Hot and Haunted (5 page)

Just as they thought, the van ran out of gas, but John proved to be as handy at siphoning from stalled vehicles on the side of the road as Danny had been at hot-wiring. With night falling, Anthony suggested they make camp. Mac didn’t look happy about it but agreed.

Cold food from cans and no fire in case there were any roaming packs of Resurrected—or worse, the Army or even other survivors with a more aggressive attitude. There wasn’t enough room in the van for everyone to sleep, but Lira would’ve slipped out of it anyway to stare up at the night sky and keep watch. Anthony slept in an empty pickup truck that had gone off the side of the road. She knew he was waiting for her to join him. But first . . . Mac.

“Hey.” She kicked at a stone and sent it rolling.

Mac, leaning against the front of the van, glanced at her. “Hey.”

Silence.

“He’s waiting for you,” Mac said after a few minutes in a voice low enough not to carry.

“I know.”

He turned to her, his expression hard to read in the shadows. She didn’t need to see his face to know what he was going to say. “About that night . . .”

“I know, Mac.” Lira stretched and smiled up at the stars, uncertain why she should feel such a sense of peace here and now, with the world falling apart all around them. “It’s okay.”

“Saying ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ is total fuckery,” Mac said. “All things considered.”

She turned to him. She took his hand and held it tight. “It happened because we both needed it to happen, and I’m not sorry. I don’t want you to be sorry. This whole world has become total fuckery.”

He nodded. She squeezed his hand. Let it go. She looked up at the stars again. Then, before he could stop her, she moved close and kissed him.

It wasn’t without passion, not without heat. His hands came up as though she’d startled him, but his mouth parted under hers. He settled his fingertips on her hips as though afraid to hold her more closely than that, and it was fine. The kiss didn’t linger, but it was sweet for all that. When she stepped back, she could see into his eyes.

Lira smiled. “No regrets.”

Mac shook his head, then gave her a small smile. “You could make a man rethink them even if he had them.”

She laughed at that and cupped his face for a moment. “Good night, Mac.”

In the back of the pickup, Anthony waited. Lira crawled in on top of him. She straddled him without saying a word.

Anthony said her name, just that. She stopped him with the brush of her lips on his. She tangled her fingers in his hair and held his mouth to hers, then moved her lips along his jaw to nip at the sensitive spot below his ear. She could feel him getting hard through his jeans, and she rocked herself against him.

He said her name again when she nibbled at his throat, but when she pushed his shirt up to get at his belly, all he could manage was a sharp sigh. She knew his body so well already, yet each time seemed new when she explored his skin with her mouth and hands. His nipples pebbled under her tongue when she licked them, and gooseflesh rose on his skin. When she pulled open his button and zipper to slide her hand inside, to take his erection in her hand, Anthony stopped her.

“What about him?”

“I’m not with him. I’m with you.”

Anthony said nothing.

“We can talk about that if you want,” she said, stroking his length. “If you think it matters, Anthony. But, I can tell you, it doesn’t. It really doesn’t.”

Again, he put his hand over hers, though this time he let her keep moving it up and down. “Does it matter to him?”

She paused to look seriously into his eyes. “No. I don’t think so.”

“It would to me.”

She smiled a little. “I know. I’m not asking for forgiveness. Just understanding.”

There it was, right out there, and she wasn’t sure what he’d say. But Anthony nodded after a second, his hand still on hers as it stroked him. He grimaced a little, though not with pain.

“I understand. Hell, I wish I didn’t. But I guess I do.”

She kissed him again and tugged his bottom lip between her teeth. Anthony laughed, low. His hips pushed upward, her hand trapped in the front of his jeans and capable only of the smallest range of motion. She needed him naked, and fast.

Together, they worked to get themselves free of their clothes. Kissing, hands moving, his fingers found her heat and slipped inside while his mouth kept her gasp from being too loud. Anthony slid his mouth from hers to take her nipples, sucking one at a time. First gently. Then harder, flicking each with his tongue until she writhed beneath him. Her hips rocked. She ached for him. His thumb pressed her clit as he fucked his fingers inside her. Then, his cock.

So good. Always so good. He moved inside her, and not even the hard metal bed of the pickup could detract from that pleasure. Lira hooked her heels around his calves to urge him deeper. Faster. Harder.

But Anthony didn’t give her what she wanted, not at first. No, damn him, he insisted on easing his cock in and out of her. Teasing her with the tip before sliding in all the way. Adding a twist of his pelvis against her clit that had her hips bucking upward, trying to maximize the sensation.

