Unleashing the Storm (7 page)

“Uh-huh.
One teeny drink. A sip. If I had a dictionary I could look it up for you. Sip.”

“It’s
okay.” Holding a pile of dishes, he stood and moved toward the sink.

She
took a step. Her legs went, but her body stayed. A wave of dizziness sent a
flashing swirl of spots in front of her eyes, and she slumped to the floor, her
back scraping the kitchen cabinets, her legs sprawled before her. Immediately,
six dogs climbed into her lap.

“Shit.”
Tom dumped the plates into the sink and hurried to her side. “Kira? You okay?”

She
blinked up at him, not entirely sure what he’d said. And wow, he had the bluest
eyes. Four of them. Cool. “I’m crawling with dogs.”

“I
can see that.” He settled down on his heels, lifted one of her eyelids with his
thumb and peered into her eye. “Have you taken anything today?” He dropped his
hand to her wrist, pressed some fingers against her pulse. “Any medication?
Alcohol?”

“Nope.
No, no, no.” She waggled a finger in front of his face. “I can’t. I’m like a
dog.”

He
swore again. He sounded so sexy when he swore. “You’re not making any sense.”

“Dee,
oh, gee. Clean out your ears. Dog. My, um…metabolism. It’s like I…” She
searched for the word, but she came up with things that didn’t fit. Like
“typewriter.” And “hayfield.”

“Process?”

“Yes!”
She clapped, startling Brutus, a three-legged yellow Lab lying across her
thighs. “You’re so smart, Tommy Knight. Deaf, but smart. One of my cats is
deaf. She’s not very smart, though. She’s over there.”

Kira
tried to turn toward the utility room where Miss Priss liked to sleep, but her
head just lolled to one side, so everything in the kitchen tilted and swayed in
a psychedelic swirl of color. Groovy.

Tom’s
hands framed her face and brought it around so she was looking at him. “You
said something about your metabolism. What was it? Might be good to know.”

“Um…my
body. It processes stuff weird. Drugs. Chocolate. I don’t catch human diseases.
No colds. No flu. I got Parvo once. I have to go to the vet.” She frowned. “Did
I say that out loud?”

She
shouldn’t be talking about any of this, but her mouth kept opening, and words
kept falling out.

“I’m,
uh, going to put you to bed now.”

“Mmm,
bed.” She let her finger trace his lips. “What time is it? Should I be horny
yet? Because I don’t think I am. Maybe you could touch me and find out.”

“God,
I hope you don’t remember this tomorrow,” he muttered.

“I
remember everything.” She tapped her temple. “Like an elephant. I like
elephants. They talk slow, though. So slow. They think humans are stupid.
Probably because they are.”

“Come
on.”

He
slipped an arm behind her back, but froze when her newest acquisition, a German
shepherd that had been trained for police work but had been retired due to
excess aggression, rumbled low in his chest, baring his teeth.

“Luke,”
she said, wrapping her arm around the growling dog’s neck and hugging him to
her side, “it’s okay. Tommy’s helping.” Her gaze felt jerky as she dragged it
back to Tom. “He smells danger on you. You do kinda reek of it. It’s like a mix
of gunpowder and…something else. Cheese, maybe. No, not the word I was looking
for.”

“Okay,
Kira, I need you to focus. Can you tell Luke to not tear my arm off?”

“Oh,
right.” She gave Luke a stern stare. “Do not tear Tom’s arm off.”

Luke
pouted and glared at Tom as if the dog planned to win the next round but
grudgingly gave him this one.

“Good
boy.” Tom shooed the rest of the dogs away, and then before she knew it, she
was in his arms and being carried down her hallway and to her room.

She
snuggled against his chest, inhaled his scent, a pleasant mixture of grass and
soil, sun-warmed skin and gunpowder. No cheese, for sure. But there was
something else beneath it all, beneath even the subtle fragrance of the sex
they’d had earlier…a wafting thread of anxiety and fear. Was he worried about
her?

“That’s
so sweet, Tommy,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck to bury her face into
the curve of his shoulder.

“What’s
sweet?” He pushed open her bedroom door.

“I
don’t remember. But it feels good to be held. No one holds me. It’s all I want,
you know. Someone to hold me. Understand me. Love me.”

He
missed a step, probably hadn’t seen the throw rug on her hardwood floor. When
he deposited her on her bed, she immediately burrowed into the covers. “Do you
have pajamas?” he asked.

Pajamas?
“I think I sleep naked.” She yawned and rubbed her face on her pillow, settling
in to pass out. “I’ll bet you do too. If we slept together, we’d be naked. Skin
on skin. And hot. So hot…”

The
sound of his harsh curse floated above her somewhere, melted into a swirl of
soft farm sounds. Poor Tommy and his four blue eyes. She’d have to have sex
with him later.

When
she could open her own eyes.

TUESDAY
11 P.M. EST

Annika
Svenson thumbed through the two dozen wigs in her closet until she found the
perfect one. Long. Jet black with a blue streak at the temple. The polar
opposite of her short silver-blond hair, which she’d grown out over the last
few months to touch her shoulders, even though keeping it short meant an easier
time with wigs.

Next,
she pulled a gold lace camisole off a hanger. A cropped black leather jacket
came next. An ultra-low-slung, supershort leather skirt and combat boots
rounded out the goth biker-chick ensemble.

Creed
wouldn’t know what hit him.

It
was Tuesday night, and the ghost hunter would be hanging out in the dive biker
bar on the edge of town, someplace she’d gone inside of only once, a year ago,
to drag out a drunk operative who had been talking too much. She felt
comfortable anywhere, though, especially when dressed for the occasion, which
she would be.

Besides,
tonight was all about pleasure, and as Creed had shown her several times since
taking her virginity last year, pleasure could be had anywhere. Including a
dark corner booth in the back of a tavern. Or on the seat of his motorcycle in
a parking lot.

