The Yearning (7 page)

“No. It’s all right.” She ran the back of her hand over her eyes and smiled. More tears spilled from her lids.

Mike thumbed them from her cheeks, wishing he’d kept his stupid questions to himself. For a man who didn’t like anyone prying into his personal life, he sure as hell was crossing the line when it came to her private stuff. His only excuse was he was as interested in her as she seemed to be in him. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah.” She covered his hand and brought it to her mouth, kissing his knuckles. “Let’s get you to bed so I can throw together a snack. By the way, I have Corona and Heineken. Is that all right instead of Dos Equis?”

He considered asking her to make some industrial-strength coffee but didn’t want her questioning his stamina. “Whatever you have is great. I’m not picky. Just make certain you return as quickly as possible.”

Her voice hushed. “I couldn’t stay away even if I tried.”

He liked the way she talked.

She brought him to the top of the stairs and flipped a switch. Quaint overhead lights shaped like tulips in full bloom ran the length of the spacious hall and offered puddles of illumination. Brass vases dotted the walls. Philodendrons dangled over the shiny metal rims, their waxy green leaves creeping halfway to the floor. In between the vegetation were a variety of elegantly designed antique mirrors and a few accent tables, along with two doors on the left, two on the right and one straight ahead.

A man could get lightheaded with this bounty. “Are all of those bedrooms?”

“Four are. One’s a hallway bath. Only my bedroom’s in use,” she added quickly, as though she’d guessed his intent in asking. “Materials for my business take up the other rooms, including the one behind us.” She held his hand in both of hers and backed down the hall, stopping beneath one of the tulip light fixtures, which shone over the largest mirror. “There.” She gestured to it with her head.

He allowed himself a moment to appreciate her nudity and jewelry. The diamonds swayed beneath her navel, pointing the way to heaven. In a sec, he told himself, soon as he rested a bit. Glancing over, he took in the mirror—a heavy-looking sucker with a partially naked woman on the right side, her arms arranged as if she were holding it. Her bare breasts tilted upward. The lavender cloth draping her hips flowed past her legs. “Nice. But you’re definitely better looking.”

Jasmine pushed her shoulder into his and laughed, a delightfully youthful sound, so different from her former gloom.

“Don’t look at the nymph,” she said. “Look at you.” Her voice fell to a whisper. “You’re awesome, just like I said.”

Brows lifted, he glimpsed at his tangled hair, beard-shadowed cheeks, and barely opened eyes. He’d seen more attractive cadaver shots. “Damn. You’re absolutely right.” He blew himself a kiss.

She laughed recklessly and backed up even faster, pulling him to the end of the hall.

The door opened on a large, high-ceilinged room. Her bed, a queen-sized four-poster in a dark wood, possibly cherry, was dressed in frilly white linens and bathed in moonlight. Three windows stretched from the floor to the ceiling. Each wore gauzy white tie-back curtains. On either side of the bed were nightstands with no end of figurines, comparable to the mirror nymph, and brass lamps with shades constructed of pink seashells. To the left stood a large cheval mirror, positioned so it captured what went on in the bed. To the right, a bulky dresser dominated, presumably another antique like the bed and the downstairs desk. Larger figurines stood atop it. Hanging from the second handle, on a padded hangar, was an old-fashioned corset. The moon revealed its blue-green brocade and silvery laces.

Jasmine released his hand and went to the dresser, her fingers moving down the garment’s crisscrossed front. “I’ll wear it for you when I come back.” She smiled seductively and crooked her forefinger, gesturing him closer.

He approached slowly, and not only because of his two-orgasm exhaustion. She’d given him far too much to look at. His attention seesawed between her breasts, mound, her incredible body jewelry and the decadent corset. He imagined her lush body confined by it, her full breasts plumped and threatening to spill over the top, the cloth kissing the flare of her hips, the front dipping to her cleft. “Put it on now.”

“After your nap.” She settled her palm on the side of his face, offering a month’s worth of comfort with the simple endearment. His lids sank. She ran her thumb over his lashes, ruffling them. Her throaty voice enchanted. “You can lace me into it. We’ll pretend I’m your sex slave, obedient to your will. At your command, I’ll feed you. When you’re full, you’ll take me as a master should, using every part of my body for your pleasure. How does that sound?”

