.
“Well, maybe not, but you know what I mean. What use is geographical location to me?”
“Christ. Do you ever know where you’re going?”
She shrugs. “Depends. If the client tells me or not. Otherwise, I don’t really care.”
“What about your safety, Jayce? What if you were going somewhere dangerous?”
“I carry pepper spray.” Her blatant disregard for her own security fires me up like very little else can.
I’m a calm man, by nature not just nurture. I practice yoga and meditation. I try to practice what I preach when it comes to anger management, but Jayce can make me disregard teachings that have been decades long in forging.
Rather than snarl my fury at her, I make fists with my hands and turn my head away from her. I can feel my heart start to pummel my chest. Like a boxing fight is going down in my diaphragm.
The quiet simmers, churning away. I’m happy to leave it like that. I’m glad to be here, gladder still to be with Jayce, but my anger knows no bounds.
It’s Jayce who breaks the silence. Whose earlier laughter and joviality gives way to a hesitancy that I’m unused to seeing in her. I don’t like that I’m the catalyst, but still, if it makes her think about things like personal safety, then it’s not a bad trait to be learning.
“Drake?”
Rather than answer her directly, anger still burning away inside me like a recently stoked fire, I snarl, “Kenna? Do you let her get away with that? I thought you loved her?”
I don’t expect an answer I can hear, but hopefully, Jayce is getting a blistering.
The relationship between Kenna and Jayce is something I think can be described as maternal. Kenna treats Jayce like a daughter, and Jayce reacts like one too. From what I’ve learned, she doesn’t get on with her living mother, so Kenna is really it for her. Her whole family. And considering Jayce told me Kenna was the first ghost she ever saw, I guess their relationship goes fathoms deep. To a depth I might never get to explore with her.
Jealousy, sharp and swift, like a knee to the balls, comes next. Add it to my ire, and it’s not a great concoction. Not a restful one, at any rate.
Jayce has gone quiet again. Either because she doesn’t know what to say or because Kenna’s there, hopefully chiding her too.
“Never again, Jayce. Do you understand me?” the words are dictatorial. I know they are. They’ll undoubtedly rub her the wrong way, but for once, I don’t care.
She needs to start giving a shit where it counts, and her safety is up there at the top. As in, it’s all that fucking matters.
I turn to her, finally glancing at her. Her cheeks are flashing between pink and white. Pink at the crest of her cheekbones before bleeding down to a sickly white.
“I understand you, Drake,” she says in a quiet tone. “I’m just not entirely sure you understand me.”
Before she can take umbrage at my high-handedness, I snarl, “You took this commission, went off on a plane without knowing anything about your client. I didn’t like that, I thought you were putting yourself in danger, then, but now I know you’re being reckless, it’s a thousand times worse.
“They could have been human traffickers, for all you knew. You’re not the world’s most popular woman, Jayce. Some people hate you, and that’s on a national scale.” I seethe at that. Only the other day, her mood had soured at an article she’d seen on the Internet about her work. “But you walk around like you’re indestructible. Going into the worst neighborhoods, entering the most decrepit buildings, and doing business with people you’ve never met, never vetted, and have no idea whether you can trust.” I suck in a breath, trying to calm down, to mellow my tone because behind my rage, there’s hurt. She’s hurt me, dammit. “And you’ve done all this, come to a stranger’s home, flown on a stranger’s jet, even though you know it would kill me if anything happened to you.”
My words drop like nuclear fallout into the heavy atmosphere of the limo’s cabin. Apparently stunned to silence, Jayce’s fluctuating color has settled down to the peaky white. I hope she feels guilty, I hope guilt is behind that sickly look she has, because if she feels guilty she won’t do it again.
“I mean it, Jayce,” I tell her, my voice softer but still a snarl. “After David died, I didn’t think I’d ever be able to open myself up to another relationship, but then I met you and things changed. Now, you’re here...” I tap my chest, “and I don’t want you to go anywhere. And if something happened to you because you were stupid and irresponsible, if I lost you to some senseless act of violence, just like I did David—" The words mash together. They’ve been like a snowball falling, gathering speed and mass until they have the momentum and the weight to knock me down.
My throat isn’t thick with tears, but it’s flooded with emotion. That emotion has cut off my voice.
I can’t speak. Not only because there are no more words I can use to convey how badly she’s hurt me by not taking care of herself, but also, because I’ve come to a realization.
