Charlotte Boyett-Compo- Windspectre (5 page)

She felt him release her hands, but before she could protest he had swept an arm under her knees, behind her back and hefted her up high against his wide chest, carrying her easily to a large blanket that came out of nowhere to flutter lightly to the thick carpet of grass beneath the spreading branches of the oak.

He lay her down and stretched out beside her, his topaz eyes filled with passion. He trailed a finger across her forehead, pushing aside a strand of hair, then lowered his lips to hers, claiming her in a kiss that sent waves of desire pulsing through her lower body.

It was a sweet kiss, filled with a gentleness that made her sigh when his mouth left hers. His muscular body was pressed along hers, one heavy leg thrown casually across her thigh, the hard, thick probe of his erection thrusting against her hip.

"Do you feel how much I want you?"
he asked in that sultry tone that brought shivers to her.
"He aches to slip inside you, my beloved."

She reached up to cup his cheek, to lay her palm on his warm skin and he turned his face to place a kiss upon her flesh.

"I need you,"
he said.

"I am here," she said softly.

"Are you ready for me?"

She took his hand and placed it on her breast. "Feel my heart pounding for you, the blood rushing through my veins?"

There was something chilling about the way his eyes flared at her words, something possessive about the way his hand closed over her tender flesh.

"Aye, my beloved,"
he said, his voice gruff.
"I do indeed."

He hooked his fingers in the elastic neckline of her peasant blouse and pulled it down to expose her breast. His mouth went to the creamy mound and he drew her nipple deep into his mouth, swirling his tongue over the aching point. Lowering his hand to her skirt, he inched it up until his palm was on the soft inside of her thigh and sliding higher until his fingers snagged the wispy thong between her legs, ripping it as easily as if it had been tissue paper.

With his mouth working her breast, he moved over her, the heat of his erection suddenly freed from his pants and in the space of one breath, he had impaled her on his shaft—going deep, thrusting hard, claiming her.

Cathleen dug her fingers into his dark hair and held his head to her as he suckled. His hips were moving rhythmically against her lower body, his cock hard and full. She arched her body up and circled him within the cage of her long legs, grinding her sex against his velvet invasion.

His mouth moved from her breast and as the first trickle of pleasure began to undulate through her sheath, she felt the bite on her neck and an explosion of light burst over the darkening day.

Wild fireflies of color danced in the air around her as she looked up through the old oak's branches at the midnight blue sky. Twittering, flitting with fiery afterimages streaking among the leaves, the lights entranced her and only added to the intensity of her climax. The colors burst like vibrant blooms as her body clenched and throbbed, her spasms of delight rocking through her with such vibrancy and force it brought tears to her eyes. Her entire body convulsed around his—her legs tightening more around his lean hips as he drove hard into her one last time and the pain from his bite began to fade.

Sated in a way that left her completely depleted, she lay there on the soft blanket as he lifted his head and looked down at her, his handsome face in deep shadow now. But his eyes were glowing a soft shade of crimson.

"Mine,"
he said then ran his tongue across her neck.

"Yours," she agreed and closed her eyes, drifting into a calming, soothing sleep.

* * * *

Cathleen woke on the sofa just as the doorbell of her new apartment chimed. She sat up—disoriented for a moment—and felt lightheaded. Putting a hand to her forehead, she was a bit dazed as the doorbell sounded again.

"Coming!" she called out and struggled to get off the sofa.

Her legs felt wobbly, weak, and as she walked to the door, her world seemed a bit off-kilter, her body encased in cotton batting. Opening the door, she was for a moment completely baffled at the sight of two men in brown coveralls who stood there—one with a clipboard in hand and the other with a bored, annoyed look on his beefy face.

"Miss Kaisand?" clipboard man inquired.

"Yes," she answered.

"We have your stuff," he told her.

"Oh," she said. "Right."

"I'll start bringing it in," bored man mumbled after giving her a look of disdain.

