Grave Robber for Hire (14 page)

That fight had been too ugly, too scary, and I had no idea what the hell trapped me. Especially not what Clyde turned into after he’d buried those two boys. Besides, I wanted to forget it happened. Recounting it would bring it into focus like a zit in a three times zoom mirror, big ugly and inflated. Forget the encounter, return to my happy, nothing really bad can happen to me oblivion. Oblivion’s good.

I hoped the restaurant had cheesecake. That slide into time felt like a cheesecake event.

Scotch now and then cheesecake for desert from the restaurant should help me find oblivion for a while, because I knew soon, tomorrow, I’d have to meet Josey Richards again.

Just the thought of that bitch made my butt cheeks clench. I had a putrid feeling in the pit of my shit scared soul, Josey Richards was the same thing—
thing
being the word, as Clyde. I needed to see her again to assess, and much to my mental freak out, touch.

But not now, tonight was for forgetting.

I dug out a dress I’d bought only yesterday, or a millennium ago, and ripped off the tag in a hard yank. The split of fabric made my eyes nearly roll back in my head. At half price, and still two hundred dollars, I couldn’t believe I’d just torn it. A soft plaintive, “mother-fucking-bullshit,” left my lips.

If the day didn’t start improving, I was locking myself inside the room and ordering in.

“That didn’t sound great.”

Bottom lip wedged under my top teeth, I glared at Tyreal, gathered the fabric in my hand, peered at what ripped, and blew out a big huff of air. “Just tore the label.” I found underwear and tossed them on the bed.

A very male whistle lit the air blue. “Nice thong. But it’s so tiny why wear it. Knowing you’ve got nothing on under your dress would really increase my appetite. Nice matching strapless bra.”

“Pretend you didn’t see them.”

“Cause I’ve gone blind from lust? Could happen, put them on so we can see.”

“No, cause you aren’t going to see them on me. They’ll be under my dress—including the thong.” Especially the thong.

“Dang. Man’s born with an imagination for a reason. And mine, Princess, is galloping.”

Sweet Jesus, I’d never had any guy so determined to screw me.
And
I’d never put up such a fight. “Where’s that scotch?”

Tyreal passed me the bottle, and nodded a smile of approval at the red off the shoulder dress I re-smoothed on the bed. “My night’s improving with each second.”

I sipped my scotch then did a super suck and felt reborn. “What kills demon like creatures?”

Stripped to the waist, Tyreal stopped digging in his bag. “Demons? Odd question. Who knows? I doubt they can be killed if they exist.” He picked up and sipped at a glass of straight scotch he’d poured himself.

Couldn’t be killed. Oh happy thought.

Josey and Clyde: the
unkillables.

Chapter 12

Dressed in my little red dress,
with
underwear, and thinking about unkillable creatures, I sipped another scotch ordered from the restaurant’s bar and looked longingly at the desert counter. I’d poisoned my liver with a lot of booze in the last week. More than everything I drank over the previous year added together.

I looked at Tyreal as he scanned the menu. “I think you’re making me drink.” Him, monsters and living
daymares.

He looked at my alrea
dy half scoffed scotch, and pointed to it and his as the waiter walked by and nodded. “Maybe I’m bringing out the real you.”

“So the real me is a lush?”

“Oh you’re lush, Princess, but you’re not
a
lush. You’ve hit a shit storm of a case, probably far worse than I know since you won’t show and tell. If this afternoon’s race to the bathroom is any indication of your time dives, I’m surprised you’re not permanently clutching a bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag, and passed out. The fact you’re not, tells me you’re strong.”

I flexed my bicep and Tyreal raised his brows. “I did pass out.” Which was kind of, okay,
really embarrassing
, but not as much as it should be since he’d been so cool about it. Tyreal might be a man, but he wasn’t a jerk.

“True, but it happened so fast I reckon drinking a whole bottle isn’t a regular event. After what I saw earlier on your hands, the terror on your face, tonight I’m expecting a bender. I’ll pick you up, tuck you in.”

“Thanks.” A bender would be good. It might allow me to frigging sleep. I had a feeling shark toothed red eyed creatures would keep me awake long after the bottle gasped its last drop. “Our bottle of scotch upstairs is empty,” I tapped my glass with my manicured nail. “If I drink enough, could be I grow balls and tell you what I went through earlier.” The waiter returned, put down our drinks and took our meal order.

