Wicked Fantasy (9 page)

“Uh-uh. Not true. You
whispered
in my head. Luckily, it was time for me to wake up anyway.” Gerry heard Conall move closer, could feel the heat of his body. The temptation to stare at him was like the compulsion she felt when she stood at the top of a tall building. She wanted to look. She was afraid to look. Fear mixed with an unreasoning urge to jump. She wouldn't do it, but the desire was there.

“Don't mess with me, Asima. Did you set the fire?” Conall took deadly to a whole new level.

“No.”
A direct answer. Asima was no dummy.

“But you didn't overwork your vocal cords trying to warn Gerry.” His voice was cold and quiet.

“Why would I?”
Asima's tone said she was the only rational being in the room.
“If Gerry was stupid enough to leave a lit candle near her bed . . .”
She let the insinuation that stupidity deserved to be punished hang in the air. And then she said what Gerry sensed was the cat's true feeling.
“She would've caused her own death. Morrigan couldn't blame you. End of curse.”

“Gerry didn't leave that candle lit.”

Thank you, Conall
. But then he ruined it.

“Even a Kavanagh wouldn't be that stupid.”

Conclusion? If neither Conall nor Asima had left the candle there, that meant . . . “Is there anyone in this castle who
doesn't
want me dead?” She held up one hand. “No, don't answer that. I'm overreacting. I'm sure there're a few—the guests, the maids, and oh, probably three or four others.”

Conall ignored her comment while he studied Asima. “What were you doing here anyway?”

Asima did a cat shrug.
“Curiosity. A weakness of my species. I wanted to see her wardrobe.”
She glanced at Gerry.
“Your clothes are extraordinarily unremarkable. Can we say boring? You're like a ball of clay waiting to be molded. Beware if the slut queen takes an interest in what you're wearing. Do
not
listen to her. I'll be around to help you pick out a few tasteful outfits once you settle into your new room.”

“Slut queen?” Too late. Asima disappeared.

“Sparkle Stardust. The two of them together is a scary happening.” He raked his fingers through his damp hair. Then he looked at her. “You're wet. I like it. Change.”

“You're naked. I like it. Put something on.”

His sudden smile heated her all the way through. It was unexpected and so sensual she glanced down to make sure steam wasn't rising from her jammies. Nope, no steam. But every inch of the wet material clung to her fore and aft. Oops.

She tried for a normal walk as she went to the closet. But she could feel his gaze cupping each cheek as she moved. Was her butt wiggling? God knew there was enough there to wiggle and jiggle to their own rhythm. Talking about jiggling, she held her shorts and top in front of her chest as she backed toward the bathroom.

“You disappoint me.” Something hot and primitive moved in his eyes. “You could almost redeem the whole Kavanagh clan.” He thought about that. “Okay, not the whole clan. Maybe two or three.”

Gerry couldn't herd her thoughts into one spot long enough to concentrate on them. Who'd tried to destroy her and make it look like an accident? What was she going to do with this luscious but dangerous man standing in her room? She should leave the castle, but that would guarantee she wouldn't have a shot at apprehending the wife killer. Would Conall get the wrong idea if she walked over and ran her fingers over all that wet, gleaming skin?

She reached behind her to feel for the bathroom door. His gaze never reached her face. He had some concentration problems, too. Good. “By the way, how'd you know there was a fire in here?”

“Sometimes the curse tunes me in when a Kavanagh's in danger. It doesn't always work. It worked this time.” Conall shrugged. “Something woke me, and I smelled the smoke.” He finally met Gerry's gaze. “I'll get dressed. Once you're in your temporary room, we'll talk.”

Gerry pushed the door open and slipped into the bathroom. Then she shut the door and flipped the light switch. Temporary room? Didn't Holgarth say there weren't any more empty rooms on the vampire level?

Closing her eyes, she leaned her back against the door. She'd worry about that after her shower. She needed to feel water pouring over her, washing away the smell of burned cloth and the memory of a hard male body. And for just a few minutes she'd stop wondering who wanted to kill her.

