Thigh High (28 page)

Matt raised his forearm to break his way through. The optical illusion of the boughs opening for the cabs was gone. They had to fight for every foot. The wind played games, darting around them, blocking the path, causing headwinds that wailed in their ears.

“The spirits!” he said, while the words blew away on the wind. The cold gusts ran through her, from front to back, slamming into her chest. She froze from the inside out.

C
arrie stumbled when her chest went numb, but Matt scooped her up into his arms and kept running. The cold bursts continue to pummel them both, dancing through her into him, then back again.

The wind blew hard and threatened to knock Matt to his knees. “Keep going,” she said. “I can get down and run now.”

He stopped long enough to let her slide to her feet and she took off at a dead run. The gates were in view, and a woman stood there. Tall, blond like Faye, but older. Dressed in an emerald green velvet dressing gown, she smiled serenely, apparently unperturbed by their zigzagging down the drive.

She waggled her fingers and the heavy iron gates creaked to swing open on their own.

“Don't look at her,” Matt huffed beside her.

“She's beautiful.”

“It's Belle, and she's the real mistress of Perdition.”

The wind died as suddenly as it had come up. The cold disappeared and their need to run died with it.

Carrie stopped and put her hands on her knees to catch her breath. The gates kept opening so she wasn't worried about being locked in. Not now.

“Sorry,” the woman said, “sometimes my friends like to pester people. To them it's fun. But you two have provided more amusement than your share.”

“We can leave?” Matt asked through lips that had turned blue with cold. He left the idea of amusing the spirits alone. She didn't want to mention it either, not with the gates open and freedom only a couple of yards away.

“Of course you can leave. This is Perdition House. Just because you check in doesn't mean you're trapped. You can always leave.” She folded her hands. “And you're more than welcome to return.”

“Like hell,” they muttered at the same time.

 

Carrie unlocked the door to her apartment. Cozy but uninteresting, the place had no charm. She'd always planned to decorate, but after wrestling bamboo blinds onto the windows, she'd lapsed into complacency. “It's not much, but it's home,” she said as she invited Matt inside.

He dropped his duffel bag to the floor and swept her into his arms. He walked her backward to her sofa, and she pulled him down to sit next to her. “Nice place,” he said, before pulling her into a deep kiss.

At the hard feel of his lips, a familiar moistness built in her panties. She smiled at the knowledge of her body's response. “You've still got it!” she said when she could.

“I worried all the way here that we'd lost the spark.” His eyes pulled at her heart, warming her through.

“Spark?” She climbed to straddle him, looping her arms around his neck. The rise of his cock cheered her. “What we have between us is more like a raging fire.”

He tipped his forehead to hers. “I like it. Do you?”

“Very much.”

He looked relieved. “This is why I wanted us to get out today. I needed to know that what I feel is real and not put in my head by some spirit.”

She thought of Belle waiting for them by the gates and shivered. “It is so creepy that after one night in that house we're both okay with the idea of talking to Belle Grantham, who's been dead for decades.” Her words were so ridiculously outrageous she couldn't believe they were hers.

“I'm relieved we both saw her and responded to her. If she'd been a hallucination, we both wouldn't see her exactly the same way, right?”

They compared what they'd each seen at the gates, confirming the green velvet dressing gown and Belle's remarkable resemblance to Faye.

“I can't imagine being Faye and having to live with all those—” She shuddered, cutting off her thought.

“Speaking of Faye, did she convince you not to write your article?”

She thought fast. “My new angle is the house as a retreat for business women. No computers, cell phones or fax machines allowed.” She raised an eyebrow in query. “Except the one I saw you using.”

“Liam arranged for a brief window of opportunity for me to call my agent.”

“There's what? A bubble of interference between the house and any satellites overhead?” It made sense, if you considered that most of the time the visitors were engaged in sexual matters. Leaving their work behind was essential to retreating from the world.

“Something like that. Number one, the house isn't wired for things like cable television or the Internet. Number two, Faye feels strongly about keeping the place quiet and restful. It's her home as much as it is a retreat.”

