Harlequin Nocturne March 2016 Box Set (18 page)

CHAPTER 5

T
he rush of a breeze swept past Jase's face and he rolled instinctively, then landed on the balls of his feet beside the bed, already pulling his knife.

There was nothing there.

He touched the back of his neck and felt the sting there. His fingers came away sticky. Blood? But he'd been on his back, sleeping, though in the dream he'd been on his knees with a blade pressed to his skin.

And then...other things.

“You okay?” Reg asked from the doorway.

Jase stood. “Yeah. Weird freaking dream, though. I was some kind of...”

Not a knight. Something else. An explorer or something like that. There'd been a journey of some kind, he'd felt that. He'd gotten into trouble, though the reasons for it were fading, hazy, back into dreamland. There'd been a woman with beautiful, sad eyes. He'd wanted to serve her. He'd have given his life for her.

That
had
to be a dream, because so far in his whole life, Jase had never met a woman who'd made him feel that way. The feeling lingered even now, that sensation of wanting to protect someone so much he'd have done anything to keep her safe. Sure, he'd worked cases where he had to keep people safe, but nothing like he'd just dreamed. Nothing like...love.

He shook it off.

“Some kind of what?”

Jase shook his head. “I don't know. It was just a dream, man.”

“Think someone was fucking with you in the Ephemeros?”

“Nah. Just a regular dream.” Though there had been a familiar face in it. The woman from the bar. That could've been his mind shaping her, or maybe she'd simply been dreaming in the same space he'd been.

It didn't mean anything, really, other than maybe he'd left an impression on her, the way she had on him. He should've gone back, chatted her up...but then, what was the point? He'd learned the hard way that a one-or three-or six-night stand always ended up being more work than it was worth.

“You sure?” Reg gave him a curious look. “It must've been some dream. You hollered like you were being murdered.”

Jase laughed, stretching his arms and legs, trying to feel if there was any other damage than the now-fading scratchy feeling at the back of his neck. “Just a dream. Sorry I woke you, man.”

“Nah, I was already awake. I've been online, working some data. Got a few more leads on some interesting shit that's gone down around here, things that might help us. Bunch of weird sightings, stuff like that, but I just can't quite pinpoint a connection. There has to be one.” Reg, with all his banter and fooling around, liked to play at being the stupid one of the pair, the muscle and not the brains. It wasn't really true. Reg, when he got hold of an idea, was apt to hold on to it until he figured out whatever puzzle needed solving.

“Any updates from home base?”

“Nah. Been feeding them data, but...” Reg shrugged. “It could take a while, you know? I'm heading to bed now, though, unless you need me to tuck you back in. Maybe sing you a lullaby?”

Reg shot him a cocky grin, then laughed at the double bird Jase flipped him. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. See you in the morning.”

Reg closed the door behind him, and Jase got back into bed. He couldn't fall back to sleep, though. He was suddenly hard as a rock, with no real reason other than it had been kind of a dry spell over the past few months. He tried to ignore it but should've known better. He hadn't been able to pretend away a hard-on since sometime in early junior high. He could wait it out or take care of it, and waiting it out wasn't going to get him back to sleep any faster.

Sliding a hand inside his boxers, he took his cock in his fist. Slow, up and down, he stroked. Lifting his hips, he tugged off the boxers and kicked back the covers. He'd left the window open a bit so he could hear the ocean, and he used the steady rush of the waves to time his strokes. Slick precome leaked, smoothing his grip. He thrust a little, closing his eyes.

Pleasure built, rising until it consumed him. Nothing much to it other than the steady throb of desire tightening in his balls. There'd been times in the past when Jase had edged himself to draw out ecstasy, but tonight he was intent on filling a need, nothing more. Faster, gripping for a second behind the head, then palming it. Fuck, it felt good.

Yet also, somehow, empty.

His grip faltered, until he heard the whisper of a feminine voice in his ear. The soft scent of perfume. The touch of a woman replaced his.

