Red House (9 page)

Everything but release. My body screaming to take what it wanted, I pushed his hands away and rose to climb into his lap. Bracing my hands on his shoulders, I forced him to lie back. Guiding himself to my entrance, he left control up to me, his hands slowly roaming my body. I teased him with the slick folds of my flesh, making promises, pushing his limits. Pushing myself right up to the edge of giving him what he wanted. But that wouldn’t do. I couldn’t give in so easily.

Raising up, I smiled, wanton and wicked. “I told you to make me say it.”

Blake’s aura flared bright with desire. Powerful arms swept me under him, solid muscle pressing me into the bed. Hard, demanding lips took mine, bruising and forceful. Raw need thrummed through every part of me. Rough hands parted my thighs and I moaned softly at the promise of pleasure. His eyes met mine, holding my gaze as he filled me inch by slow, sweet, steady inch. I struggled to move but he held me still. Finally fully inside, he brushed his lips across mine, tongue whispering at the corners of my mouth.

“This is what you want,” he said. Sweat rolled from his hairline, evidence of how much it was costing him to keep not only my body still but his as well. “Say it.”

His intent was clear. He’d torture us both until he got what he wanted. I squirmed, or tried, but he’d trapped me under his heavy muscular body. All I could do was throw my head back, the column of my throat bared to him. I bit my lip, the word so close.

“This is what you want.” His voice had an almost desperate catch to it. “I am what you want.”

I met his gaze again. Gold shimmered in those dark depths, a companion to the shooting stars of his aura. I couldn’t deny the truth of his words or my desire. I didn’t want to. The word tumbled from my lips in a breathless whisper. “Yes.”

Something halfway between triumph and benediction crossed his face. He pulled himself nearly all the way out and I clenched around him to keep him inside. One corner of his mouth ticked up in the smirk that set my blood boiling. In one shockingly fast and fluid motion he filled me completely. I cried out from the overload of sensation, grasping at his arms blindly. All I could do was hold on as he built the fire inside, feeding the flames with long deep strokes.

“You’re what I want.” His breath fanned across my ear. “I’m what you want.”

Energy wove between us, called up by him and fully embraced by me. Our connection danced and spun with it, coiling tighter as we reached for the edge together. Relentless, Blake drove us both to a mindless state where nothing existed but the feel of our flesh and the electric hum of magic. We hovered at the precipice for what felt like forever and not long enough before I tipped us into oblivion with my body and my will.

We lay tangled together, his arms tight around me. He rolled me on my back, his hands caressing in all the right places.

“I love your skin.” The pads of his fingers coasted across my abdomen, inching upward. “The feel of it.” His lips followed the path of his fingers. “The dreams were good but nothing compares to this.”

All the languid warmth of afterglow snuffed out in a wave of cold suspicion. Pushing him away, I sat up and pulled a sheet to cover my nakedness. “What did that mean?”

Hesitation gave him away. “Just …I dreamed about you.”

I drew in a ragged breath. “You’ve mentioned dreams before.”

“Sweetness, don’t be like this.” He reached for me.

I slapped his hand away. “What? What is it? You damn well better tell me the truth!”

A flash of anger crossed his face. He flung himself from the bed, stalking into the bathroom and coming back wearing his pants.

“Blake, you need to talk to me.” A nauseous panic made my voice sound strangled and small.

“Okay.” Standing at the foot of the bed, staring down at me. The domineering presence that had turned me on just moments before now made me feel intimidated and I hated that. I didn’t want to let myself be intimidated by any man, but especially not this one.

“What do you know about astral projection?”

My stomach heaved. “You’ve been forcing your way into my dreams?” I couldn’t keep the tremble out of my voice, and that made me almost as angry at myself as I was at him.

“No, it doesn’t work like that. I would never be able to enter your dreams if you didn’t want me there.”

“So, when did you ask me if I wanted you wandering around in my dreams? I think I’d remember telling you no.”

