Phantom Pleasures: Sexy Paranormal (Book 1, Phantom Series) (35 page)
Read Phantom Pleasures: Sexy Paranormal (Book 1, Phantom Series) Online
Authors: Julie Leto
Tags: #Romance
She rode for nearly a quarter of a mile before her pursuers caught up, roaring behind her in an open-topped Jeep. With a curse, Mariah leaned forward, downshifted and swerved off the road, sending dirt and gravel flying. She preferred air travel to ground, but she’d scoped out the area well enough to map a few escape routes. Behind her, the Jeep’s horn honked. Did they really expect her to stop?
She careened around an outcropping of boulders and under a canopy of trees that would lead to a river if she could avoid dropping over any of the cliffs that dotted this region. The overhang threw her into shadows. She could hear nothing but the roar of the bike’s engine, the kick of the rocks beneath her wheels and the thumping of her heartbeat in her ears.
The path narrowed, forcing her to either slow down or crash. She cursed, wondering yet again why she’d come here. The whole operation had been a lark—a spontaneous grab at an opportunity that might have gotten her arse out of the proverbial sling. She’d jumped at the chance to beat her former lover to a valuable piece of history, which she planned to sell to pay off her debt to a certain collector who wasn’t above having her legs broken if she disappointed him a second time. Last month’s failed Mayan operation would have been her largest score in years, but she’d had to dump the coins in the Chiapas jungle rather than risk arrest by the Mexican police. Trouble was, the tracking device she’d attached to the treasure before she tossed it wasn’t working. Now, the collector wanted either the coins or the cash he’d paid her up front to facilitate her operation.
She had neither.
But she had the bloody stone. She could only hope that Ben’s persistence meant the thing was valuable enough to buy her out of this mess.
Distracted by her worries, she hit a root at top speed and nearly flew over the handlebars. She corrected, scattering twigs, leaves and dirt behind her, but avoided running into a tree and kept the bike upright. The forest undergrowth was too thick for her to continue. She should have chosen another route.
Damn
. She stopped, fighting to catch her breath as she powered down the engine and listened for her pursuers.
She didn’t have to listen long. They were getting closer.
She might have offered to sell the stone to Ben right there, but she had no way of knowing a fair price until she’d examined the find more closely. She patted her jacket, surprised that the spot where she’d stashed the rock was warm. Without time to wonder about the phenomenon, she hid the bike behind a thick oak, grabbed her dilly bag and crashed deeper into the brush on foot. She’d find a hidey-hole until they gave up, then make her way back to the bike and hightail it to the next village before trading up to a car that would carry her to the nearest airstrip.
She tried to find a balance between speed and stealth. Spying a narrow ledge she guessed might lead her to a lookout, Mariah moved carefully along the edge, digging her fingers into the mossy rocks for handholds. When the flat rock beneath her feet curved around an outcropping above a deep ravine, she stopped. Being a pilot, she wasn’t afraid of heights, but her many talents did not extend to mountaineering.
She cursed. She’d have to go back down and find another route. But in her hurry to change directions, her ankle twisted and she lost her footing. When she tried to recover, she found nothing beneath her. Nothing but air.
***
The
gadje
woman was going to get herself killed.
Infuriated, Rafe Forsyth tried to tune out the woman’s emotions. For years he’d existed in peace. Centuries. His entrapment within the stone had not, until now, included experiencing the feelings of others as he had so naturally in life. Unpracticed at bearing the onslaught of emotions after all this time, he could not tune her out. Despite his efforts to remain alone, he could not ignore the warmth of her flesh so near his, could not resist reacting when a jolt of fear shot into his soul like a scalding blade.
Suddenly the ground beneath them disappeared. Her terror spiked, and the image of an impending plummet caused him to yell out the Romani word for “fly.” A sensation of weightlessness suddenly surrounded him, surrounded her. Movement, sleek and swift, like a bird, propelled them forward. Then her fear gave way to surprise and, a second after her feet gently touched the ground, relief.
He saw none of this, but he sensed it. Sensed it all.
“What the bloody hell?” she said, her voice muffled even as she dug into her pocket. He heard the rustle of fabric, and then a yank of limitless force grabbed at his middle and pulled. She’d wrapped her hand completely around the stone that contained him, and instantly he was injected with an essence of woman that stirred his blood. Spiked his awareness. Tempted him to sin.
Concentrating, he fought the wrench of the magic, the all-encompassing drag of the sorcery that had bound his soul to the stone for what he guessed had been hundreds of years. Rogan had not controlled him in life; nor would he now, despite Rafe’s entrapment by the curse.
How had this woman found him?
And why?
From the moment she’d brushed her fingers across the stone that had become his prison, the same dark magic that had entrapped him centuries ago awakened with full force. The urge to expand from the containment of the stone pounded at him, but he refused to succumb.
And yet now, in the open, with sunlight dappling across hair the color of rich mahogany, he couldn’t help breathing in the essence of this woman named Mariah. He sensed no fragrances except her own natural musk mixed with the fertile scent of the earth and the sweet smell of torn leaves. For an instant, before he saw her startled amber eyes and the pale arch of her cheek, he wondered if she might be Romani, like himself.
She turned the stone that contained him over in her palms, fascinated by what he imagined was the same fiery glow that had drawn him to the marker so long ago. He pushed the memory aside and concentrated on the woman holding him, examining him, her entire being seized by a boundless curiosity unlike any he’d ever experienced.
What was this stone? Had it given her the ability to fly and saved her from certain death? Was it magic? Or was it truly cursed?
He had no answers. Only regrets.
At the sound of distant voices, she released him. Sudden darkness engulfed him once more. An intense burst of energy told him she was again on the run.
This time she suppressed her fear with a thrill of adventure and a burst of confidence. The lure of her tugged at his core, but he fought. He had no desire to leave his prison.
No desire for anything but quiet. Peace. Solitude.
Forgetfulness.
Gifts he suspected he’d never experience as long as this woman possessed him.
*********
For more information about
Kiss of the Phantom
and Julie’s other books, visit her on the web at
www.julieleto.com
.
New York Times
bestselling author Julie Leto actually hates hearing ghost stories. . .mainly because she’s a self-avowed fraidy cat. On ghost tours, she is known to wear the rosary bracelet that she was given as a child (which was blessed by the Pope, according to her grandmother) and to announce loudly that any ghosts in the vicinity should show themselves only to the other people on the tour and not her, because she’s just there to hear about the history.
She does, however, love writing ghost stories, especially when they are super-sexy, mysterious and fun. The Phantom series was conceived of very early in her career, but she sold the revised idea, along with two sequels, fourteen years after Damon Forsyth, the hero of Phantom Pleasures, first stormed out of her brain. Now that she has the rights back to the series, she hopes to write the second trilogy soon and answer the final questions about the Gypsy curse that plagues the Forsyth family.
Julie lives on the west coast of Florida with her daughter, a spoiled dachshund, a haughty lynx-point Siamese and a wide range of relatives all within driving distance. Readers can find her at
www.julieleto.com
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and as @JulieLeto on
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