Tyreal lifted his glass in a mock salute. “To drinking enough to share nightmares.”

I gave him a half smile and looked around the room. No Viggo. Food ordered, and he was a no show. Maybe to replace the one Clyde charred, Vig was out having a new shirt hand loomed. And who or what was Conan? Tyreal’s distant ancestor all big and buff with a shiny sword. Why was he helping me?

“Penny.”

“For what?”

He studied my bare shoulders, ran his gaze down to my chest. “I have a feeling you’re holding out on me.”

I’d started to feel a bit light headed. “Holding out on what? Sex, yes I’m definitely holding out on you there.”

“
Great, but I also want to know what goes on in your other world and why you were in such a mess when I arrived in the room before.”

“Some things are best left unsaid.”

“You look like you need to relax. After our meal I’ll give you a relaxing massage.”

Dinner finished, sipping a final scotch, I quietly freaked about what Viggo could do, had done, to save me. Not the fighting, I’d seen him fight Sasha to save me and Aunt Glynnis. Lighting up and throwing balls of light—yeah that was new. My guardian had some major
mo-jo going on. But then he never wanted to harm Sasha, just keep me safe. At least that was what Vig always said.

And he could obviously traverse time. I’d left him in 1875, then minutes later he popped into the now. Time-travel in the truest sense. I could only take a peek, but he’d been surrounded, immersed in another time and world. Big bright show off. No fair, I want to truly jump time too. I could wear groovy outfits and go shopping.

I looked carefully at Tyreal’s features, imagined his hair shoulder length and straight. “You ever wield a sword?”

“Might have waved a plastic one around as a kid. Why?”

“Just wondering.”

Tyreal finished his coffee. “Go upstairs and I’ll give you that massage, just give me five.”

I should protest, but massages are so hard to resist from anyone. Hunky masseuses—never. And my shoulders did ache.

#

Not long after and once more upstairs in our still shared room, I opened the door and let Tyreal in. He handed me a pretty yellow gift bag. Feeling a tad surprised, I opened it and pulled out a triangular bottle. “Sensuality massage oil.” My brows shot to hair-line heights. “Didn’t they have ‘I’m a friend helping out a friend’, oil?”

“Not today.”

I cracked the lid. “Smells divine anyway. Where and how do you want me?”

“Bad phrasing if you want to stay friends. Since you’re pulling all the friendship strings here, you better change into real underpants, huge, cotton, and ugly.”

“See what I can find.” I wouldn’t own undies like that for a joke.

In the bathroom, I’d stripped and had my thong around my ankles when a knock cracked loudly on the door. My toe hooked in the side strap, I hit the floor tiles with my hip, and managed to hold my cast arm above the impact zone. “
Aughhhhh.”

The door burst open. Tyreal hunkered down, checked me out. “No breaks?”

Through clenched teeth so I wouldn’t howl like a two year old toddler, I muttered. “Bruised, gonna be a whooper.” As if I didn’t have enough war wounds already.

He bent, helped me up. Stared at the thong hanging off my ankle and did that brain sucking smile. He lifted his gaze up to my boobs and kept smiling. “Should I ask how a thong knocked you to the ground or just imagine?”

“Neither. Turn around. You keep staring at my boobs.”

“I’m a guy. Guys do that. Boobs are interesting. I find yours
very
interesting.” He tilted his head and stared at my butt.

“You’re not exactly shy, are you?”

He wrapped a towel around me as I flicked off my thong that was still hanging tenaciously on my ankle. He tucked in the towel so it wouldn’t slip, then ran his fingers along the edge. “No. Shy is for guys who are bad in bed. I’m not.”

I gave him a toothy grin. “A guy?”

“Jesus you’re bad for my ego. Out and I’ll rub.”

“Why did you knock? It was you knocking that made me fall.”

“Oh yeah, I got a phone call from Tony.”

I gave him my blank look. I can do blank well. Although I’m not sure I should boast. Fake blonde, big
boobed, and blank—I’m such a cliché.

“Tony, the detective I had the beer with today. Josey was released this afternoon. Tony has details about the club she’s working tonight. Since it’s just in Kings Cross, I’m going to help the local cops for old-time’s sake and go to the club. She knows the local cops and Tony thinks Josey has another cellar where she tortures … clients.”

“Ooh-ooh-ooh.” I raised up and down on my toes. “You’re going to a kink club? I want to go too.”

“No. She knows you, it wouldn’t be safe.”

