Riding the Storm (9 page)

Which
was not normal at all.

"Tell
me what you feel," he said, his hands firm against her upper back.

"I'm
cold," she whispered.

"You
don't feel cold to me at all," he whispered back. "I need you to
touch me—put your hands under my shirt and touch me."

She
complied, yanking his shirt out of his pants and putting her freezing cold
hands on his back. Her body molded to his, seeking his warmth. He bent his head
into her neck, closed his eyes so he could concentrate on the house ghost, who
was now seeking its own warmth from Annika.

This
was going to end in disaster. Annika knew it. No good had ever come of her
touching a man so intimately. "Why is this thing pissed?" she asked,
trying not to notice how hard, how cut he was beneath her fingers. She
definitely didn't need to note the raw sensuality emanating from him like some
sort of masculine power grid.

"It
wants possession of someone. It's attracted to your energy. And mine. But
together, we're too strong for it."

"I
swear to God, Creed, if you're making up this shit as an excuse to put your
paws on me…

Amusement
flickered in the black depths of his eyes as he looked down at her. "You
think I'm that desperate?"

"The
raging hard-on jabbing at me says yes."

He
thrust against her, his back arching, and her first instinct was to deck him.
Even as she curled her hands into fists, she noticed how his entire body had
gone rigid, his breath hissing through clenched teeth. No, this wasn't sexual.

"It's
trying to separate us. Hold on to me—fuck… Dev's parents. Murdered."

Okay,
she officially hated this paranormal shit. Dead people should not have this
much power. "Tell the fucker that everyone knows Dev's parents were
murdered. I'm not impressed."

"He
says… here. In the house." Creed strained like he was trying to breathe,
and she had no idea what to do except hold him like he'd told her to, and
Christ, now she was starting to get scared. Not of the ghost, but for Creed.
She just hoped his tagalong spirit, Kate, or Kat, or whatever she was called,
was helping him.

"So…
much… blood," he rasped.

"In
the house?"

"Where
we're standing."

A
chill that had nothing to do with the temperature ran through her. She hadn't
known exactly where Dev's parents had been killed, but now she couldn't help
but imagine them bleeding out in the spot where her feet were. Poor Dev.

Annika
hadn't known her birth father; her mother had never named him. And really,
she'd never known her mother either. But she did know that her mother had bled
to death, her throat slit, so she had an idea how Dev must feel about his
parents' murders.

A
presence broke in on her thoughts, a shadowy specter that writhed in the air
all around her, until icy tendrils snaked around her shoulders. Instantly, she
flooded her body with energy, too late realizing that the volts would pump into
Creed as well as the apparition. Energy sizzled across her skin, crackled in
her bones, stretched her muscles, and the cold fingers released her.
Thankfully, Creed relaxed, completely unaffected by the massive output of
electricity, just as before, when she'd tried to shock him out of his boots.

No
one had ever been immune to her power, but she didn't have time to think through
it because Creed dropped his head to her shoulder as though exhausted,
muttering a few choice curse words, "Did this thing kill Dev's
parents?"

"No
ghost could have done it," he said tightly, like he knew more than he was
saying, and was trying to protect her. If he only knew the things she'd seen
and done, he wouldn't worry about sheltering her ever again. Hell, he probably
wouldn't even look at her. "Not like that."

"Itor,"
she breathed. "Bastards. Why is the spirit telling you all this?"

"It's
trying to befriend me."

"Why?"

"It
wants something from me," he said, and holy crap, his breath was coming
out as white puffs of air, but she didn't detect a drop in temperature. This
thing must not want him talking. "Spirits hang around for a lot of
different reasons. Some have unfinished business. Sometimes, a spirit can get
confused, although that usually happens to little kids or adults who die a
quick, unexpected death and don't realize that they've passed on."

"So
which one is this?"

Creed
shivered, and she rubbed her palms up and down his back because, strangely, she
was the warm one now. And was it her imagination, or was one side of his body
colder than the other?

"This
one's a guilty conscience," he said, and all around them, the house seemed
to shudder in one large, collective sigh. "The spirit doesn't want to move
on because it knows it'll be judged harshly for what it's done."

"And
what, exactly, is that?"

"It
won't tell me."

She
became aware of his hands smoothing over her flesh, across her back, around her
waist, and when the tips of his fingers probed under the waistband of her very
low-slung jeans, her heart caught, mid-beat, but that didn't stop the pulse of
desire that shot straight to her core.

This
was so not happening. "Can we let go of each other now?"

"No.
It's not safe." His hands kept roaming, each circuit dropping a fraction
of an inch lower.

"My.
Ass," she ground out, wriggling to escape, but he closed his arms tighter
around her and buried his face in her neck.

"Shh,"
he whispered against her suddenly sensitive skin. "Kat is settling it
down, leading it away. It wants to use one of us, so as long as we're together,
we're okay. Too strong for it."

"Use
us?"

He
nuzzled her. "To get out. To talk. To get to who it really wants. Maybe
something worse. Not sure."

So
maybe he wasn't full of shit, but she seriously doubted that being together
required his hands on her butt. Or his erection at her belly.

But
wow, he was big. All over. She'd noticed his size before; he was hard to miss.
But being like this, against him, surrounded by him, she almost felt lost.

Then
again, that could be because no one had ever held her, no one but Dev and the
mother she didn't even remember, and she had no idea how to handle this kind of
close contact.

Especially
close contact that fired off sparks in every nerve ending and made her want to
rub herself even more intimately against him.

Creed
opened his mouth as if to say something—oh, please, something like,
The
spirit is gone so you can let go of me now
. Instead he took a deep,
shuddering breath and dragged his teeth over the tight cord in her neck.

