Phantom Pleasures: Sexy Paranormal (Book 1, Phantom Series) (16 page)

She stepped toward him, her hand outstretched. “But it’s black magic, isn’t it? Can’t it harm you?”

Damon took her hand and pulled her close. He’d considered her expressed fear carefully before determining his course of action. While he had no ambition to follow his former friend down an evil path, he had no choice but use the resources at his disposal to achieve his goal.

“I know not,” he admitted, “but if I find the answers I seek, the danger is negligible.”

Unable to be in her presence for more than a few minutes without tasting her, Damon lowered his head and covered her mouth with his. The scent of her perfume intoxicated him—a clean scent that conjured images of fresh citrus and ocean breezes. Her skin, so warm and soft, yielded to his touch. When she cooed, he knew she’d come to him for the most basic reason.

She wanted him.

And yet, she pulled away.

“We need to slow down,” she insisted, pushing him aside.

He arched a brow. He never could resist a woman of contradictions.

“Did you not come here tonight to make love with me?” he asked.

She planted her fists on her hips indignantly. “What happened to your finesse?”

“I see no reason to pretend with you, Alexa,”

She narrowed her gaze. “Don’t you?”

“That I want you is no secret. That I want
something
from you is no secret, either. I want my freedom. And I want you to help me gain it.”

“I don’t know how to do that,” she said.

“Not yet, perhaps,” he insisted. “But you freed me from the painting. I know the magic exists somewhere within these walls that will ensure my release entirely.”

“What if your release means your death?”

Surprisingly, he heard regret in her voice. “Everyone must die. I only wish to do so after I’ve found my family. And to do this, I must explore every nook and cranny of Rogan’s magical realm. This castle has always been the source of his power. The minute he declared the structure complete all those hundreds of years ago, his abilities grew exponentially. The key is here. I know it within my soul.”

“Then you plan to rebuild every room?”

“ ‘Tis the only way.”

“That’s going to be interesting for my workers,” she commented.

Damon had considered this point. All afternoon, he’d watched the parade of builders and architects examining the castle. He’d listened intently, learning much not only about modern construction, but also of the modern world. He’d learned the true scope of Alexa’s wealth and power and ambition. The men under her command respected her family name but had doubts regarding her ability to live up to her father’s high standards for success.

What firstborn son of a nobleman wouldn’t have felt instantly connected with her on that point alone? But Damon had had the luxury of a humble father, one who took his banishment to a Gypsy enclave not as the punishment of a foreign king, but as a grand adventure. He chuckled, remembering how his father’s humor had matched his wealth and how his optimism had turned what might have been a shameful assignment from the king into a triumph.

Even the first King George had been pleased. The Gypsies had left London without bloodshed, and the sale of their wares around Europe through intermediaries brought in a tidy sum to the Crown. Abandoned land he’d inherited in his native Germany now produced an income. But then the monarch had died and his ambitious son had sought to reclaim his lands by sending in the ruthless horde to murder the Romani Damon’s father had sought to save.

A dark thought crossed his mind. If the horde had descended on Valoren and found it deserted, had they ridden out to his father’s estate on the other side of the mountain and massacred his family instead? Only his father, his stepmother and a collection of servants had remained behind, hidden in a cellar with provisions to last them a week. Had they survived?

“Damon?”

He blinked, then glanced down at her as she eyed him with bold curiosity.

“I apologize,” he said with a short bow. “The atmosphere draws me deeply into the past.”

He cleared his throat. A past he needed to unravel, and to do so, he had to master the magic, as well as ensure Alexa’s loyalty so he’d have access to her vast resources. Now, who was the mercenary?

“Reminds me of dreams I had,” she said wistfully. “Not so long ago.”

A wicked flash of green lit her eyes.

Instantly, his body reacted, tight and hard. He’d satiated his long-ignored desires with her last night, yet he wanted her again with renewed vigor. In more ways than be could name. “What kind of dreams?”

Her eyes darkened and her mouth curved downward in a serious frown. “You’re a man straight out of my fantasies, Damon Forsyth.”

“Does that not please you?”

“Last night, it did. You did.”

“Thank you.”

“But it makes me wonder.”

“About?”

“Why you’re here. If you’re here, really. Can’t you simply be a figment of my imagination?” Her voice softened with a dreamy quality he couldn’t recall hearing in her tone before. “You’re what I want most from a man. You have character. Power. You come in the night and pleasure me, but you disappear by morning and don’t interfere with my everyday, crazy life.”

Taken aback, Damon stopped to think. “Do you mean to suggest that your fantasies drew you to me?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m suggesting my fantasies created you.”