Carrie nodded.

“Get back to your article. What did you find out?”

“The money from the auctions does go to charity. There's no double dealing or lying or fraud.” So nobody ate as much as they thought they did. What woman would complain about that?

“The story of Perdition House will not be my stepping stone to a brilliant journalism career. I've accepted that.” She stood and walked to the window. Gazing out, she saw not her own limited view of the city street below but the circular drive at the mansion. It must've been quite the sight in 1911. Delivery wagons and jalopies jostling for space while horses were tied up in front of a trough.

Matt came up behind her and tugged her to lean against his chest. She went because it might be the last time they shared a quiet moment. Just because she'd come to care deeply for him was no reason to hope he felt the same, no matter what he'd said in the heat of sex. He set his lips beside her ear.

“What will you tell the world about Perdition, Carrie?”

She hummed. “I can't tell the truth. I can't write that the real story spans generations and the veil between this life and the next. I can't tell readers that love is eternal, Matt. Whether the story is funny, sad or tragic, love has its own energy. Some of the women who worked there found love. On the spirit plane they need help to reunite with their lovers.”

“So you won't expose the auctions?”

“I can't. It wouldn't be right. Anyone who's ever felt love would have to support what Faye's doing.”

He tightened his hold on her and rocked her back and forth. His kiss on her earlobe set up a drumbeat of desire. She smiled and held her feelings for him to herself. If he was leaving there was no point telling him.

“I'm glad,” he said, stirring the hair at her nape. “I'd hate to think we were responsible for the downfall of the house. Hell, it's been standing for close to a hundred years. Who are we to mess things up?”

She grinned and turned her face up to his. She gave him a quick kiss on his chin. “Right! Who are we to expose the place when we've been victims ourselves?”

“I'm no victim. I've been blessed.”

“Really?”

“Hey, I'm a writer. Most of the time I'm holed up in my office alone or racing around the country researching. We never would've met if I hadn't gotten wind of these weekends.” He frowned. “Come to think of it, I don't remember how I heard about them. I just knew I had to be accepted as one of the bachelors.”

“It's possible the girls, as Faye calls them, put the idea of the article in my head just to get me there.”

“Cool,” he said, checking his watch. “Time's moving on.”

“You're leaving?” She tried to keep the hurt out of her voice, but failed.

He slammed the palm of his hand onto his forehead. “Damn! I got so caught up in this idea that I didn't realize what you must be thinking.”

The forehead slam looked hopeful, but she didn't want to get her hopes up. “What is it I'm thinking?”

“That I'm leaving you.” He strode to her, palmed her shoulders and she felt a stab of fear as she looked into his serious gaze.

“Aren't you?”

“No! I'm leaving, yes, but you're coming with me.”

“I am? Why?”

“Because I need your help.”

“With?”

“Getting some research.” His glance flickered away as if he were hiding something.

Suspicion rose. She was already learning how to read him. “What kind of research?”

“There's one type of sex club I couldn't infiltrate. As hard as I tried, I couldn't wangle an invitation. And I tried several in different parts of the country.”

“And you think I'll be able to succeed where you failed?”

He grinned and alarm bells went off in her head. She was just discovering the man had a sneaky streak. “It's all in the name of research, Carrie, I swear.”

More suspicion. “Why do I have the feeling I'm being conned?”

“Because you are,” he admitted. “I'd pretty much given up on getting any information on lesbian clubs, but now—”

“Whoa!” she interrupted. “Hold on here…”

He laughed and grabbed her up into his arms. He swung her around while she considered his request. “No sex with women?”

“No.”

“I just observe and report?”

“Yes.”

“Then okay, I'll help you.”

He stopped suddenly and squeezed her hard. His expression went joyful. Deep affection radiated through him and into her. She warmed and stilled, waiting for him to say whatever he had on his mind. “Marry me, Carrie. Spend your life with me.”

“Is that your idea?”

“All mine, I swear.”