“You’re making me crazy,” she whispered.

Anthony laughed. “I know.”

So she gave herself up to it and let him do what he wanted. Slow, slow, and sweet. It went on forever, and above her, the stars seemed to move across the sky. She closed her eyes, ignoring the stars to focus instead on the tension curling and twisting inside her.

When at last he started moving faster, she came in a series of shuddering ripples, over and over, one orgasm leading directly into the next until she couldn’t keep track. Everything had become sensation.

Everything had become love.

He kissed her hard when he came. His final thrust sent another shock wave of climax through her, and his kiss swallowed her gasp. Forehead to forehead, her fingers threaded through the sweat-damp hair at the back of his neck, he slowed and stopped. Still inside her, Anthony opened his eyes.

“Only this,” Lira said hoarsely. “And nothing else matters.”

Chapter Five

I
N FRONT OF
them, a mountain rose. Set into it was a set of garage doors. Inside them, cool air, carved stone walls, long corridors, and closed doors, and a welcoming party consisting of . . . a little girl on roller skates?

“Hi,” she said. “I’m Maddy. Have you come to play?”

Lira and Mac exchanged a look. He stepped forward. “We’re looking for a safe place to stay.”

“My dad says this place is the safest.” Maddy did a swirling circle on her skates and tossed them a grin over her shoulder. “Come on, I’ll take you to where the grown-ups are.”

As easy as that. It helped that Mac’s buddy vouched for him, so that even though some of the survivalists grumbled at opening their doors to a bunch of newcomers, the others, who were eager for news of the world outside, outvoted the naysayers. Most of the group also agreed they didn’t feel right turning away Heather, whose baby was still refusing to be born. Besides, as Mac pointed out, if a little girl on skates could make the rest of the place her personal playground, wasn’t the safety of their entire group undermined?

Maybe it hadn’t been so easy after all, Lira thought as she closed the door behind a suspicious-faced woman who’d shown them to the private room with a completely fitted-out shower just down the hall. Group dynamics got more difficult, not easier, with more people. And more supplies didn’t necessarily make people more generous. Still, for now they were safe and secure, well fed and bathed and comfortable.

None of them seemed sick, at least not yet.

“I’m not sure about this,” Anthony said from the bed. He wore clean clothes, provided by the survivalists, and he’d availed himself of the shower too. He propped himself up on an elbow. “Too easy.”

“Mac knows the guy,” Lira said. “That helped.”

Anthony shook his head. “Still . . . all these people supposedly paid a lot of money to get a share in this place. You think they’d just let us in?”

“Have you seen the size of it? There’s plenty of room.” Lira settled next to him. She ran a hand over his thigh to rest on his hip. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”

He laughed and pulled her closer to slip a thigh between hers. “So are you.”

She tipped her face to his for a kiss, then pressed her face against his chest for a few seconds before looking up at him again. “It does seem weird here. Yes.”

“Yeah, that kid. Maddy.” Anthony shook his head again. “What’s up with her?”

Lira had no idea. “Well, we’re here now. Safe and warm, full of food. Not a bad place to be.”

“No.” He stroked a hand over her damp hair.

He kissed her again, a little harder this time. His mouth urged hers to open. The swift flicker of his tongue made her first giggle, then gasp. When his thigh pressed upward between her legs, rocking on her clit, Lira stopped worrying about the weird little girl or how easy it had been for them to be taken in by these strangers, or about anything else. There’d be plenty of time for caution and wariness . . . later.

They took their time peeling away the borrowed clothes. When they were bare, Lira ran her hands all over his body, rediscovering all the places she’d already explored. Anthony lay back, hands behind his head, watching her stroke her palms over his chest, her fingertips tweaking at his nipples until his eyes closed, and he sighed. When she curled a fist around his cock and stroked downward, slowly, then up again, he smiled.

His body was still a fascination. She couldn’t remember ever seeing it in normal lighting before. She looked up to see him watching her.

“You’re so beautiful,” she said.

Anthony snorted soft laughter. “That’s what I’m supposed to say to you.”

She didn’t feel beautiful. Maybe that would come in time. For now, Lira let herself relish the lines and curves of his body: his flat belly with its crinkle of hair; his firmly muscled arms and chest and thighs. She lost herself in every part of him.

Her mouth found his cock, thick and throbbing. She took her time, delighting in every sigh, every twitch. When his hips pumped upward, and his hand, at last, became tangled in her hair, she smiled. He cried her name when she slid him inside her pussy. She let her head loll back as she moved. Anthony pressed his thumb against her clit in a perfect counterpoint to every thrust.