Conall dried himself off while he tried to block out how good Gerry had looked. Good? Not a word he'd ever used in the same sentence as “Kavanagh.” The only “good” Kavanagh was an old wizened one with one foot in the grave. Right now, though, he had to convince her to accept his protection.

First he called Eric to let him know about the fire and what he planned to do about it. Eric would tell everyone else. Then he pulled on jeans, a T-shirt, and shoes before returning to Gerry's room.

While he waited for her to come out of the bathroom, he took a look at the partially burned candle and then paced a lot. If he hummed to himself, he could block out the sound of the shower and the vivid erotic images that went with it.

She opened the door and walked into the room just as he noticed the plant. “Jeez, Houston looks like shit.”

“Houston?” She walked to the couch and sat down.

Conall needed something for his eyes to focus on besides her long bare legs and the thrust of her breasts against the green top she was wearing. Nothing really sexual in the clothes, but on her . . . “The plant. The owner bought him in Houston and thought he looked sort of alpha with the thick stems and big green leaves. Now look at him.”

“Yeah, it needs water.” She glanced toward the candle. “That wasn't there when I fell asleep at dawn.”

“You'd better pack.”

“Right.” She stood, walked to the closet, and began pulling clothes out to put in her open suitcase. “The door was locked. How did he, she, or . . . it get in?”

He helped her by retrieving the few things she'd left lying around. “Here's the deal about the Castle of Dark Dreams. Lots of paranormal entities stay here. Word has spread that the guys who run it are like them. They figure we'll understand their needs. It's possible that a few of them have powers like Asima.”

“So locks mean nothing. Some nonhuman bad guy could appear in my room anytime he wanted to. Gee, I feel really safe.” Gerry glanced around to make sure she hadn't forgotten anything before closing her suitcase. “Let's go.”

Conall ignored her sarcasm. He picked up Houston and the suitcase. Somehow he didn't think Gerry would want to come back to this room even after the cleaning crew finished with it. He didn't blame her.

Opening the door, he waited for her to pass him. She slipped past and the scent of vanilla trailed her out the door. Free association brought up the words “hunger” and “dessert.” Not words he wanted to think about when he thought of any Kavanagh.

As he closed the door, Conall realized that for the first time the name Kavanagh didn't ignite his automatic response of frothing rage. “Follow me.”

“Why did you bring the plant?”

“Houston needs someone to care, too.”

“How about you?” The first teasing note crept into her voice.

“Not me. My stem and leaves are just fine.”

“I'm talking love, O'Rourke.” She wasn't going to let it go.

And he wasn't going to satisfy her curiosity. “Houston doesn't need love, he only needs sex.”

“You're joking.”

Good. He'd distracted her. “I'll explain later.” He stopped in front of the huge wooden door, put down the suitcase, and pushed open the door. It made its usual loud grating noise. He flipped the switch just inside the door.

Gerry picked up her suitcase and followed him into the . . . “Dungeon? You're putting me in a
dungeon
? What's the star rating here? Bet you'll lose a few after this.”

She peered around at the usual dungeon stuff: rack, iron maiden, whips, chains, and a bunch of other props. Fake sconces and an electric hearth gave the place tons of atmosphere. There were two doors on the opposite wall.

Before he had a chance to explain, the furniture he'd ordered when he called in the fire arrived. He waited while the men set up a bed, night table, lamp, TV, couch, coffee table, and two chairs. They hung a few clothes hangers from the handcuffs attached to the wall.

Gerry watched with open mouth as they left. “Well, isn't this nice. Home sweet dungeon. If the maid doesn't make my bed right, I can chain her to the wall.”

“Sit down, Gerry, and let me explain.” Good thing he didn't have to work tonight, because this was going to take a while. He sat down and put Houston on the floor beside him.

She perched on the edge of the other chair, but he had the feeling she was ready to bolt.