I bounced on my toes again but stopped myself from begging. “I’ve never been to a fetish club. Might prove educational.”

“They’re educational alright. These clubs aren’t like dance clubs, Princess. I don’t think you’d like what you’d see.”

“And you would? Cause you’ve been to them before?”

“I was a local cop in Kings Cross, I’ve friggin
g seen it all. But no, curiosity killed the Princess, fetish is not my scene. So you know, I’m more vanilla with an upgrade of nuts or chocolate sauce occasionally, but happy with vanilla.”

“Vanilla?”

“Normal sex, hot heavy and adventurous, but normal.”

I wasn’t sure many work colleagues shared such insights. “With nuts and chocolate?”

He tugged the towel, peeked in, and laughed when I slapped his hand. “I like to play.”

I put my hand up. I was so going to go blind tonight from masturbating. I walked out and hopped onto the bed, fell face down, and lowered my towel to butt level. Then I prayed I didn’t orgasm when he touched me. That would be just sad, but I hadn’t had sex in a really long time.

“What does Tony want you to do, wait around all night and follow her?”

Tyreal sat beside me on the bed. I heard him rubbing his hands together fast and a squelching. Then he placed his wa
rm oil slick hands on my skin. The scent of the oil almost vibrated through the air in thick aromatic wisps. He rubbed up and across my shoulders, ran his thumbs deeper into my stiff muscles.

I levitated off the mattress. “Holy-mother, that’s sore.”

“Shh, stay still.”

He kept digging. I kept swearing. Until some muscles softened and I moaned in a mix of pleasure and pain. “Dig deep, those knots are monsters.” He owned hands of gold, and now knew I could say the word, shit, two hundred times in a row with differing emotions. I really needed to marry this man.

“Knots? This is like trying to massage a wood plank. You need to look after your body better.”

“More massages you mean?” Yeah. Yeah, from him.

“Mmm,” was all he said.

My mind left, travelled into a time zone where minutes passed in a blur, and his hands became part of my body. I totally zoned out into an almost meditative state. Time passed, my back soaked in sensuality, all the way to the curve of my buttocks became as soft as overdone noodles. Tyreal lowered the towel.

I heard him swallow, take a deep breath. He dug his thumbs into my rather soft flesh. Blinding acid pain shafted down my ass, then shot down my right leg.

“
Auggg.” I twisted, and slapped his hand away from my butt. “You monster you had me zoned.”

He lifted my hands above my head. “
Shh.” He rubbed and dug and my butt felt hot and swollen and oddly mellow. Apparently butts could feel mellow—who knew? Minutes later, half asleep and also horribly turned on, I wiggled on the bed. Horrible because I was so horny I could imagine orgasming with just a dirty thought.

Tension filled me in a whole different way. Maybe if I flipped over, he’d rub other things, relieve
that
knot. Yes, no, yes, no—too late.

I flipped over. “I need to relax further.” I grabbed his shirt, hauled his face to mine and kissed him. It was hot and haunting, dark and possessive, and that was just me. His return lit my entire world. I slid back, sitting at the same time, allowing him to slide between my legs. The towel bunched between our hips, but I could still feel all that indecent hardness.

I ran a hand down, flicked open the button of his trousers, unpeeled the zip half way. What lay underneath pressed eagerly into my hand.
Hee-hee-hee
. “Oh boy.”

He kissed me till my toes were excited and the little one curled.

“Reward me like that for penis compliments I’ll think of more.” I tugged down his zip completely, until his angry erection pulsed out. It was mine, mine, mine, all mine. “We have a problem.”

He sobbed out a breath as I stroked my hand down it. “We do?”

“Yeah it’s dead.”

“My dick’s dead?”

He looked at it and scowled. “Looks lively and mighty happy to me.”

“It’s purple and has rigor mortis.” I slid my hand down it once and backup to the tip, felt it twitch and jerk, heard Tyreal gasp. It was velvet and silk, steel and fire, and throbbed with urgent life.

Hooded eyes sensuously dark and intense held my gaze. “Maybe it needs resuscitating.”

“Men.” I grinned, pushed him, so he now kneeled. I came to my knees and undid a shirt button then another. At each exposed fraction of flesh, I showered his skin with hot kisses, nips, and licks. I wanted him to anticipate what he was about to receive. Have him begging, moaning my name. His hand fisted in my hair as I lowered, his body quivered, he moaned, and undulated. His phone rang.