High Intensity (7 page)
Tyber felt the rapid flutters against his finger and around his shaft. The sweet quivers almost undid him. "Yes, yes, yes…" he breathed raggedly into her ear. "C'mon, baby…"
"Tyber!" Zanita cried out the name of the person responsible for her state before she sagged back into his strength.
The Captain captured her delicate earlobe with his teeth. His low, passion-rough voice vibrated along her neck in a prolonged, deep growl.
Even after all this time with Doc Evans, it still amazed Zanita how passionate he could be. She had come to realize that Tyber's passion was an intrinsic part of his makeup. The man was alive.
And she loved him for it.
There was no one else like Tyber. There never would be.
Life with him was a constant adventure. Even the simplest act of reading in bed together or watching an old B movie in the middle of the night carried with it a surge of excitement. That was what it was like to be with Dr. Evans. The man was unconventional and unpredictable.
And when it came to sex, Tyber Evans was wrapped in a lethal package.
She had agreed to this trial-by-computer marriage. So far, he was more than living up to his end of the challenge. As she recalled what he had just done to her, her lips curved upward in an utterly satisfied way.
Seeing her dreamy reflection in the glass, Tyber's ice blue eyes gleamed provocatively. He slid his slick, firm member over her derriere. "See how wet you've made me, baby…" he whispered hoarsely.
Zanita shivered as she felt a droplet of his own dampness combine with hers.
Then that strong body slanted over hers. Strands of chestnut hair skimmed over her shoulder in a long, silken swath. He captured her lips with a rough, deep kiss, his tongue flowing wholly into her mouth. Tyber didn't just taste her—he devoured her.
In contrast, his manhood barely dipped into her. Zanita cried out in pleasure while he swallowed the sounds he was causing her to make. Slowly, he surged into her, inch by inch—letting her feel every ripple, every nuance of his fullness.
"My god." Zanita had trouble catching her breath.
Tyber smiled against her swollen lips. "Why, thank you, Curls."
Despite the intense situation, Zanita couldn't stop a snort. "As if—" She sucked in her breath as he pulled her back taut against him, the flat of his hand riding low on her belly. He was in to the hilt.
That was when he began moving with a clockwise, circular motion of his hips. Zanita stopped breathing altogether. "Ohhhh…"
But Tyberius Augustus Evans was just starting. Placing his palms on the curve of her hipbones, he guided her into a counterclockwise motion.
The effect was stellar.
On both of them.
"Damn, that feels incredible," Tyber whispered. He groaned as Zanita ground back into him while rotating on his shaft. Her derriere brushed against his own curls causing his breath to skitter across the back of her neck and shoulders like a sultry windstorm.
Her fiery actions caused the man to become incendiary. He tried to thrust even deeper into her, his powerful movements raising her slightly off the carpet.
Zanita inhaled sharply. "Tyber, if someone is out there, they will know what—"
"No one can see us," he breathed raggedly. "The hammock blocks the view from the yard." This disclosure came as he delved yet more vigorously.
"What?" Zanita stopped moving. "Why did you let me think… ?"
Tyber's fingers pressed into the curve of her hips, trying to get her to resume her exquisite movements. They were driving him wild. "It added to your sense of excitement and spontaneity. C'mon, baby…" His coaxing voice was husky.
Zanita's heel ground into the top of his foot.
"Ow!" He almost released her. Almost.
"I can't believe I fell for that!" She tried to squiggle away from him. He held her tight.
A dimple curved his cheek before he swiftly planted a short kiss on the curve of her shoulder. "Me either." He withdrew partway, only to thrust back very solidly.
Zanita moaned raggedly. "Tyber! This is not what we agreed! You created a false tension!"
"Uh-huh." He surged sharply once more.
"You're cheating! You can't cheat!" His next movement was so powerful that it caused her to invent a totally new pleasure sound.
"I'm not cheating, baby. I'm showing you that it's still great between us—even though it is expected of us." He bit her lip with a sexy, short tug.
Zanita's brow furrowed. It was really hard to think at the moment—but she was sure he was befuddling her again. Tyber was a premier befuddler. Since that first time he had shown her what true pleasure was, he had been befuddling her on a regular basis.
"Just because you have me at a disadvantage, don't think—"
"Disadvantage?" He placed the heel of his hand over her pubic bone and pressed in sharply. Every muscle in her body drew up in rapture.
He seized her mouth in a devastating kiss as his talent took them both to Nirvana. He poured into her, moaning against her lips.
Sagging weakly against him, Zanita tried to regain her breath. Tyber gently lowered her dress. Bending down, he rested his damp forehead against the back of her head.
"That was beautiful, Mrs. Evans." He watched her reflection in the glass as he carefully rearranged her dress.
Zanita stuck her tongue out at him.
He laughed; one of those slow, sexy pirate laughs of his.
She was not going to let him get away with this! There was a lot at stake here. Sure, he'd won the first round by shifting her focus—but that didn't prove anything. Geniuses were very tricky. "There are still four days left to the contest. I'm not Mrs. Evans yet."
He stroked his chin. "Four days, hmmmm? Well, I have more than four hundred years worth of excitement… just for you. Evans." He smacked her lips. Zanita wondered if she should worry.
Mrs.
"I can't wait to indulge myself in your savory buns, Todd!"
Tyber nearly choked on the pistachio-truffle puff he had just popped into his mouth.
Zanita obligingly patted his back as everyone stared with various degrees of interest at Todd's neighbor and guest, Mark Kevins. He was a handsome young man, in a surgically perfect way. They had all joined up in the parlor for pre-dinner hors d'oeuvres and drinks as the chef/owner had suggested. From what Zanita could gather, the two young men had known each other most of their lives. They both had grown up on the island. Recently, Todd had returned to the family home, continuing the Sparkling tradition of innkeeping.