“I can honestly say this has been the second most surreal night I've ever lived—using the term loosely—through. Guess I shouldn't make assumptions about life though, because the night's not over.” She smiled at him, but it was ragged around the edges. “The only night that tops it is the night I was made.”

Conall wanted to know about that night, and the fact that he did bothered him. “Once in a while we get too many vampires wanting to stay here. This is the only floor that's light free. So when we run out of vampire rooms, we put the dungeon off limits for the castle fantasies and let someone use it.”

“Oh.” She looked around.

“There's a bathroom behind the door on the right. The door on the left opens to one of two break rooms for staff. This one's for the nonhumans who work here. You can lock the break room door while you're here because there's another entrance.”

She brightened. “Well, then that's okay. Sort of.” Her expression said he and everyone else in the castle were so far out there they probably didn't even belong to this galaxy.

He took a deep breath. Time to make his pitch. “Someone tried to kill you tonight. Not Jinx because he doesn't have the power to get past your locked door. It wasn't me because I'm committed to protecting you.”

“Whoa, don't cross yourself off the list. Whoever lit the candle was trying to make it look like I just got careless. If this Morrigan couldn't prove it was murder, she'd have to release you from the curse. And I don't think that connecting door would stop you. Sounds like a plan to me.”

Her expression said she was turning over possibilities. “Jinx is a thief. He'd know how to pick a lock. But he realizes killing me wouldn't free him, so yes, I agree it wasn't Jinx.”

Conall wondered if she could hear him grinding his teeth. “Not Asima, because she doesn't have a motive.”

“Hate to interrupt again, but she didn't bust her little kitty butt trying to wake me up.”

“Right.” This wasn't working. Rather than roar at her, he stood. “I've got to water Houston.”

“Water Houston?” She looked bemused. “I must've turned left and the conversation went right, because I've lost it.”

He was afraid he'd shout at her, so he didn't answer as he yanked the bathroom door open, filled a glass with water and poured it into Houston's pot.

“So won't he die in here without light?”

“He doesn't live off light. He lives off sexual energy.”

“Excuse me?”

“These plants belong to the owner, and they live off the energy generated when guests have sex.” He sat down again.

She stared at him blankly.

He couldn't stop his grin. “Houston here has been deprived for a long time. Since he's yours for the duration, guess you have an obligation to him now.”

“You're not kidding, are you?” She rubbed between her eyes. “Of course, you're not. A plant that gets off on sexual energy instead of Miracle-Gro.” She shook her head. “Makes perfect sense in the Castle of Dark Dreams. Do you know how creepy that sounds? Hey, I feel for Houston, but he'll have to hunker down and hang on to his leaves, because there won't be any sexual energy floating around in here.”

Conall didn't think this was the best time to talk about her lifetime protection policy underwritten by Morrigan, but it had to be discussed, especially after the attempt on Gerry's life. “Look, we have to talk about—”

“No talk. My head is going to explode if I have to think about one more thing.” She stood. “I'm going for a walk. Alone.” She held up her hand as he opened his mouth to speak. “I know. You have to guard me. Just don't get in my way.”

As she turned toward the still-open door, Conall heard the sound of flapping wings in the hallway. He stared at the ceiling. Oh, crap.

A huge crow flew into the dungeon, circled a startled Gerry, and landed on the iron maiden.

Conall rubbed the back of his neck. Not that it did any good. No tension relief when the bitch goddess was in the room.

“Hello, Morrigan.”

“Morrigan?” Gerry stared at the crow.

The crow returned her gaze with beady-eyed intensity.

“What brought you back?” Conall wore no expression.

Gerry thought she understood. No emotion equaled no fun for Morrigan.

Gerry felt enough emotion for both of them. The total insanity of the last two nights washed over her, and she came up sputtering with rage, ready to lash out at someone. And Morrigan was that someone.

“You know, you picked a great form. The old crow is you.” She wanted to shriek at the top of her lungs and shake the feathers off the disgusting bird. “Who gave you the right to mess with people's lives?”