Clipboard man asked her where she wanted everything put and considering her belongings—her entire arsenal of possessions—were in cardboard boxes, she asked him to stack them in the dining room.

"Okay," he said and handed her the clipboard. "Just check off the box numbers as we give them to you and initial it on the form. I'll go help Hank."

Cathleen nodded, too out of it to do anything else. Taking the clipboard to the sofa, she sat down heavily, running a hand through her hair, and wishing she could crawl up on the sofa and go back to sleep.

It took all of her energy reserve to tick off the box numbers as the moving men brought them in. Just writing the little CK beside the numbers seem to take every bit of concentration she had. The form wavered before her eyes and by the time clipboard man came over to get the clipboard, she was yawning and striving valiantly to keep her eyes open.

"You ought to get to bed, ma'am," clipboard man said as he handed her the carbon copy of the form. "You look kinda done in."

Cathleen had difficulty lifting her head to look up at him. "I will. Thanks."

She asked him to hand her her purse so she could tip him, but he said that had already been taken care of. Tapping a finger to the side of his head in salute, he left, closing the door gently behind him.

For a long moment Cathleen just sat there with no vigor left in her to get up. Her copy of the form was clutched in her hand and she gazed down at it as though she had no idea what it was. Finally dredging up enough energy to lay the form aside and push herself up, she stumbled into the bathroom, thinking a cool washcloth would help revive her.

The bathroom was the loveliest thing about the apartment to her. Done in soft shades of mauve and celadon green, it was soothing to the eyes and yet opulent in a way that made her feel good. Dark green towels and washcloths had been provided for her and she took one cloth from the wicker shelf wall unit beside the vanity and turned on the water in the sink to wet it.

Gazing up at her reflection in the mirror, Cathleen was shocked to see how fuzzy her vision had become. Her face appeared a bit hazy, slightly unclear and she blinked several times to try to clear her eyes. Yet still there was a wavering outline around her and her image was not as distinct as it normally was. It looked muted, the edges too blurry.

"You need a good night's rest, lady," she muttered to herself as she wrung out the washcloth to run its cooling surface over her face.

The water felt invigorating and it helped to revive her a bit. She still stumbled as she made her way into the bedroom. She was relieved to see her overnight bag lying on the bed and made her way over to it, opening it to retrieve her night gown.

After removing her rumpled suit, donning the gown and laying her overnighter on the overstuffed wing chair beside the closet, Cathleen checked to make sure her other suit was hanging in the closet. Relieved that it was, she pulled the covers back and crawled into her new bed, scooting down beneath the cool sheets.

She was deeply asleep before the clock somewhere in her new apartment chimed two in the afternoon.

Chapter Four

Cathleen slept like the dead all through the afternoon and night and early morning, waking just after four a.m. with a splitting headache she knew was a result of hunger. She'd had no food at all the day before and her stomach rumbled as she flung the covers back and got up, her head spinning.

Reaching for the phone, she picked up the receiver and punched in the number seven. A pleasant voice answered right away.

"Good morning, Miss Kaisand. What may I prepare for you?"

"Good morning," Cathleen said. "Could I get breakfast, please?"

"You sure can. What would you like?"

After ordering scrambled eggs—and being surprised to know grits were available on the menu—patty sausage, cottage fries, toast and jam, a large glass of orange juice with pulp, and a pot of coffee, Cathleen began to feel a bit less disembodied.

"We'll bring it right up," the man at the other end of the phone told her.

Hanging up, Cathleen staggered into the bathroom to relieve herself, wincing as she sat down on the toilet, feeling as though every muscle in her body had been pummeled with a rubber hose. She leaned forward and buried her face in her hands, grunting.

Washing her hands and face, slipping into a plush terrycloth robe she'd found hanging on a hook behind the bathroom door, Cathleen went back through the bedroom and into the living area, turning on a lamp that made her gasp as the bright light invaded her eyes.

"Holy shit!" Cathleen said, the light stabbing into her brain. She fumbled for her purse and the migraine tablets she was never without.