“Oh, Matt.” She kissed him, long and hard and deep.

Love is eternal.

Matt lifted his mouth and grinned down at her. “Love
is
eternal,” he said. “Like mine for you.”

“And like mine for you, Matt Crewe. I love you. And thank God we walked through the gates of Perdition.”

 

Belle Grantham turned to her great-grandniece Faye and Faye's lover, Liam. “I believe we've averted a potential problem, dear. Thank you.” She eyed Liam as warmly as a spirit could. “You handled Mr. Crewe beautifully.”

“Always happy to serve,” he said with a nod.

“Yes,” Faye responded with a swirl of her fingertip on Liam's forearm. “I think Perdition's secrets are safe.”

“At least for now,” said Belle.

Here's a hot sneak peek at

HANDYMAN by Jodi Lynn Copeland,
coming soon from Aphrodisia!

N
ow, he was the kind of guy she needed to meet.

Parallel parked across the street from the Almost Family youth services building, Lissa Malone stopped examining her reflection in the vanity mirror of her Dodge Charger to watch the guy. He stood in front of the youth building, which was constructed of the same old-fashioned red brick as every other building in downtown Crichton, laughing with a lanky, longhaired blond kid in his early teens. The kid wouldn't be a relative, but a boy from the local community who was going through a rough patch and in need of an adult role model in the form of a foster friend.

Kind, caring and considerate enough to be that friend, by donating his free time to the betterment of the kid's life, the guy was the antithesis of every man she'd dated.

Make that every
straight
man. And, then again, he wasn't the complete opposite.

The way his faded blue Levi's hugged his tight ass and his biceps bulged from beneath the short sleeves of a slate gray T-shirt as he scruffed the kid's hair, the guy had as fine a body as her recent lovers. What he wasn't likely to have was their bad-ass hang-ups.

He was one of the good ones. A nice guy. The kind of guy Lissa had never gone for and never had any desire to.

There was something about those bad boys that called to her. Not just their bedside manner. Though she wasn't about to knock the red-hot thrill of being welcomed home from work by having her panties torn away and a stiff cock thrust inside her before she had a chance to say hello.

She shuddered with the memory of Haden, the brainless beefcake she ended up with following her latest dip in the bad boy pool, greeting her precisely that way three weeks ago. What Haden lacked in mentality, he more than made up for in ability. The guy could make her come with the sound of his voice alone.

Show me that sweet pussy, Liss.

Haden's deep baritone slid through her mind, spiking her pulse and settling dampness between her thighs. She caught her reflection in the vanity mirror as she shifted in the driver's seat. Her cheeks had pinkened—an unmanageable giveaway to her arousal—calling out her too many freckles.

Yeah, there was definitely something about those bad boys. Something she wouldn't be experiencing ever again.

Lissa wasn't the only woman Haden could bring to climax in seconds. As it turned out, she also wasn't the only woman he'd been bringing to climax the almost two months they dated. Really, it shouldn't have surprised her. With bad boys, something always ended up coming before her. Another woman. A massive ego. Or worst of all, the bad boy himself coming before her, then not bothering to stick around to see if she got off.

She was sick to hell of coming in second.

In the name of coming in first and being the center of a man's attention if only for a little while, she was ready to give nice guys a try. Her housemate and ex-lover, Sam, claimed she wouldn't regret it, since what people were always saying about nice guys was true: they finished last and it was because they wanted their leading ladies to come in first.

A nice guy like the well-built Good Samaritan across the street, Lissa thought eagerly. Only, a glance back across the street revealed he wasn't standing there any longer. Neither was the kid.

“Well, shit.” So much for opportunity knocking.

Not that she had time to do a meet and greet. She had an appointment with the owner of the Sugar Shack candy store for a potential interior redesign job. Besides, Mr. Nice Guy was likely one among a hundred like him who donated his time to Almost Family and similar non-profit services.

How many of those others had an ass and arms like his?

A dynamite ass and a killer set of arms, and probably a gorgeous wife or girlfriend to go with them.

