Celeste Files: Unlocked (12 page)

“Then they would be dead.”

“Tracy?” Celeste asked. “Is that you?”

“Yes, love. Thank you for staying with me those last moments. You made accepting my fate easier. But you don’t belong here.”

“You’d already passed when you came to me,” Celeste said, fascinated that she could communicate with Tracy.

“I know, but I kept reliving that moment over and over. I don’t know why. Every time I saw the light, I tried to get to it, but something kept pulling me back and pushing me under the water again. Thank you for helping me, but now you have to go.”

“It’s so peaceful and wonderful here.”

“It is, only it’s not your time. Go, Celeste. Your husband and daughter need you.”

“I need them, too.” John’s handsome, loving face and Olivia’s adorable smile filled her mind. The bright light weakened, the music and whispers faded. “Tracy, are you still there?” she asked.

“Yes,” Tracy answered, her voice growing distant.

“Who did this to you?”

“Go,” Tracy ordered. “Quickly. It’s not your time.”

“But if you could tell me who—” Celeste was shoved into utter blackness. The music and whispers stilled, and she sensed that Tracy was no longer with her.

“Celeste, please.” The desperation and fear in John’s voice shattered the silence. “Baby, wake up. Come back to me.”

Cool air rushed along her wet skin. She shivered, squeezed her eyes then slowly opened them, giving herself a moment to adjust to the light.

“Thank God.” John wrapped a thick, warm towel around her and cradled her against his chest. “Thank God,” he repeated, rocking her, rubbing his hands along her back.

She snuggled against his heat. When she pressed the side of her face against his chest, his rapid heartbeat had guilt crashing in and suffocating her. She’d slipped into a trance and had possibly followed Tracy into the afterlife. In doing so, she could have died with her.

“Are you okay?” he asked, taking her face in his hands.

The alarm and intensity in his gaze caused her eyes to fill with tears. “I think so.” She glanced around and noticed the wine glass had shattered against the tiled floor. “How did I get out of the tub?” she asked.

“I pulled you out.” He released a shaky breath, then ran an equally shaky hand across his forehead. “I heard the glass break, came in to check on you and saw…” He pulled her close again. “You were under the water, your eyes were open and you were struggling. Like someone was holding you down.” He tightened his hold. “It reminded me of the trances you had in Wisconsin.” He kissed her temple. “It scared the hell out of me. I’m going to call your sister and ask her to watch Olivia.”

She stiffened. “Why?”

“Because I’m taking you to the ER. You obviously had a convulsion and we need to know why.” He lifted her in his arms. “Come on, let’s get you dressed so we can get out of here.”

“You’re not calling Eden, and I’m not going to the ER.”

“Damn it, Celeste. Don’t be stubborn about it.” He set her on the bed. “You didn’t see what I did. What if this happened when you were driving? Or at the grocery store with Olivia? Our fourteen-month-old daughter would be surrounded by strangers, while you convulsed on the floor and—” He wiped a hand down his face. “I can’t think about this. We’re going.”

Celeste didn’t need a doctor. She needed John. His kiss, his touch, the embrace of his strong arms. What she’d shared with Tracy had been intimate. She’d been one with the woman, had endured her fear and sadness as she died, along with the bliss that had followed into the light. And that light had been so tempting. A small part of her wanted to stay, to remain cocooned in the warmth and comfort the light had brought her. The black figure, its smoky, ever-changing mass, suddenly polluted the euphoric sensations the light had given her. Its evilness, so vile, blotted out the light and left terror and cruelty in its wake. Needing to be reminded that what she’d experienced had been Tracy’s reality, not hers, she shoved off the bed.

“We’re not going anywhere.” The towel dropped to the floor as she rushed to John’s side. “I need you,” she said, pushing his t-shirt up his torso. “Now.”

Chapter 8

JOHN GRABBED HER by the shoulders and set her back. “What’s gotten into you? Honey, humor me on this. Let the doctors run a few tests.”

Celeste wiggled free and tugged at his shirt again. “Later.” She pushed the material higher and pressed her bare breasts against his exposed skin. With desire and need coursing through her, she moved to her tiptoes and kissed his strong jaw. “Please,” she murmured, and slid a hand along his abs. When she reached the waistband of his sweatpants, she slipped her hand inside and stroked him.

His breath grew ragged. “This isn’t right. We shouldn’t do this. I have no idea how long you were under water and—” He sucked in a breath when she cupped his testicles.

“I’m fine.” As she continued to massage him, she ran her hand up the back of his neck, then sifted her fingers through his thick hair. “Kiss me,” she said, pressing his head toward hers, close enough she brushed her lips against his.

He pulled his head back slightly and met her gaze. While his eyes held desire, the worry and confusion remained etched on his face. “What if something’s wrong with you? What if I hurt you?”

The black figure filled her mind again. Desperate to be one with John and rid herself of the darkness that kept creeping into her head, she grazed her mouth along his. “You won’t,” she said, and shoved at his sweatpants until his erection was free and pressing along her stomach.

With a husky groan, he captured her lips. After kicking off his sweatpants, he edged her toward the bed, then lifted her onto the mattress. He broke the kiss, quickly finished removing his t-shirt, then kissed her again. As she curled her tongue around his and twined her legs along his rear, he ran one rough palm over her breast and the other over her hip. Eager to have him inside of her, to enjoy the same euphoria she’d experienced in the light, to be reminded that she was alive and loved, she reached between their bodies and guided him into her heat.

With his hard length sliding along her labia, he tore his mouth away. “I want to taste you,” he said, dipped his head and captured a nipple.

She ran her fingers through his hair and tightened her legs around his rear, forcing him deeper inside. “Later. I need you to make love to me.”