His heart pumped brutally, driving most of his blood toward his weary cock. He parted his lids. “Are you serious?”

“You don’t like to play games in bed?”

“Oh, honey, that’s not a game. That’s—” He stopped, unable to find the appropriate word or any word. If she kept amazing him like this, he wasn’t certain what he’d do.

Yeah, right, his thoughts mocked. He’d play any game she liked. If she wanted him to be Napoleon, he’d oblige.

She brought back her hand. “I’m sorry.” Her voice vibrated with shame. “It’s too weird. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“I’m glad you did. Believe me, it’s not weird. It’s just more than most guys can ever hope for or even fantasize about.”

“You mean it?”

“Let’s get rid of this—” he lifted his Glock. “—and I’ll show you.”

“No. You need to rest first, then I’m going to feed you, and then we’ll play.” She pointed at the far wall, painted the same shade of pink as her seashell lampshades. Ferns hung from white wicker planters on either side of two closed doors. “The bath’s on the left. If you don’t mind, your gun will be perfectly safe on the counter in there. I’d feel better if it wasn’t in the same room with us.”

“I’ll put it there now.”

“I will.” Her hands covered the leather holster. “Go on, the bed’s waiting. Relax. Let me serve you.”

He saw no reason to object and released his weapon. She held it as she would a dead rat and went to the bath, flicking on the light. Bottles rocked on the counter as she moved them aside, gingerly placing his gun where they had stood. Next, she lifted a slender container of pink liquid and spritzed it on her wrists, nipples and slender column of throat.

His cock flicked, wanting to join her. The rest of his body pleaded for rest. Backing toward the bed, his calves bumped the mattress. He draped his watch over the largest figurine and pulled down the lacy comforter to fall upon sweet-smelling linens, soft as kitten fur. Lured by the texture, he pressed his face into the pillow. Its lack of resilience told him it contained goose down, not foam. Seriously nice.

Arms around the pillow, Mike allowed himself this momentary weakness. As Jasmine had said, he’d nap and she’d feed him, after which they’d indulge in some slightly kinky bed games.

What could be better?

She watched him from the bath. The faint rise and fall of his shoulders told her he slept. Jasmine whimpered at how beautiful he was—firm muscles on a large frame—intimidating in size, unusually kind in nature. The type of man she’d always longed for. One who wouldn’t have glanced at her before the curse. She’d been too ordinary, dull, reserved. Men who asked her out did so because they couldn’t attract the attention of a woman as exquisite as Desiree. Or, if they were handsome like Connor Rolands, they wanted an adoring fan so they could talk about themselves.

Mike seemed oblivious to his obvious appeal. If anything, he appeared embarrassed by her compliments. She’d never known a more down-to-earth and empathetic man. How she enjoyed his consoling embrace and teasing him even as he teased her in return. How she liked just being with him. He seemed to like her too—what little he knew about the person she really was—though his feelings would quickly turn to hate if she went through with the plan.

She rolled her forehead over the door’s edge. If only she could relax long enough to sleep, to think. The curse wouldn’t allow it. At first, she’d been edgy after six hours of rest. Now, she was lucky to manage four hours a night. How long could this go on?

You will want as I want.

Teeth clenched, her fingers gripped the wood. The tenuous peace Mike’s lovemaking had provided was already gone. Fearful of her building obsession, she slipped on her silk robe and left the bath.

Halfway across the room, she looked back. Mike’s hair fanned over the pillow, sable against all the white. The moon tinted his skin a lighter brown. Wanting to protect him, even though she’d done everything possible to bring him here, she went to the bed and pulled the top sheet over his slumbering body.

It didn’t disturb him at all.

Her hand stilled above his head. Smoothing his hair was an indulgence she didn’t deserve and couldn’t chance, not with the others not knowing what had been going on.

Jasmine left the room and turned to Ben, not surprised to find him waiting in the hall. The overhead light brightened his dark blond hair, cut short and worn spiky like a rocker. It reminded her of Lily’s hairstyle. They were both twenty-six, their friendship and artistic talents bringing Ben here. Lily painted the fabrics Violet used for her designs. Ben illustrated their catalogues. Like Mike, Jasmine was the only one in the group without a creative bent. She served as business manager, running the show.