"That
had better be some sort of ghost-hunting technique, McCabe," she ground
out, sounding a lot tougher than she felt, because right now her hips were
undulating of their own accord, responding to the utter eroticism of his touch.

"I'm
showing the spirit that it can't have either one of us."

Uh-huh,
she was going to throw down the bullshit flag on that one, and she would have,
except that he'd thrust his leg between hers and now she was rocking on his
muscular thigh, nearly panting at the delicious pressure there against her
center.

This
was shockingly arousing. Every tiny movement sent vibrations of pleasure surging
through her body. She could get off like this. Creed knew it, and he'd palmed
her ass to hold her firmly against him, used his strength to keep them both
upright.

Fuck.
This was not going to happen. It was too dangerous.

Besides,
she really hated Creed. Had ever since he'd turned her in for some stupid crap
on a mission two years ago.

So it
wasn't fair, that he could get her so hot by doing nothing more than feeling
her up
to fool the spirit
.

Yeah,
right.

Slowly,
deliberately, he ran his tongue, firm and wet, along her jawline to her ear.
The ball piercing flicked over her ear-lobe, sending a current of desire
sizzling down from her ear to her clit. She groaned, wondering how that magic
ball would feel elsewhere.

"Is
it gone yet?" Her voice was husky, too far gone with lust to pretend
otherwise.

He
slid his thigh back and forth between her legs twice, taking her to the edge,
before answering. "Yes."

"Bastard."
Her body screamed for release, but she pulled away, stood there glaring at him.
"For how long?"

He
shrugged. "Long enough to know you weren't acting."

God,
she wanted to light him up. Why couldn't she?

Maybe
the strange pulses his own body sent out made him immune to her electricity. Or
maybe the spirit that had been attached to him, reportedly since birth,
protected him.

Whatever
it was, Annika was annoyed.

And
strangely excited, because what if… Nah. Despite what had just happened, Creed
didn't want her any more than she wanted him. He was just like everyone else at
ACRO, jealous of her relationship with Dev. Sure, no one came right out and
said it, but they all thought she and Dev were knocking boots, which wasn't
true, but encouraging the rumor kept everyone at a distance.

"Are
we done? I need a shower. I have to get the ick of creep night off my
skin." Maybe she could wash away the feel of Creed too.

"We're
done."

She
marched down the hall toward her bedroom, and Creed followed, until she spun
around and slammed her hand into his chest. "What the hell are you
doing?"

"I
don't want to leave you alone. The spirit likes your energy."

"So
are you going to watch me shower, or what?"

"Do
you want me to? Because I don't have a problem with that."

"You're
such a jerk."

But
she didn't say no, because if he wanted to watch, she could put on one hell of
a show. Of course, Creed McCabe, the man who'd turned her in for breaking
rules, would never spy on a naked woman in a shower. Too bad too, because she
was horny, in serious need of relief, and she intended to get it.

Haley
stood next to Remy, her glass of ice water in one palm and her handheld
barometer in the other. When nothing happened, she lowered the device until it
rested against his arm in the lightest of touches. Still nothing.

Piss
him off or get him horny.

Remy
stirred, and the blanket that had been tangled between his knees slid into a
puddle on the floor, the fly of his cargos gaping even wider. The sun-bronzed
skin of his upper torso blended gradually into creamy perfection at the base of
the zipper. No tan lines marred his sleek beauty, as though he spent at least
some of his time outside in the nude, perhaps skinny-dipping.

Images
sifted through her mind, of Remy slipping naked into clear ocean waters, of
cutting across the surface with smooth, powerful strokes. She saw herself
joining him despite the fact that she hated the water, sliding her body against
his and using the wet friction to stir them into an erotic frenzy of limbs and
skin and tongues.

Oh,
man. Haley held the cool, sweating glass to her forehead and willed her pulse
to slow down. She wasn't given to daydreaming, preferring to expend her
creative abilities on deciphering weather mysteries, and this sudden shift in
behavior was not welcome. Besides, the flesh-and-blood man lay before her,
eminently real and touchable.

No
need to fantasize.

She
set the water and barometer on the coffee table and kneeled on the floor.
Gingerly, she skimmed a finger over his chest, recalling how his upper body,
broad and powerful, had looked outside in the light from the storm. How rain
had rolled in long streams through the deep-cut valleys between his back and
shoulder muscles.

She
let her fingertip follow her gaze down the line of crisp, brown hair to where
it grew thick between his legs, cushioning his sex. Stealing a glance at his
face, still peaceful in sleep, she pushed the flaps of his fly open wider. A
hot rush of anticipation shot through her at the sight of his shaft, swollen
and flushed, but not yet hard.

Wetting
her lips, she traced the veins along the underside, remembering how she'd
licked him there, how he'd tasted smoky, like hickory, and clean like the rain
that pelted him when he'd masturbated in the storm. Her ears still rang with
the echoes of the thunder that had grown louder and closer the faster his fist
pumped up and down on his hard cock.

She
glanced at the barometer and back. At rest, he didn't seem to affect electrical
equipment, but what if he became aroused? Became hot and sweaty and straining
inside his skin?

Remy
shifted, the couch creaking as he rolled from his side to his back. Gently, she
took him in her fist and stroked, setting a rhythm that matched her rapid
breathing.

He was
long, thick, and as blood began to flood the veins in a tide of heat, her own
sex spasmed as though remembering the incredible orgasms he'd given her. A rush
of moisture dampened the panties she'd put on after a quick shower earlier.
Damn, but she'd never wanted a man like this. Never had she felt so aroused, so
electrified, as if currents arced between each nerve ending.