He clutched her arms. “I assure you, Alexa, that in the night, I am very real and very solid.”

“But you’re still the perfect man. And until I prove otherwise, I won’t be able to walk away from you.”

“Why should you wish to walk away? For the time being, I’m trapped in a property you own. I shall be at your beck and call.”

“I can’t have a man in my life.”

Damon took a step back. That was a phrase he’d never heard from a woman before. “Why on earth not?”

She squared her shoulders. “I have a lot of responsibilities. Several billion to be exact.”

“You have chosen money over your personal happiness?”

She shrugged. “Sort of chose me. But it’s not the money entirely. It’s the Chandler name. It’s the hundreds of investors and thousands of employees and guests and extended family and—”

Damon cut her off with a kiss. The sound of a sensual, beautiful woman eschewing a fulfilled life so she could meet the expectations of society cracked his soul. Is this what the future held for him? A reversal of roles that would tear at his core?

When breathing became necessary, she pulled away. “My father wanted to give me the world,” she explained.

“And he gave you this castle, with me inside.”

“He didn’t know that,” she argued.

“Maybe he did; maybe he did not. But for the time being, I am here. Perhaps fate drew us together. Perhaps—”

Her eyes drifted downward as she extracted his sister’s necklace from her pocket and dangled it in front of him.

“Something more powerful than even destiny?”

Her eyes reflected the same surprise he felt. His hands itched to take the charm back, in case the residual magic would somehow help him in his quest to break free of the castle’s hold. But if the charm was meant for protection, Alexa needed it more than he.

“I can’t keep this,” she said.

He twined his fingers with hers, the charm dangling between them. “The value of the piece is inconsequential.”

“That’s not why I can’t keep it,” she said. “When I’m here with you, I don’t need protection. And if it did belong to your sister, then you should have it.”

If only she were safe. If only he knew without question that Rogan’s black magic wasn’t seeping into his soul. “I want you to wear it.”

Confusion turned her china-doll face into a mask of indecision. “I’m not afraid.”

He buried a chuckle deep within his chest, allowing his passion to override his misgivings about the magic. He had to do what he must, and if the necklace provided her with a counteragent against the evil, so be it. He could manage with his own store of charms, couldn’t he?

“You should be,” he warned. “You deny your passions on the odd risk that you might have to challenge your vision for your future, when my existence has already changed your destiny. Take a lesson from me, Alexa. What we work toward our entire lives may come to nothing with one tear of a sword.”

Her gaze locked with his. Her irises darted from side to side as she searched, in vain, for words to counter his logic. She took a deep breath, pocketed the charm and exhaled. The moment the tension in her shoulders released, he knew he had her.

Damon surveyed his handiwork in Rogan’s room and decided he could not risk jeopardizing all he’d accomplished. He grabbed Alexa by the arms, stood flush against her and warned, “Let us not make love in a den of evil,” then magically whisked her to a room he’d discovered at the top of the west tower.

When they materialized, she wavered and inhaled quickly, her eyes still shut tight.

“We are here, my lady,” he informed her. He’d been materializing and dematerializing in different parts of the castle all afternoon. He’d become accustomed to the sensation.

She, on the other hand, clutched his arms tightly and her eyes remained closed. “Where?”

“Open your eyes. No, wait.”

Damon extracted one arm from her grip and after concentrating on the atmosphere he wanted to create, waved his hand. More than one hundred candles appeared in the tight, circular room, each atop a standing sconce or tall candelabra of varying heights and clusters. The heat around them flared instantly and Alexa gasped, though her eyes remained closed.

“What did you do?” she asked.

“Open your eyes, my lady.”

She shook her head. “I’m dizzy.”

“And I’m about to make you dizzier.”

The flames flickered from the breeze sneaking in from outside. Through the loopholes, the night sky twinkled with a thousand stars. The scent of the ocean curled into the tower, and for a moment, Damon imagined the freedom of riding along the shoreline and making love to Alexa on the sand.

Not tonight, though. Perhaps not ever. But for now, he would indulge her fantasies—and his—until he knew she’d help him, no matter the personal cost.

He manipulated the magic until they were naked to the wind, but even as her eyes flashed open, he took her in his arms and kissed her. Seducing her came at the price of his sanity. In seconds, he was hard with need. His cock jutted against her belly and his knees wavered when she took his sex in her hands and stroked.

“No,” he gasped, but she didn’t liste. She continued to pull hard on his flesh, up and down, cupping his balls even as his mouth ravished hers. He could feel his seed building inside him, and when she dropped to her knees and took him in her mouth, he lost all ability to think. He felt the candles flame hot and high, singeing his shoulders as he reached down and speared his hands into her hair.