There was no hurry but no hesitation. She rode him a little harder, a little faster. She was so wet for him that his thumb slipped and slid against her until it spun her into desperate shudders of pleasure. Her body gripped him. Her hands, flat on his belly, curved and dug into his skin. Anthony thrust harder, fucking deeper, until he came with a hoarse shout.

Lira leaned forward, her hair curtaining them, to kiss his mouth. “I love you, Anthony. I love you.”

He held her close and whispered the words in return, and she gave herself up to him all over again.

The world had changed. So had society. Only time would tell if any of them had fallen sick, or why the Resurrected were changing. Only time would lead them through to whatever was going to happen next. Lira had no idea what that might be, but as she settled next to Anthony on the bed that was plenty big enough for two, she knew that whatever it was, she was ready for it.

P
ICK
M
E
U
P

Lauren Hawkeye

Chapter One

“
I
HOPE
I didn’t scare you.”

I sat in the passenger seat of the car, soaked to the skin. Outside raged one of those freakish summer storms, you know the ones, where the air is so heavy and hot that you’d swear you could eat it with a spoon. Yet the water still fell, slick silver sheets of it, warm like a bath. All the while, the thunder and lightning cracked through the thick sky, rather like a loaf of bread that had baked for too long.

I studied the man who sat behind the wheel. He was a lanky one, slightly awkward-looking, with his plaid oxford shirt buttoned crookedly and sticking to his slightly sweaty skin. Still, I liked the way the curls of his light brown hair tumbled into his eyes, how his thickly rimmed glasses sat on his nose, even how his brow furrowed as he tried to think of a way out of our predicament.

I knew that I should be thankful to him for swerving to avoid me, which landed his car in the ditch—I had been standing in the middle of the road, after all—but I knew that most men would be hard-pressed to drive by a woman standing in the rain, a woman whose white dress had gone completely transparent in the wet.

I knew that I was okay-looking; attractive even, on a good day. I also knew that I looked good wet. My hair was a bright, unnatural red that darkened only a bit in the rain and stood out like a beacon. And while I’d always been self-conscious about my hourglass shape, most men seemed to enjoy my curves.

I didn’t normally think about my looks too much. They were just there, a part of me, as they’d always been, just as I’d always had ten fingers and ten toes. But tonight, I knew, they were necessary to my success. Again, not many men were going to miss the chance to pick up a wet, decently attractive woman who stood out like a sore thumb in the middle of a dark, quiet, rural road.

I looked at the man again. He was frowning. He caught me looking, and said, abruptly, “No, you didn’t scare me. I was just worried that I’d hit you.”

I found it sweet, this concern from a stranger. The first thought of many men would be to check the damage to their car, but not this one, no. He was there, with me, in the steamy hot interior of the vehicle, assuring himself that I was okay.

“My name’s Holly.” I shifted toward his warm mass in the driver’s seat, posturing like this more out of habit than a genuine desire to expose the deep cleavage I had on display; still, I found myself somewhat disappointed that he didn’t look.

“Brody.” He spared a quick glance at my face before continuing his drumbeat on the steering wheel.

Hmm. Not the most talkative of men. Still, I’d always been good at getting people to talk, even when they didn’t want to, and I certainly had no intention of sitting in a car as quiet as a tomb for however long it took the situation to reverse itself.

I didn’t spend much time thinking about how, exactly, that would happen. I’d always preferred to take things as they came.

“Wow, it’s hot in here.” I knew this was stating the obvious, but Brody’s refusal to look at me roused something inside. As I spoke, I wiped a bead of sweat away from my collarbone, then allowed my fingers to trail downward, toward my breasts.

Still nothing. He was either made of steel or wasn’t attracted.

After the debacle of this afternoon, I needed him to be attracted.

“What do you do, Brody?” I studied his profile. He was actually pretty cute, with that yummy cream-colored skin, the skin of someone who doesn’t get outside much even in the hot midst of summer.

Myself, I love being outdoors in the sunnier months. Consequently, I’m thrilled with the color of my own skin, a delicious golden brown all over—the color of French toast.

I wondered what Brody would do if I told him that I sunbathe in the nude. I don’t always—I’m usually afraid that someone will see—but once in a while, when I’m feeling especially brave, I will risk it.

Finally, he answered my question. “I’m an optometrist.”

I tried to squelch the fact that I was impressed but couldn’t quite. I really liked brainy men. Still, I didn’t plan on telling him about my graduate work. No, my story tonight was that I was a dancer, of the erotic variety—though I’d had years of professional training, of course, thank you very much. It’s just that stripping paid a lot more than tiptoeing through
Swan Lake,
and a girl’s got to look out for number one.