I’m falling in love with this psychotic woman.
That realization leaves me shaken.
I look around the limo, certain there must be a fridge of some sort, and spotting one, open it and grab a bottle of water. Before I retreat to the soft leather, I grab one for her too and settle it on the cushion between us. Taking a seat once more, I open the bottle and take a deep sip.
The water does nothing. I feel like vodka wouldn’t. Not even alcohol could burn away these tender kernels of feelings, which I’m certain I’m not ready to handle.
Not yet.
Not so soon after David.
And yet, here I am.
Angry at her because she’s reckless, and that recklessness could take her away from me.
The thought makes me tense and stirs me to speak, more words of anger, more lectures, but before I can, a gentle hand reaches for mine. Her fingers slide against my palm, slipping through the space between my digits until they’re bridged. She squeezes. “I won’t do it again.”
Somehow, I’m more stunned at her capitulation than I am at the fact I know I’m falling for her.
“As easy as that?” my tone is almost a sneer. I need to stop being a jackass when she’s taking this so well, but I can’t help it.
No man likes feeling vulnerable. And though I may be a yogi and a psychologist, I’m still a man.
She sucks in a sharp breath, telling me my tone is starting to piss her off, but nods. Slowly. “I promise. I’ll start to evaluate my clients. Kenna wants me to tell you that she’s already yelled at me over this.” She pauses a second, ducks her head, backing down when I’m used to her forging full steam ahead. There’s nothing odd about it, I suppose, but because our hands are connected, I can feel the sudden tension swell inside her. “No one other than Kenna has given a damn before.”
Her husky voice induces me to cup our joined fingers with my free hand. “Well, someone gives a damn now.”
“Yeah. I know.” She shoots me a quick smile, but there’s a weight on her now. A burden. She fidgets, tries to settle deeper into the seat of the limo, yet even when she does, I can tell she can’t get comfortable. Resigned to her pulling away now we’ve both admitted to things, be it internally or to each other, things neither of us were ready for, I let her fingers go when she tugs them free.
She surprises me though. Rather than going silent, she tilts, lifts a leg onto the cushions and turns to face me. “You don’t understand,” she asserts, trying to convey something she thinks I didn’t take seriously before. “No one has given a damn. Kenna, yes. But no living someone.” She gulps. “Do you know how that makes me feel? That my parents, not even my brother, really gave a shit about me? But you, after nearly two months of knowing me, and for some of that not liking me, are lecturing me about this shit?” Jayce raises a hand and scratches at
her hairline. The move is hardly sensual, it’s not even ladylike. I grin at it because it wasn’t done to entice, but out of sheer confusion.
I’m glad I confuse her because she sure as hell confuses me.
“You mean a lot to me, Jayce,” I tell her carefully. “More than I know how to handle at the minute, if I’m being honest.”
I let my gaze cross to her, let our eyes connect, and see she’s as overwhelmed by all this as I am. At least, I thought that was what I saw. Apparently not though, because she slides nearer me, not stopping until her knee brushes my thigh. Placing a hand on my lap, she squeezes the muscle there, looks down at her hand then up at me.
I know she’s not an innocent. Not in the way our culture views innocence at any rate. But in her own way, she is. She might have had sex, but I can sense that her lovers never touched her. That her essence is still untouched.
And I want that. I want to be the one to awaken her to how it should be, and this is her invitation to do so.
Her eyes are like glass. Gunmetal gray, ice-like silver, piercing cobalt, and azure all blended together to create a color that is unique, like her. She freezes me with that stare, then brings me back to life when her hand trails down my thigh, close by the line between hip and leg, and settles her fingers there. She leans forward and uses the tips to start massaging that bit of muscle, gently, almost absentmindedly, kneading at that taut area as she runs her nose down the line of my jaw.
As a first move, it’s not the most direct or sexually aggressive. But somehow, I respond as though it is. My cock hardens, creating an embarrassing tent behind my jeans, and I know she can feel the tautness of the fabric thanks to where her fingers are.
She breathes in through her nose, scenting me, then she licks my earlobe, tasting me. She’s no enchanting seductress, no Salome or Cleopatra, but her generosity of spirit makes me feel as though she is.
Her mouth traces over my cheek then her lips brush mine. At last. She nips at the bottom lip, testing its pliancy, then slides her tongue over it, moistening the morsel, making it her own.
Ghost Avenger Page 6