Every sensation rocked him. The pressure of her mouth over his sex, of her tongue across his flesh, brought him to the brink of climax. He pulled her off, nearly coming when he spied the sinful, triumphant look in her eyes.

“That was for what you did to me on the staircase,” she said, licking her lips lovingly.

Panting, he managed, “You mean this?”

She cried out when the sensation of a tongue licked between her legs. Though he hadn’t bent down, her flavor unfurled in his mouth, and he couldn’t help but hum in appreciation. Oh, yes, this magic was pure wickedness.

“What?” she asked, her tone breathless. “How?”

He smoothed his hands over her body, buoying her buttocks in his hands and lifting her high against him. “I’m entertaining the most delicious thoughts about how to please you.”

Her eyelashes fluttered even as he could feel the tip of her clitoris against the tip of his tongue.

“Not. . .fair,” she breathed.

He chuckled. “No, not at all.”

Bracing his hands against her backside, he pulled her up high, engulfing her breasts with his mouth. She wrapped her legs tightly around him, unintelligible words spilling from her lips as he pleasured her with his hands, his mouth and the magic. When his balance started to waver, he knocked through the candles and leaned her flush against the cold stone wall.

If she minded the biting roughness against her flesh, she did not complain. Instead, she moved so that he had nowhere to thrust but upward, inside her, deeply. The head of his cock crashed within her, and she accepted the impact with moans of satisfaction. She urged him to strike harder, faster, with hot words and blissful groans, until both of them were spent and a quarter of the candles had toppled to the floor.

After regaining his senses, he pulled her away from the wall, spun until his back bit against the stone and slid them both to the ground. She curled in his arms, her breathing raspy and unsteady until the remnants of wild climax subsided and she found words to speak.

“It’s a wonder we didn’t burn this place down,” she commented.

Damon chuckled. “The night is still young.”

***

Cat pulled away from Ben, her skin on fire with a rush of emotions all related to Ben’s fear for her life. Well, she didn’t need to feel his fear. She had plenty enough on her own. But not fear for her safety. Cat had become incredibly adept at taking care of herself in the face of physical danger. It was the emotional entanglements that terrified her, especially with a man she hardly knew.

“You need my help,” she reminded him.

“My father has been kidnapped and probably injured, his house ransacked. You can see what his interest in that cursed place has caused.”

“Perhaps it has, or perhaps it hasn’t. But if the curse or Valoren is to blame for your father’s disappearance, then that’s all the more reason for me to help. Curses and black magic are right up my alley.”

He crossed his arms tightly over his chest. “Is the diary so valuable that you’re willing to risk your life for a stranger?”

Impulsively, she grabbed his hand. His fear subsided, replaced instead with a sense of utter surprise. And something more. Something tightly contained and controlled.

Something like excitement, perhaps?

“I’ve risked my life for strangers many times. Paranormal researchers often find themselves in dicey situations. You have to think on your feet. Be creative. Yes, I want the diary. I’ve made no secret of that. But I want to help you find your father, too. Not just because it’s the right thing to do, but because I need to know what he knows. If my friend’s castle is tied to Valoren, it may well be cursed, too. I need to know how to protect her. We both have a better shot at succeeding if we work together.”

Ben gave a curt nod, then twisted around her and dug in to the drawer he’d worked so hard to unlock. His snort alerted her and she leaned around to see  what had caused his sardonic reaction.

Out of the tissue paper lining the drawer, he withdrew a leather-bound book, complete with a flap where a keyhole used to be. The pages, edged in gold, had long since faded, but the purpose for the book was clear.

“Looks like you’ve found what you’re looking for, at least,” he said, handing the journal to her.

Cat accepted the book gingerly. A wash of guilt ran over her, but she’d meant what she said. No matter what information the diary contained, she would help Ben find Paschal.

“May I?” she asked.

“Please do. If my father went to all this trouble to hide this book, the contents must be important.”

Cat settled into Paschal’s chair and flipped open the diary. The ink was faded but still readable. The date on the top of the first page seemed to read “1746,” but she couldn’t be sure about the language within. A few words were familiar, clearly English, but notwithstanding the flourishing handwriting, the combination of letters didn’t always form words. At least, not words in any language she recognized.

“Is this Romani?” she asked.

Ben leaned over her shoulder. “Yes. Looks like a dialect favored by Gypsies who lived in Britain.” He flipped the page. “See here. This is actually broken between English and the Gypsy’s native tongue.”

“Like Spanglish,” she quipped.

He grinned. “Same concept, yes.”