Blooey was the first to speak after such an outre comment. "I've heard about them saucy buns. They're a bit famous hereabouts, Captain. Why, there's a rumor a big outfit wants a bite out of them."
This time Tyber did choke.
Mark put his hands on his hips. Indignantly. "They can just get in line!"
"Yes, we all can't wait, Todd." Calendula Brite smiled at Mark. He had been her assistant for a number of years, and she treated him like a fair-haired child. Mark, in turn, idolized her. When he'd heard that Todd was having problems at the inn, he'd called in his friend and mentor, Calendula Brite.
Tyber glanced over at the parapsychologist. At first inspection, she was not what he expected. A medium of some renown and a self-proclaimed paranormal expert, Calendula Brite was a woman of modest height and build, who dressed with the bland conservatism of the
Beacon Hill
over-fifty set.
One would never guess by looking at her that this woman claimed to have catalogued no fewer than sixty "living" specters and was the current president of the Society for Fantastical Research.
A society that Tyber had always had severe doubts about.
What bothered him most about the group was that they constantly claimed to be doing "scientific" research, yet they did not adhere to any scientific method he could discern, and their results, as far as he could tell, were dubious at best. They never produced any actual data, even though they claimed they had it in their files. That annoyed Dr. Evans.
"What about you, Dr. Evans? Are you in the mood for savory buns?"
Calendula tilted her pale blond head in his direction, smiling slightly.
Tyber had to admit she was charming.
"I'm always up for savory buns." He looked at Zanita out of the corner of his eye and winked.
There was a wealth of suggestive meaning behind that wink. Zanita tried not to think of glass windows and heated kisses. She squirmed in her seat.
Tyber chuckled knowingly.
"Do you think the ghost will make an appearance tonight, Todd?" Mark changed the subject away from buns, savory or otherwise.
"Good Lord, I hope not." Todd sighed. "Last time I made a lobster bisque, he toppled a bottle of lemon juice into the mix—right after he ate almost half the pot. Curdled the whole thing."
" 'Tis a bloody crime!" Blooey jumped out of his seat, ready to do battle with the cuisine-wrecking ghost. Nothing upset the little pirate more than fine dining gone amuck.
Calm as always, Tyber took a slow sip of his drink. "How do you know someone didn't sneak into the kitchen and do it? Why do you think it was the, as you say, ghost?"
"Because I was out of fresh lemons and I would never use bottled juice." He grimaced in distaste.
Not understanding the vagaries of chefs, Tyber shrugged. "So whoever it was brought his own."
"Also, a strange, thick mist covered the kitchen floor."
Tyber raised an eyebrow.
"What was the mist like?" Zanita got excited. She leaned forward in her seat.
"Thick, wafting. That's when the pots and pans began to hum."
"Hum?"
"Yes. It was very eerie." Todd shivered at the memory.
As Tyber leaned back into his chair, mind ever working, Hambone's stomach growled, reminding everyone about dinner.
Zanita grinned. "Just in case—I hope you cooked something else besides the bisque tonight."
Everyone laughed.
Todd chuckled. "Once I found a stack of waffles right here in the parlor—stuck to the top of the chandelier." He pointed to the very spot.
Everyone gazed upward. The Florencia Inn was an old house and the ceilings were exceptionally high. Almost ten feet. Presumably, one would have to be an extremely tall person or have a ladder handy to do the deed.
"That's damn odd, Todd." Mark still stared at the light fixture as if he were looking for clues.
"Once, when I was doing an investigation of the Hollow House in
"Blimey!" Blooey's eyes bulged out. It was obvious to Tyber that his cook's rationality had already been shanghaied by the spooky tale.
"You see, the poor thing loved beignets. Unfortunately, she was a slave who also liked to snoop, and one day she inadvertently found a very incriminating letter that had been sent to her master. She had no idea what was on the paper—not being able to read." Calendula crossed her legs and waved her hand. "But they cut out her tongue, just in case."
Zanita shivered. "That's horrible."
"It gets worse. The master then sent her out into the fields. Well, naturally, she wanted to get back into the house, where conditions were somewhat better. She came up with the idea of poisoning the master; they say she had some skill in doctoring and knew they would call her to the big house to come and heal him. Her plan was that she would cure him, and he would be so grateful that he would let her back into the house."
"What happened then?" Blooey was captivated by the grisly story.
Tyber looked over at Zanita. His lady-love was just as captivated. He smiled to himself. His baby always loved anything that smacked of weirdness. He laughed to himself. Including me.
"So," Calendula continued, "she baked some beignets. Only problem was that she laced them with something that made him a wee bit too sick. He died."
Hambone s eyes closed halfway and he began to purr in a low tone.
Damned if the cat isn't enjoying the lurid story, too! Tyber shook his head. Bloodthirsty heathens, the lot of them. Oh, what the hell, they're
my
heathens. "So that's when they hanged her?" he asked in spite of himself.
"Yes. But before they did, she put the sign of the curse on them. To this day, a decent beignet cannot be fried at Hollow House. We found the sugar-dusted plate on the anniversary of her death, crawling with ants. Later that day we spotted ants in the slave quarters."
Everyone in the room was suitably awed.
Everyone except a certain physicist.
Tyber stared at her stone-faced. "And you don't think it possible that the establishment, which I am sure runs a healthy tourist trade, may have placed the beignets in the tree to add to the legend?" He didn't even bother to comment on the ants.
"Absolutely not. Mark and I thoroughly checked it out, didn't we, Mark?" She didn't wait for his answer. "Do you know, there is an indentation of a beignet on the master-bedroom ceiling? No matter how many times they paint over it, it comes back. It's uncanny."