He pressed his hands on the mattress, raised his head and met her gaze. With one swift thrust, he filled her, then held himself still. “Are you okay?” he asked, his tone concerned, his breath coming in short harsh pants. The tension, evident in the cords of muscles lining his neck, was a clear indicator that he was keeping himself in check.

She set her heels on the mattress, opening herself to him. “I will be,” she said, grabbing his rear and raising her pelvis. “If you give us what we both need.”

Guilt momentarily crossed his face before he eased out, then thrust again. As he moved over her, rocking his hips, pleasuring her, driving her closer to that exquisite place where only she and John existed, her throat tightened with the urge to cry. She loved him so much. She’d been wrong not to tell him the truth. What if he hadn’t pulled her from the bathtub? What if she’d remained with Tracy?

She pushed those thoughts from her mind and pulled his head down for another open-mouthed kiss. Tangling her tongue with his, she kissed him with all the love and passion she possessed for him. She never wanted to leave him like that again. She never wanted to be without him or the life they’d created together. As he kissed her with the same hunger and urgency, the darkness and fear that had been lingering disappeared. All that remained was the two of them.

Pleasure washed over her. She met each of his thrusts until her orgasm exploded, sending waves of sheer ecstasy throughout her body. Desire continued to curl through her as he drove himself deeper, harder. Then, with a harsh grunt, he stilled. As he released himself, she touched him everywhere she could and breathed in his familiar masculine scent. When he collapsed to his elbows, his breath ragged and puffing against her cheek, she embraced him.

“I love you,” she said, running a hand along his back.

He lifted his head and kissed her. “I love you, too.” He searched her eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m definitely good,” she said with a smile.

“I’m glad one of us is.” He kissed her again. “I was so scared when I found you.”

She touched his cheek. “I know. I’m so sorry.”

His jaw tightened. “What do you mean you know?”

“I heard it in your voice when you were calling me.”

“But you were unconscious.” He shook his head and closed his eyes. “God, I’m such an ass.”

“What are you talking about?”

He slipped out of her, then reached down and grabbed his boxers and sweats. “What kind of man makes love to his wife after…never mind.” He picked up the discarded towel and handed it to her. “I still think we should go to the ER. Does your head hurt? Maybe you slipped and fell. That could explain the seizure.”

“I
wanted
to make love. So please don’t beat yourself up over it.” She stood and wrapped the damp towel around her. “I didn’t hit my head and I didn’t have a seizure.”

“And you
didn’t
see what I did.” He pulled on his shirt, then held her by the shoulders. “Head injuries aren’t something to mess with,” he said, shaking his head again and looking away. “Damn it. We should’ve never had sex.”

“Then why did you?” she asked, growing irritated. He was taking a beautiful moment and trashing it with unnecessary guilt. If he’d give her a second, she could explain everything.

“Because I’m selfish and I was worried. Making love reassured me you were fine and, for a little while, it knocked the image of you convulsing in the bathtub from my head.”

“Again, I did not
convulse
and I don’t need a doctor. I know exactly what happened.”

He stared at her. “Was it the wine? Did you drink too much?”

As she walked toward him, her stomach filled with nervous energy. “I had a couple of sips, nothing more.”

“Well, there has to be a logical explanation for what happened to you. A doctor could—”

“There is no
logical
explanation. Open your mind, John. I can spell it out for you, but I think you know exactly what happened to me.”

His eyes narrowed. “Son of a bitch.” He took a step back and ran a hand through his hair. “Son of a bitch,” he repeated, only harsher. When he faced her, the anger and accusation in his eyes cut her to the core. “A trance?”

“Kinda, sorta.”

“Kinda…you were fucking drowning in the bathtub. That’s fan-frickin-tastic. So you’re back to the psychic stuff? When were you planning on telling me?
Were
you going to tell me?”

Knowing she’d been wrong, that she should have been honest from the start, she looked away searching for the right words.

“No answer? Nice. We have ourselves one hell of a marriage.” He started for the bedroom door. “I love you, but I won’t live like this. And I won’t allow Olivia’s life to be put at risk.”

“What are you saying?”

“Make it go away, or Olivia and I will.”

Furious, especially because he was being a jerk after they’d just made love, Celeste rushed to him and grabbed his arm before he could leave the room. “How dare you threaten me? You want to leave? Don’t let the door hit you in the ass. But if you think you’re taking my daughter with you, be prepared to fight.”

“Who? Ian?” He shook his head. “I don’t care how much money your father has, this is a battle you’d both lose. I won’t allow Olivia’s life to be in jeopardy.”

“A little dramatic, don’t you think?”

“Not at all. What if Olivia had been in the tub instead? You don’t remember your trances and could have unknowingly hurt her while you were living out some dead person’s last moments. So, no. I
don’t
think I’m being dramatic. I’m being realistic.”

“Since Olivia
wasn’t
in the bathtub, there’s no point in coming up with such a horrible worst-case scenario. And it turns out I’ve learned how to ground myself enough to remember my visions.”

He gripped her shoulders and stared at her with anger and resentment. “You’ve
learned
? How long has this been going on? Weeks? Months?”

“Days,” she admitted. “The first vision happened Wednesday evening.” She wanted to be honest, but chose to leave out the details of how Olivia had been strapped in her highchair, with the stove on and the water running. With the way John was reacting, telling him the whole truth could have him making good on his threats.

“You said the first. How many have there been?”

“Tonight was the fourth. The other two were under the supervision of a woman Ian knows.”

The fury crossing his face had her trying to pull free. “You told your father before you told me,” he said, his tone unforgiving and accusing. “Oh, yeah. We definitely have a great marriage.”

“Yes, I told him. It scared me and you were out of town. I needed help and he recommended that I meet with Maxine.”

“Who’s she? Your psychic teacher?” he asked with heavy sarcasm.