“Is that a usual way for a Gypsy to write?”

Ben arched a brow. “Most Gypsies wouldn’t keep a diary at all. Their tradition is oral.”

“It’s written by a woman,” Cat said, turning a few more pages and scanning the words for phrases she recognized.

“How can you tell? The fancy quality of the handwriting is typical of this period for all genders, and most women, I’d guess, especially those of Gypsy origins, wouldn’t have been taught to write.”

She pointed to a few words on the page. “Here, she’s complaining about having to wear a corset.”

“Men wore corsets.”

“And wigs?”

“In the eighteenth century, absolutely. Think George Washington.”

She kept reading, finally stumbling on a passage that was unmistakably female. “I can’t see George Washington worrying if he’d ever find a husband.”

Ben took the diary from her and wandered away while he read. With a keen knowledge of Romani, she guessed he could traverse the minefield of Georgian English, as well as Romani, with more skill than she.

With each minute that passed, he flipped the pages more quickly. At about the halfway point, his eyes narrowed and his brow knitted with worry.

“This is it,” he said.

Cat stood. “What?”

“The diary that mentions Valoren.” He turned the page. “She hates living here. She wants to go to London, like her brothers. She wants to see the world outside of the Gypsy safe haven. Meet fascinating people. Eat exotic foods. She feels guilty about leaving her people, but only half of her is Gypsy. Her hunger to learn about her English half makes her want to defy her father and run away to London on her own.”

“The desire to wander isn’t unusual for a Gypsy, is it?”

“No, but the British and the Gypsies rarely, if ever, mixed. If this woman was half Gypsy and knew how to write English, chances are her father was British.”

“And that’s unusual?”

“She’s educated, so she’s probably wealthy. In that regard, yes, it’s very unusual.”

Cat blew out a breath. She’d always wondered how she would have survived in another time period, living under rules and expectations that dictated a woman’s status and whether or not she received any sort of useful education. A half-breed with Gypsy blood would probably have been crucified in London, a city renowned in all centuries for adhering to strict codes that decided who was valuable and who was worthless based on birth, rank and wealth. Did this girl have any idea how she would have been scorned in the city she dreamt of so romantically?

With yet another reason to be thankful for being born in the twentieth century, Cat changed places with Ben, reading over his shoulder as he flipped through the diary, the dates spanning over a year.

“What else does it say about Valoren?”

Ben paged through, his head shaking from side to side the more he read. “Her oldest brother travels back and forth between Valoren and London. He must be of the peerage, though I’m not exactly an expert in these matters.”

“A half Gypsy serving in the House of Lords?” she asked, surprised.

He looked at her oddly.

“I read romance novels, okay? And not just the juicy parts.”

“Though I don’t suppose you skip them.”

“Would you?”

Ben chuckled and continued scanning the pages. “He must be a half brother, though she doesn’t seem to make any distinction. His name is Damon.”

“Like the artist?” Cat asked, pulling out the painting of the schooner.

Ben gave an affirmative hum, then returned to the book. “She might be adopted or a ward raised with the family,” he went on. “She’s wildly jealous of his ability to go where he wants whenever he wants to,” he said, humor lilting his voice. “She must be nearly eighteen because she laments never going to balls and meeting men.”

Cat couldn’t help but smile. She’d been dating since she was around thirteen. There were some advantages to being raised by grandparents who had more pressing interests than supervising the daughter of their own wayward child.

“If only she knew how much trouble men were, she wouldn’t be so anxious to leave her nanny behind,” Cat commented.

“That’s stopped you?”

She slapped him on the shoulder, and after an exaggerated “ow,” he returned to his reading.

“Wait,” he said.

Cat bent closer. The little room behind the wall had adequate ventilation. . .for one person. The two of them together, coupled with the lights, increased the temperature from comfortable to. . .uncomfortable. Perspiration glistened along the back of Ben’s neck, intensifying the scent of his cologne.

“Here. She’s talking about a stranger coming to town with her brother, one who wants to make Valoren his home. He’s Rogan. Incredibly handsome, I take it. She spends several pages here just on his eyes alone.”

“Rogan,” Cat repeated. “Damon. It’s not much. Are there last names?”

The sound of crackling pages added to the tense atmosphere. The diary contained the deep, dark secrets of a swooning young girl whose biggest complaint in life was that she’d never had a date. How could the contents possibly be dangerous or even valuable? Why the secrecy? Why the locked drawer?

“No last name,” Ben informed her, “but she refers to him as Lord Rogan here.”

“Think he’s British, too?”

Ben shrugged. “We could find out more if we had
her
name.”

“Check the inside cover,” Cat suggested.