He went with it.

* * *

She's had lovers, of course. Mostly courtesans, paid to give her pleasure in the absence of a partner. The regent knows well how to please a man—but she also knows exactly how she likes to be pleased.

“You risked much to be here.” She raises her glass of wine. They both drink.

The scout puts his glass aside and takes her in his arms. The suddenness of the embrace causes her to spill sweet red liquid down the front of her, but she doesn't care if her gown is ruined. Not when his lips are on her skin, licking away the crimson fluid.

“Lady, I have loved you since the moment I entered your service,” the scout says against her throat. “You're worth every risk.”

Her fingers thread through his hair, and she tugs until he looks into her eyes. “You entered my service when you were fourteen and I was ten. Surely you don't mean to say you've—”

“I have. Every second of my apprenticeship and every moment after that. I've loved you.” The scout does not smile or make light with his words, though she wants to laugh and push him away.

She doesn't want to believe him. If she does, it might kill her. She's pledged to another, after all.

“Every raid I've made, every world I've plundered, every bit of treasure I have ever brought to you is a measure of my devotion.” He has not yet kissed her mouth, but oh, how she longs for him there.

As she has always done, the regent thinks as she pushes her scout away and walks to the window to look outside at the night. Since she was old enough to understand desire, she has wanted this man. Never admitting it, never allowing herself to believe he could be hers. Because of course he cannot be.

At least not for longer than this single night. Turning, she loosens the ties at the front of her gown and allows it to fall away. Naked, she draws in a breath, lifting her chin, refusing to let herself look away from his face.

“You are beautiful,” her scout says, and in that moment, the regent has no doubt that she is.

He's across the room in the time it takes for her to breathe in and out. Then at last he is kissing her, mouth on mouth. Her gasp draws him into her. His tongue strokes hers.

The marble windowsill is cool on her bare skin as he pushes her back to sit, her thighs parted. He kneels between them. With a reverent sound of worship, her scout kisses her again. Not her mouth this time. The pleasure of it, the heat and warmth of his lips against her most private flesh, tips her head back so the fall of her hair tickles her back.

His mouth moves on her. Tongue stroking. Lips tugging the tender pearl of her body, until she cannot stop herself from crying out. When his fingers slide inside her, stretching, she is sent shuddering over the edge.

Without time for the pleasure to fade, her scout stands. He's pulled himself free of his trousers and is inside her, so deep the sweet sting of his entry sends another shiver of pleasure through her. Her body clutches him; he groans, thrusting, lifting her legs to wrap around his lean hips.

He kisses her again, harder this time. There's the tangy taste of blood on her tongue, and she loves it, she loves him, she is toppling again into the maelstrom of desire. No holding back.

They might have only this one night, this one time, but it will have to be enough to last for the rest of her life.

* * *

Sweet feminine flavor flooded Jase's tongue. He groaned aloud, blinking into the darkness as his orgasm rushed through him. He came so hard he bit his tongue, tasting blood. Shuddering, he let his stroking hand slow until, panting, he let it rest on the sticky heat puddling on his belly.

“Fuck,” he whispered aloud. “What the...”

Still blinking, he shook himself and pushed up on one elbow. He'd been back in the dream, only this time, he'd been awake, he was sure of it. He'd been between her legs, lapping her sweetness, making her come. Even now, the memory made his cock twitch, though he was nowhere near capable of getting hard again, not after that explosion.

Something glittered in the air around him.

He sat up so fast his head spun. The edges of his vision sparkled, sort of like if he'd pressed his thumbs to his closed eyelids. Only, this faded and renewed when he tried to focus. Jase hopped out of bed, grabbing a stray T-shirt and swiping at his belly as he did. His black-light wand was in his bag, and he fumbled for it as the glittering lights faded again.