After going into the kitchen for a glass of water, she was walking back into the living room when the doorbell chimed.

"That was fast," she told the man standing on the other side when she opened the door.

"We aim to please," he said cheerfully, coming in as she stepped aside. He rolled the room service cart into the dining area and began arranging the food on the table. He shook his head at her offer of a tip. "Everything is included in your employment package, ma'am."

Sitting down to the meal after the man left, Cathleen sighed with sheer pleasure. The aroma of the food made her mouth water and she dug into it as though she was starving, washing it down with three cups of coffee as well as the orange juice. After three or four bites, she began to feel human again and the queasy, lightheadedness slowly began to disappear. By the time she had consumed every last crumb of the meal, she felt like her old self again and had the energy at last to head for the bathroom and her morning shower. Picking up her travel bag from her overnighter, she carried it to the bathroom.

After her bath, she dried off and wrapped the towel around her body. The glass over the vanity was fogged and though she wiped away the steam, her image in the mirror still didn't look all that clear. Frowning, she made a mental note as she applied her underarm deodorant to find out about local optometrists, reasoning she might well have reached that time in her life that she was beginning to need glasses.

Drying her hair, applying the minimal makeup that was her habit to wear, she unwrapped the towel and hung it over the shower door to dry. Padding into the bedroom, she rummaged through her overnighter for clean underwear, put it on, and then headed to the closet to retrieve the suit that hung there.

Once dressed, she started to tidy the bed but then remembered Anita telling her the maid came in every day to straighten. Shrugging, she turned away, sighing with contentment. After one final look at her apartment, she picked up her purse and headed to work.

* * * *

"Would you like the maid to unpack your things?" Anita asked her as the two of them walked toward Cathleen's new office.

"That would be great," Cathleen said and wondered why she'd agreed. Normally she wouldn't want strangers to be touching her things but Anita's suggestion just seemed to be the right thing to do.

All day long, her work went so smoothly, so professionally, she was amazed when she looked down at her watch to find it was nearing five o'clock. Where had the day gone, she wondered? Everyone had been supportive, helpful, and jovial—which hadn't always been her experience with fellow workers. She felt like singing as she made her way back to her apartment.

"This is heaven," she said as she opened her door and saw some of her personal belongings adorning the tables and walls.

Everything was exactly as she, herself, would have arranged them. Even the clothing in the closest and drawers were hung as she would have hung them and folded as she would have folded them. It seemed almost too good to be true and it was with pure elation Cathleen kicked off her pumps and flopped down on the bed, arms outstretched with a smile on her face.

"I am in heaven," she said on a long sigh.

"I am afraid not, Beloved …."

Cathleen sat up as though she'd been jerked, her eyes wide. The voice had come from close by and she swung her head from side to side, seeking the speaker but there was no one there. The room was empty.

Trembling, she went timidly to the bathroom door, hastily flicked on the switch but that room, too, was devoid of visitors. Turning, she stared back through the bedroom and, with her heart pounding, blood rushing in her ears, minced her way to the bedroom door and peaked into the hall.

"You're hearing things," she finally decided and turned around to find him standing right behind her, a knowing smile on his beautiful face.

Before she could scream his arm snaked out to slide around her back, pulling her to him. She came up hard against his all-too solid chest, the warmth of his body invading hers as he molded her to him—his free hand plastered to her rump.

"I have been waiting all day,"
he said and his lips went to the hollow at the base of her throat.

In his arms, her entire world tilted to one side and she felt herself falling. She knew she should push him away, should fight him, and cry out but she found she could not. He was a stranger and yet she knew him as well as she knew herself. His arms felt right around her. His body felt familiar. The heated hardness pressing against her stomach was known to her.

"Do you want me, Cathleen?"
he whispered as his cheek pressed against hers, his breath fanned over her ear.

"I don't ...."

"Aye, but you do,"
he said and his voice was a sultry, sensuous purr in her ear.