“Okay, no. I never actually asked, but I never hurt you.”

“You’re not getting off the hook with semantics, you son of a bitch!” Unable to stand the sight of him anymore right now, I needed to leave. I had to get out of the room before I started crying. “You know what you did was wrong.” I scrambled past him into the bathroom, throwing on my clothes as fast as I could.

He did know he was wrong. The realization he had well and truly fucked up was written all over his face. “I just wanted to be with you, Roxie. I missed you so much. I never meant for it to keep happening but it was so good to be with you.”

Tears obscuring my vision, I bolted for the door with my boots dangling from one hand.

“Don't do this. Let’s talk about this.” Grabbing my arm where it had been cut by glass the day before, he tried to pull me away from the door.

Searing pain made me gasp in shock. “You’re hurting me.”

Blake released my arm, jumping as if scalded. “Baby, please!”

I fled, not caring I was barefoot, ignoring the hard stares from a couple walking down the hall. The elevator dinged. Jogging to reach it, I dodged an older man exiting and hit the button for the parking garage. I took my glasses off long enough to wipe my eyes. Crying didn’t bother me. I had cried over the loss of my house. Every year on Rozella’s birthday I raised a toast in her honor, told stories about her, and had a good cry over missing her. I had even been known to cry over fictional characters. I would be damned if I cried over Blake Harvill.

Chapter 7

I parked at the curb in front of Lorraine’s apartment. A blast of crunk greeted me as I stepped out of the vehicle. Lorraine’s grandson left a group of teenage boys playing ball in the street and jogged over.

“Hey, Roxie.” He gave me a fist bump and a half hug.

“Hey, Marcus, how’s it going?” He’d had his hair worked into short braids since my last visit.

He let me know Lorraine was still with a client so we chatted for a few minutes. The housing project where they lived wasn’t the worst but it wasn’t the best either. If I’d been going anywhere else in this neighborhood, Daniel would not have been happy with me leaving his SUV parked and unattended. As a visitor to Lorraine Thibodaux, that vehicle was safe as Fort Knox. People gave her a respectful and sometimes fearful berth. Some residents may have used her services but there were others, like the old woman across the street, who gave Lorraine and anyone who had anything to do with her a baleful eye. It couldn’t be easy for Marcus but he loved his grandmother. The two of them were on their own.

“There’s a CD for you on the kitchen table,” he said.

“Whatcha got for me this time?”

He composed his features as if preparing to read off a wine list. “A pleasing mix of Lil’ Jon, Triple Six Mafia, and Waka Flocka.”

“Waka Flocka?” I wrinkled my nose. “I don’t know, I think that’s a little hard for me. Got any Lupe Fiasco you haven’t shared yet?”

“Ah, you and the pretty boys. I bet you’d put his poster on your bedroom wall.”

“If you give me a poster of Lupe Fiasco, I will put it on my bedroom wall. I need something to replace those album covers.”

Marcus laughed without humor. “All right, all right.” He knew all about losing everything you owned to the fury of water. “You bring me some more blues?”

I nodded, indicating my backpack. “Buddy Guy and T-Model Ford.”

“As long as that cousin of yours didn’t slip in some of that cornpone he likes.”

“What, you didn’t like the Kenny Rogers?” I started singing
The Gambler
, much to his amusement.

“Please stop,” he said, laughing. “Don’t sing, Roxie, please don’t sing.”

The screen door of Lorraine’s apartment flew open, an angry woman stalking out. “He better stay this time,” she yelled over her shoulder. “You just better do your thing right this time!”

Our laughter died as she passed us, giving Marcus a hard eye and me an outright sneer. Rozella had to deal with people like that too. People didn’t understand magic was far more complicated than snapping fingers and wishing for something. Spellcasting for clientele could get complicated, which was one reason I preferred evicting ghosts. There wasn’t enough money in the world to get me to do love spells anymore.