He flashed it around the room and let out a long, slow breath of wonder. The entire room lit up like the night sky. The glow faded even as he watched, leaving behind a few traces here and there, identical to what he and Reg had found on the gorilla guy's front porch.

Shit.

Whatever had happened to those other guys had just happened to him.

CHAPTER 6

W
ith a short, sharp breath, Chelle lifted her fingers from the keys. Blinking, she sipped in another breath, this one slower. Every part of her still pulsed from the pleasure that had rocked through her while she wrote.

Whoa.

It usually felt good to write...but it had never felt
that
good. Yes, she'd been turned on in the past by something she'd written, but never to the point of an actual orgasm. Chelle sat back in her chair. The first hint of sunlight had started pinking the window over her kitchen sink. She'd been writing for hours. Pages of words...not a full story, but definitely the good start to one, she thought with a rueful shake of her head. Way better than that stupid one about the giant gorilla.

Making sure to save her file, Chelle stared at her computer screen for a few more seconds. GOLEM was more than a word processing program. Grant had designed it as a true writer's dream. She took the time to type a few notes for future plot points. Then she saved again and closed her laptop.

On still-trembling legs, she went to the sink to get herself another glass of water. This one she gulped down, refilled and drank again. She should've been exhausted, but every nerve still jangled. She'd never get to sleep.

Still, she had to try. Not having a day job to go to had to be good for something, even if it meant working all night and sleeping until noon. She took a hot shower first, letting the water beat away some of the stress and tension she still carried with her from being hit by the bike and from the hours she'd spent hunched over the computer.

Cupping her breasts, she let her thumbs pass over her still-sensitive nipples. They tightened at once, and there was an answering pull of arousal between her legs. Chelle laughed a little and tipped her face into the shower's spray, taking in a mouthful of water she spit out in a stream in an attempt at getting her mind off the slickness in her pussy.

She'd had an orgasm while writing.

She wanted to have another one now.

She was no stranger to self-pleasure—that was part of not having a lover, taking care of her own needs. Lately it had seemed her self-gratification had become fairly utilitarian, though. Fast, steady, she got off within minutes as a way to ease the buildup of arousal, though she hadn't found herself particularly turned on. When you were bored fucking yourself, she thought as she turned to let the hot water pound her back, that was bad.

She was turned on now, though. The story. It had filled her head as if she were watching a movie. She'd been immersed. The words, flowing the way her blood pumped now, swift and fierce.

Chelle let out a small groan as she slipped a hand between her legs to stroke her clit. Despite the water from the showerhead, she still found herself so wet that her fingers slipped easily against her folds. Then inside. One, then two. She put her other hand on the shower wall to keep herself steady as she fucked into herself, slowly. Her thumb pressed her clit.

God, it felt good.

How long had it been since she'd really felt this way? Months? Shit, had it been years?

Nipples tight, pussy clenching, breath coming fast. Her belly muscles leaped and jumped as her hips pumped forward. She circled her clit, then tweaked it. Her entire body convulsed with the first twinges of pleasure, building, unbelievable and delightful and yet also somehow desperate.

Her mind filled with the images from the story. The stoic regent, yearning for the touch of the man she loved. The steadfast and inappropriate lover who risked everything for a night with her.

She thought of the man she'd seen in the bar, the one whose face she'd appropriated for her hero. With another small groan, Chelle tried to turn her thoughts to someone else. A celebrity, a mishmash of features, something, anything but that real man who had turned back to look at her. It was useless. Her body had already started the inevitable journey to climax, and she couldn't hold it back any more than she could've stood up against a tsunami.

She gave in, letting the pleasure take her. So good, so fucking good, maybe even better because of that twisted twinge of guilt. Her fingers slipped on the wet tile as she pressed her forehead to the wall. Her body shook, racked with desire. Her pussy throbbed against her fingers and she gave her clit another slow circling tweak before cupping herself.