Her eagerness flame fanned out, Lissa put her nice-guy hunt on hold. She returned her attention to the mirror for a quick teeth and facial inspection. Finding everything acceptable and her freckles returned to barely noticeable, she grabbed her black leather briefcase satchel from the passenger's seat and climbed out of the car.

The closest she'd been able to get a parking spot to the candy store was three blocks away. She was a stickler for arriving early, so reaching the place on time wouldn't require sprinting in her skirt and open-toe heels. Hooking the satchel's strap over her arm, she took off down the sidewalk.

One block in, footfalls pounded on the sidewalk behind her. Not an uncommon thing, given the number of people milling about the downtown area on a Friday afternoon. What was uncommon was how noisily they fell, like the person was purposefully trying to be loud.

Were they in step with hers?

Sam's thing was paranoia, not Lissa's. Only, it appeared her housemate was rubbing off on her. Her skin suddenly felt crawly. Her entire body went tense with the sensation of being watched. Followed. Stalked.

Oh, jeez! Could she be any more melodramatic?

This wasn't a dark-and-stormy-night scenario. The sun shone down from overhead and while June in Michigan didn't often equate to blistering temperatures, a warm, gentle breeze toyed with the yellow, green and white flowered silk overlay of her knee-length skirt. And then again, was the fact she was surrounded by a few dozen people.

To prove how ridiculous she was acting, Lissa stopped walking. The footfalls came again, once, and then fell silent.

Her breath dragged in.

What if she
was
being followed? The candy store was still a block and a half away. Sprinting the remainder of the distance might be the safest route. Yeah, right, it would. She was liable to snag a heel in a sidewalk crack and break her neck.
Then
she would have a reason to be concerned.

Ignoring the hasty beat of her heart, she faced her overactive imagination by spinning around…and there he was.

Mr. Nice Guy stood less than twenty feet away. Not following her or even eyeing her up, but standing in front of a coffee shop, peering into its storefront windows.

He moved toward the shop's door, pulling it open with a tinkling of overhead bells and placing his ass in her line of vision. Once more she appreciated the stellar view. This time it was more than appreciation though. This time, just before he turned and disappeared inside, he looked her way.

Lissa's heart skipped a beat with the glimpse of pure masculine perfection.

Stubble the same shade of wheat as his thick, wavy hair dusted an angular jaw line and coasted above a full, stubborn upper lip. Eyebrows a shade darker slashed in wicked arcs over vivid cobalt blue eyes. His cheeks sank in just enough to make him look lean, hungry and dangerous all at once. Then there was the way he filled out his jeans: his backside had nothing on his front half. Beneath the faded denim, muscles bulged and strained in all the right places. And she did mean
all
the right places.

If not for catching him joking around with the youth services kid, she would have mistaken him for a bad boy in a heartbeat. He wasn't. But, clearly, her body approved of him.

Heat raced into her face and her nipples stabbed to life, making her wish she hadn't relied on the built-in shelf bra of her yellow short-sleeve top to hold in her cleavage. Her breasts were way too big to be fully constrained by the flimsy little cotton bra sewn into shirts. For whatever reason, she allowed Sam to talk her in to giving one a try. Probably because when she slipped out of her bedroom wearing it, he'd taken one look at her chest and offered to give her a pre-appointment mouth job.

Coming from a gay guy that was a major compliment.

The bells over the coffee shop door sounded, emitting a gray-haired, sixty-something couple. Lissa glanced at her watch. Ten minutes till her appointment. A block and a half to go.

She could spend five minutes determining if Mr. Nice Guy was single and searching, and then huff it to the Sugar Shack. Or forgo the meet and greet, arrive at her appointment on time, and take Sam up on his mouth job offer when she arrived home.

As much as she loved Sam, there was no future for them beyond friendship. There probably wasn't one with the guy in the coffee shop either.

Lissa walked back to the shop anyway.

To the sound of tinkling bells, she pulled open the wood door with white and red stained glass coffee mugs designed into its window slats. Entering the shop, she looked up at the bells…and nearly slammed into Mr. Nice Guy.