Ben took charge now. His fingers curled around her wrist, giving her no chance to escape as he led her down the hall to his room. His art nouveau sketches papered the walls. The acrid bite of inks, paints and turpentine lingered from today’s work. He leaned one shoulder on the closed door, hurt and anxiety evident in his pale blue eyes, his voice low so only she could hear.

“You all right?”

She knew he’d heard them in the hall and probably watched from the stairway as she’d knelt in front of Mike, taking him in her mouth. Being observed during an intimacy bothered the woman she’d been, bringing warmth to her chest and throat, even as it hardly fazed the woman she’d become. She spoke in an equally subdued voice. “I’m fine.”

“How can you be? Jas, that bastard has a gun and is obviously—”

“No.” Her fingers went to his lips to stop his quiet outburst. “Don’t call him that. He’s a good man. Better than I deserve.”

Ben’s blond brows rose to his hairline. He moved her hand away. “You’ve got to be kidding. You picked him up at a club.”

Laughter gurgled at the base of her throat, along with a sigh. “He wasn’t born there, Ben. He used to be a US Marshal.”

“So I heard while you two were downstairs. You actually believe that?”

“Why would he lie?”

The muscles in his neck corded with exasperation. “Did you tell him the truth about why you wanted him here tonight?”

Tears stung her eyes. “I wanted to and I should have. I believe him, Ben. Even if I didn’t, I don’t care what he did for a living or where he works now. He’s a good man.”

“Like Travis, the last guy you trusted?”

“Ben, please.” She didn’t want to discuss this and wound him further. “Get out of my way.”

Shoulders to the door, he hooked his thumbs in the front pockets of his paint-speckled shorts. “If you’d only give me a chance, I could take care of you.”

“No, you couldn’t.” She kept her voice kind but firm. “You know the curse doesn’t work that way.”

He began to argue, though it seemed more like a plea. She interrupted, “I have to go downstairs. Lily and Violet might be waiting for me.”

“Fine.” He sounded like a petulant little boy. “But I won’t let him hurt you.”

“I know.”

Stepping aside, he still blocked her from leaving, his arm on the door just like Mike’s had been downstairs. As if mimicking the man would make him more attractive to her. Mouth to her ear, he asked, “I heard you say you were going to put his gun on the bathroom counter. Did you?”

A knot tightened in the middle of her chest. If Ben took the gun and Mike saw him—oh God, if they fought and anything happened to Mike… She whispered, “Don’t do anything foolish.” Pulling back, she lifted her face. “No matter how bad it gets tonight, I can’t go through with this. I’m going to let him leave in the morning. You’ll never see him again.”

Conflicting emotions passed over his face. Gratitude that Mike would be gone shortly. Disbelief that it would actually happen.

“Promise me you won’t take the gun,” she said.

He lowered his head.

“I want your word!”

“Okay, okay, you have it.”

She hurried from his room and stopped in the hall, not certain what to do. If she took Mike’s gun from the bath and put it in her dresser, he might wake up and question why she suddenly wanted it in the same room. If she put it in her downstairs safe and he noticed it missing, what could she possibly say? Even if he believed her explanation, he might get pissed and leave.

Her teeth worried her bottom lip. She had no choice except to trust Ben, a truly sweet guy who’d never lied to her. Surely, he wouldn’t do anything stupid now.

A quick peek at Mike showed her he hadn’t budged. On the stairs, she noticed again what he’d pointed out. The paintings didn’t fit the spaces where her family’s pictures had been. She’d taken them down so the man she chose wouldn’t know too much about her, especially that she had sisters who might share the blame if things went badly tonight.

They couldn’t. She wouldn’t allow it. Come daybreak, she’d insist on Mike leaving. An argument would drive him from here to safety. She’d make it so bad he’d want to stay away, leaving her to the next men and the next.

Exhausted at the thought, she went into the downstairs hallway, her head turning to Mike’s clothes, his jeans pockets turned inside out. Unless Ben had gone through Mike’s things, it meant her sisters were home.

She found them in the kitchen. Violet had her right hip to the sink and Mike’s wallet in her hands. She flipped through the clear plastic holders, pausing to read the contents in the available light. Lily sat at the table, her fingers flying over his cell phone’s keypad. Jasmine guessed she was searching the numbers he’d stored.