She
hadn’t wanted to admit how much she loved their games, but if Creed didn’t
believe that she was one hundred percent into something, he wouldn’t do it. He
might take control when it came to sex, but everything he did was about her
pleasure. He was so good to her, and a tiny part of her knew he deserved better
than her. The larger, more selfish part wanted to keep him for as long as he’d
be happy with a strictly sexual relationship.

Blood
humming with excitement already, she pulled on a flimsy pair of black underwear
that should tear with little difficulty. She considered a bra and then tossed
it to the floor. Fewer clothes meant easier access, which was important when
one was in a public place or too horny to take things slow…or both.

She’d
just returned from a six-week assignment in Belgium, and she was more than
ready to climb aboard Creed and ride him until he collapsed. To leave a ring of
black lipstick around the base of his cock. To wash it off later with a fistful
of soap in the shower.

Not
that they’d ever made it to a shower, or even a bed.

She’d
held on to her cherry for twenty-one years, and since Creed popped it, she’d
been eager to make up for lost time, and he didn’t have any complaints. Which
was good, since he was possibly the only man in the world she
could
have
sex with. The only one who was immune to the massive power surge her body gave
off at orgasm.

Her
body flushed with heat at the thought of Creed taking her to climax over and
over. Already her sex ached, her internal muscles clenching as though preparing
for the erotic intrusion of his thick, tattooed shaft. Though really, could he
be considered tattooed if he was born with the markings?

She
shrugged, because it didn’t matter. She’d licked every one of the things that
covered the entire right side of his body, and tonight she’d give him something
to lick. Something besides what throbbed between her legs.

She’d
had temporary tattoos professionally applied to her left leg, hip, arm and
neck.

Yeah,
he wouldn’t know what hit him tonight when she walked into the bar. She
wondered how long it would take him to recognize her, especially if she used an
accent, one complementing any of the twelve languages in which she was fluent.
Brown contacts would disguise her blue eyes.

She
just hoped Creed’s stupid tagalong ghost wouldn’t interfere again. That bitch
had ruined more than one night with him, and Annika was seriously tempted to
shock the
earthbound spirit,
as he called her, right out of the
earthbound world permanently. Even when they did manage to get in a good fuck
without Kate’s interference, Annika had a feeling Creed paid for it later,
though he never talked about it.

Then
again, they didn’t talk much at all. Creed tried, like she needed some sort of
mushy emotional connection or something, but no way. She wasn’t some insecure
twit who thought a man
completed
her. Gag.

A
tingle of electricity skittered over her skin, reminding her to hurry up and
get dressed and quit thinking about pillow talk and creepy, overprotective
ghosts. Tonight she was getting laid, ghost or no.

CREED
SAT ON A WORN STOOL at the bar, two women on one side who’d been trying to gain
his attention all night without success and a biker on the other.

He’d
just downed his second shot of Jägermeister and was motioning to the bartender
to pour him a third, when his skin began to grow sensitive to a sudden change
in air pressure around him.

He
shifted so he could see the front door better and tried not to get his hopes
up.

ACRO
was starting to kick into high gear this time of year—it had been a long winter
in Upstate New York and spring fever was taking over fast.

For
operatives not out of the country, it had been a long, cold season. But Creed
had finally found the warmth he’d been wanting for years last September at
Dev’s family mansion.

Even
now, just thinking about that experience, an unpleasant shiver shot straight
through his spine that had nothing at all to do with the memories of making
love to Annika in that house. He shifted in his seat, knew that if she were
here she wouldn’t be able to hide the look of concern in her eyes at his sudden
reaction.

They’d
discussed it the last time they’d been together, when Annika mentioned she was
worried about Dev. That something was bothering their boss.

Even
though it chapped Creed’s ass to play second fiddle in Annika’s life, he’d
never let Dev down. Dev had known him his entire life, and Creed had far too
much respect for the man to let anything happen to him.

His
skin tightened again, the line between pleasure and pain narrowing, and he
forced himself to turn away from the door. But when he caught sight of it
opening, he couldn’t look away, and his entire body sighed in relief as the
woman with the long, dark hair sauntered directly up to him, her short leather
skirt showing off the greatest pair of legs he’d ever seen.

It
took everything he had not to grab and kiss her. Instead, he leaned back on his
stool and just watched her.

“Hey,
baby,” she said, her voice low and seductive. “Love your tats.”

She’d
put a hand out to trace the intricate pattern covering the right side of his
face and neck, and he would’ve gladly stripped right there in the middle of the
bar to let her continue her trail of touch down the entire right side of his
body.

“Yours
aren’t bad either,” he said.

“I
have more,” she said, bared a shoulder provocatively, until the guy sitting to
his right—a member of the Hell’s Angels—began to enjoy the show a little too
much.

Annika
always liked it when Creed played along as long as possible. It made her feel
like she actually had a shot at fooling him. But he wasn’t about to let a man
whose nickname was “Meat” come anywhere close to the woman he loved.

Not
that he’d mentioned the love thing to Annika, because she’d freak.

“She’s
with me,” he said to Meat, who reluctantly turned back to his beer. Creed
focused his full and proper attention on Annika, wished she’d take out the
contacts so he could watch the normally icy blue of her eyes begin to soften
when he touched her.

“How
long have you known it was me?” she asked.

He
let the corner of his mouth tug up in a smile, the way it inevitably did whenever
she came within fifty feet of him. It might be the electricity she carried with
her that alerted his body to her presence, but he wasn’t complaining. “I always
know it’s you, baby,” he said, pulled her so she stood in between his spread
thighs. “Let’s get out of here.”

“I’m
not sure…do you think you’re man enough to handle me?”