He stood in front of a customer bulletin board, pinning business cards up with long-fingered hands that bore neither rings nor tan lines. After tacking the last card onto the board, he turned toward her, flashed a smile sexy enough to do a fluttering number on her sex, and moved right on past and out the door.

“Well, shit.”
So much for opportunity knocking.
Even worse, she was starting to sound like a broken record.

She should forget about him and get to her appointment. But between his lack of a wedding ring and that sexy smile her eagerness flame was rekindled.

Lissa grabbed one of the newly posted business cards off the bulletin board.
Thad Davies
,
Handyman
, was written in black, and beneath it, in bold, blue lettering,
Loose Screws Construction
. Was the company name meant to be a double entendre, and exactly how handy of a man was Thad?

Handy enough to leave her his number.

Smiling, she tucked the business card into her satchel. Later, maybe she would give him a call. Or maybe she would pick up a box of Sam's favorite sweets while she was at the Sugar Shack and use them to bribe him in to making good on his mouth job offer.

 

“You're a bastard!”

Thad Davies sank back against the black metal rails of his headboard and sighed over the glaring brunette standing on the end of the bed's bare mattress.

Naked and flushed with the aftereffects of orgasm, she looked ready to beat the shit out of him. From what little he knew of her, she was nice enough. Her sweat-glistening tits were definitely nice, as they jostled around with her anger. That didn't mean he was ready to forget she was a client and sleep with her for free. “You play, you pay, sweetheart.”

With a huff, she bounded off the end of the bed, flashing an ass that was just as nice and well rounded as her tits. “Don't call me that! And don't you
ever
come near me again.”

She reached the tangle of sheets, covers and clothing, which had found their way to the floor in the midst of their wild screwing, and started kicking them apart.

Damn, he really didn't like upsetting women. It wasn't his fault they hired him for sex and ended up falling for him along the way. Not all of them did, but more than a couple had in the five months since the woman-pleasuring division of Loose Screws started up. “You called me,” he reminded her.

The brunette stopped kicking to look at him, hurt evident in her eyes. “I
thought
we had something between us.”

“We do. A business deal.”

The hurt left her expression as cold fury took over. Soft pink lips, which less than ten minutes ago had been wrapped around his dick and delivering him to nirvana, pushed into a hard line. Giving the chaotic pile a final kick, she uncovered a slim red purse and yanked it up by the strap. “Consider the deal off,” she bit out as she shoved her hand inside the purse and yanked out a handful of bills. “Don't expect any referrals to be coming your way.”

Fifties and hundreds plastered him in the chest and rained down on the bed around him. Some people might feel cheap in a situation like this. For Thad, it was all in a day's work and if he happened to love his job most of the time…well, what man in his right mind wouldn't?

Pushing the bills off his chest, he moved to the edge of the bed and swung his legs over the side. He rolled the condom off his deflating shaft, tucked it into a tissue, and deposited it in the wastebasket between the bed and the short black oak dresser that doubled as a nightstand. “Don't you be forgetting that silence agreement you signed.”

Midway through diving down to retrieve her bra and panties, the brunette's breath dragged in on a gasp. She glared at him. “Like I would tell anyone I had the poor taste to pay to fuck you.”

“You got your money's worth. All six times.” Today, she'd chosen to suck him off while he fulfilled her order of oral sex. The five times she employed his services before this, she'd been after her pleasure alone. The ecstatic cries centering each of those sessions said she'd enjoyed herself plenty.

With a final huff, she jerked the bra and panties off the floor and, not bothering to go back for her skintight white minidress, stormed out of the bedroom door. Less than twenty seconds later, the front door slammed. The short lapse of time told him she'd left his rental duplex buck naked.

The neighbors would have a coronary over that exit.

But to hell with what his neighbors thought. Thad had never been a saint a day in his life and he never intended to pretend otherwise, even if the ultraconservative city of Crichton and the surrounding county preferred him to do so.