“Think it’s safe to go on in?”

Marcus snorted. “That woman’s all talk, Granny can handle her easy.” Adjusting his wife beater, he pretended to check me out. “You know, I’ll be legal next year.”

Raising an eyebrow and pretending to check him out in turn, I said, “I’ll be sure and get you a card.”

He shook a finger. “If you weren’t my granny’s friend I’d tell you what you could give me for my birthday.”

Feigning shock, I winked as I started for the door.

The apartment smelled of candles and apple pie. TV trays were set up in various locations, serving as altars for ongoing spells. Lorraine stood in the doorway leading to the kitchen, a remote control in one hand, shaking her head. “I missed the last few minutes of
Days
because of that fool.”

“She seemed like a handful.”

She clicked off the TV and tossed the remote into the recliner. Indicating for me to follow, she entered the kitchen and opened the oven. I’d guessed right about the apple pie smell, she had one baking. Taking a seat at the table, I opened my backpack and fished out the CDs for Marcus.

“Some people just don’t understand. Just because you want to be with someone, just because you do everything you think you’re supposed to do, it doesn’t mean they have to want to be with you.” She brought glasses of iced tea to the table and sat.

“Rozella used to tell me there was only so much magic could do up against free will.”

“She was right. But you can’t tell that to someone like that girl.” She waved dismissively. “She don’t want to understand, my spells may be strong but his need to put his dick in anything that’ll have it is stronger.”

I grimaced, silently reaffirming my vow to never perform love spells. Drawing a plastic container from my backpack, I held it up so she could see it. “Why don’t you let me make you some coffee, Miss Lorraine.”

“Mmm.” She eyed the container. “Is that some of that chi-chi free trade organic stuff your cousin likes?”

“Sure is.”

I made coffee and we talked shop. We went into a back room for a few minutes to retrieve some supplies I needed to buy from her. The small space was full of little altars set up for workings, several candles burning for spells. Restocked with some necessary herbs and roots and fortified with a robust Kona blend, we sat at her kitchen table and got down to business.

“Have you noticed spirits doing strange things since the flood? Showing up in places other than their usual, ah, haunts? The Carnton general showed up at another house.”

Lorraine slapped her hand on the table, rings clanging on the surface. “That flood stirred up everything out there. I’ve never seen it this bad before but I’ve heard tell of it.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I got Marcus and myself on a bus out of New Orleans as fast I could. No way was I going to take that child and hole up in the Superdome or some place just as bad. We got
out
. It was weeks before we were settled enough I could start looking for people, trying to find out how bad the house was.”

“Was there any of it left?”

Lorraine shook her head, a tightness around her eyes I could identify with. “The foundation, that’s about all.” She paused for a moment. I wished I hadn’t asked about the house, thinking of my own home that would have to be demolished soon. She continued. “I didn’t see any of this with my own eyes, you understand. But I do trust the people I talked to. It can do enough damage when a person conjures up a great deal of energy, not that a single person can do as much as a storm like that. When that much natural energy is unleashed–” She shook her head. “We’re talking about something mighty powerful,
chere
. Look what chaos it created in our lives.”

“So just like Katrina and the flood here created chaos in our lives, the storms created chaos on the spiritual plane too? That’s what you’re saying?” It was a theory I’d been working my way toward for a while now but I’d wanted to talk to someone with more experience.

“Spirits get lost, ghosts haunting the wrong place. When that happens it can make even a benevolent ghost crazy. They don’t understand. They don’t know how to get home. New Orleans was bad for months. Neighborhoods with no people still living there. At night they say you could walk down the street and hear the spirits moan. Things that make snakes and alligators coming up out of the swamp look like child’s play. Something like that happens, it’s a hell of a lot of energy unleashed all at once. Creating havoc, putting people out of their homes, causing all kinds of damage. Not just to us, Roxie.” She fixed me with a deliberate stare. “We’re not the only ones that exist here.”