The water was starting to get cold, but Chelle stayed under the spray for another minute or so, relishing the chilly sting on her overheated skin. When she started shivering, she turned off the water and got out, toweling off and wrapping the towel around her hair to walk naked from the bathroom into her bedroom, where she fell down onto the bed and spread out her arms and legs to stare up at the ceiling fan taking its slow and inevitable journey round and round. Hypnotic.

She let it seduce her into sleep, which was jumbled and fraught with strange dreams, but when she woke, the sun hadn't yet angled into afternoon, and she was ravenous. Over a sandwich and iced tea, she typed some more notes into GOLEM. Nothing seemed as if it would spill into a full-length novel, but she thought she had the kernel for a few short stories, maybe.

On her front deck, she stretched out in the sunshine and let herself drift for a bit. Part of the creative process was refilling the well. Downtime. Grant had teased her that most people couldn't write off napping or daydreaming as part of their job, but he'd never been the sort to take a break. Grant had two speeds: on and off.

She didn't want to think about Grant now. It never led to anyplace good. She supposed one day she'd be able to just put all the memories of him aside, or at least face them with more dignity, but for now, it required a lot of wrestling with herself not to dissolve into grief at the thought of him.

So, she put it away.

She scribbled a few more notes, mostly junk, then went inside to grab her phone. She dialed her best friend, Angie. “Hey, you. What's up?”

“Ugh. Just finishing up this stupid database. What's going on?”

“Trying to write.”

Angie was silent for a second. “How's it going?”

“Bad.” Chelle laughed. “Not sure what made me think I could do this.”

“You can do it. You've been writing stories since you could write. You'll get it. Anything from the editor?”

They talked for a while about work, family, television, shoes, gossip about a couple former classmates. Best-friend talk. It ended with an agreement to meet for drinks and dinner.

“I need this like you wouldn't believe,” Angie said. “I want to make out with some random cute guy and just...ugh.”

“Ugh, indeed,” Chelle said with a laugh, already looking in her wardrobe. “It's the off-season. We'll be lucky to find a cute guy.”

“It's the big sports-show weekend. There will be guys there. Cute, I don't know about. That's what vodka's for!”

Chelle paused. “Oh Lord. That kind of night?”

“If you're lucky,” her friend said. “I'll pay for the cab, too. Don't argue with me about it.”

Chelle wasn't going to argue. There wasn't any use in it—her friend would simply refuse to take any cash. Besides, it all worked out in the end between picking up the tab for drinks or dinner or any of the other things they did together—they'd been friends for so long that neither of them was ever going to be up on the other.

She spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning her house and taking care of some errands. Another few hours...yes, hours...getting ready for what was not promising to be a particularly “lucky” night out. She'd shaved her legs, after all. That was almost a guarantee that she wasn't going to hook up with someone.

Oh, the thought of it, though. A small shiver sent a tickling tremor up and down her spine when she remembered the new project she'd started. Her time in the shower. The guy from the bar... He'd been cute, Chelle admitted to herself as she pulled out dress after dress and put them all away before taking them out again. And if there was one cute guy around, she supposed there'd be more at Oceanside, especially, as Angie had said, since the sports show was going on in Ocean City.

The two of them hadn't gone out in forever, so it was more than past time, but damn if her wardrobe wasn't reflecting just how long it had been. Chelle held up a dress, finally, with a shake of her head. It would have to do.

“Pretty as a peach.”

The voice, warm and sugary, nudged her ear and sent her a step toward the mirror. Eyes wide. Mouth open.

She turned, but of course there was nobody behind her. She was alone, the way she'd been since moving into this house, nobody to share this space. This bed. Her bedroom, all her own, decorated to her style and nobody else's.

Chelle closed her eyes for a moment, taking a long, deep breath. She'd imagined the voice. Grant's words, the compliment he'd always paid her. When she opened them, she lifted her chin and gave her reflection a long, hard look.

“You're going out tonight,” she told herself. “You're going to have fun. And you're going to make out with a cute guy, if it kills you.”