Or so my cover said.

Not that he’d asked. How was I supposed to play the game if he didn’t ask? How was I supposed to scratch the angry itch that had been plaguing me all afternoon, the one that had started skittering along my skin after I’d seen that home movie, the one starring my supposedly loving fiancé?

Well, good things come to those who wait, or so they say. And so we sat, the only sound that of the water splatting down onto the car, evaporating into steam wherever it landed.

“What were you doing out there?” He looked mildly irritated that I was stupid enough to be caught out in the rain. Ha. Little did he know. But I was delighted that he had finally shown some interest, and so I decided to ignore the derisive look that he shot my way.

“I had a fight with my boyfriend,” I told him, twirling a rope of damp red hair around my index finger. Plump droplets of water spilled from the wet tail and landed on my shoulder, where I massaged them into my already damp, dewy skin. “I told him to let me out, and he did. I just needed a second to cool off, to get away from him for a minute, but he drove away, so here I am.”

“Nice guy.” He raised an eyebrow, and I shrugged, anticipation starting to fizz through my veins now that he was finally,
finally
playing along.

“He’s all right. It was my fault, really. I was pestering him about where he was last night, that’s all.” I looked at him, trying my best to make my eyes look catlike and deep. “I guess he didn’t much want to talk about it.”

“Sounds like a real prince.” He drummed his fingers on the wheel some more and fidgeted in his seat. I wondered if he was one of those type-A personalities, one of those people who always needed to be doing something.

Personality analyses aside, he seemed agitated, so I asked, stating the obvious, “Are you sure we’re stuck?” The look that he shot me would have withered a weaker soul, but weak I’m not and never have been, though getting engaged to Kyle might support an argument for that side. I stared back, impudently, and continued. “Have you checked?”

After a long, irritated glance, he shook his head, and I thought that I might have heard a chuckle, a very soft one. Good, he wasn’t completely implacable. He dug a bright yellow flashlight out of the glove compartment and, with an exasperated sigh, let himself out into the night to make sure that we were, indeed, stuck.

Of course he had a flashlight. He probably had a first-aid kit and survival rations, too. He seemed like the type.

I watched through the rain-splattered window. Normally I’d have been the first one out of the car—well, the real me would have been. The character that I’d created for myself tonight wouldn’t have budged an inch, though, certain that a man would do whatever was required for her, so I fought the fidgets and stayed still. It wasn’t that much of a hardship to watch him trudge through the rain, after all—I hadn’t really been able to tell before, but Dr. Brody the Optometrist actually had a pretty nice build. He was tall, almost ridiculously so, and lean too. I could see the outlines of firm muscles as he braced against the car, though, muscles that saved him from being gawky, and, involuntarily, I licked my lips. Licked them, then chastised myself.

Tonight was just to prove a point to myself. That was all. I was through with men, for the time being at any rate. But before the night was over, I’d feel better about myself, so help me whoever was up there.

Still, Dr. Brody the Optometrist might not be such a bad candidate to pass the time with, after all. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea of some alone time with him.

Brody stumbled back into the car, drenched. With him came a blast of heat, a slice of the thick, gooey night, and the syrupy warmth felt good on my damp skin.

“Well?” I asked, thinking that maybe the breathy Marilyn Monroe tone I’d been practicing would ease the harsh sound of the question.

Then again, maybe not, because he shot me an exasperated glare. “Yes. We’re stuck. Completely, totally, and utterly stuck.”

His tone sent tendrils of anger curling through my system.

“Are you sure?” It occurred to me that Brody the Brain might be annoyed by the pestering questions of a little redhead who was silly enough to get out of a car in the middle of a thunderstorm. Getting a reaction, however, was half the point. My complete lack of self- consciousness—conscious self-consciousness, I snickered to myself—though, seemed to intrigue him, so that he was amused rather than insulted when he replied.

“Yes, I am sure,” he told me in a voice not all that different from what might be used on a slightly addle-brained toddler. “The bumper is wedged into the side of the ditch, and the wheels are glued down in mud.”

“Oh.” I blinked flirtatiously. “Well, what do you want to do to pass the time?”

“There’s not much we
can
do,” I was informed. “We’ve called Triple A. They’re backed up for hours because of the storm. All I have in here is a bottle of cheap wine, which I was planning on drinking tonight—and that obviously isn’t going to happen—and a magazine, and anyway, it’s too dark to read.”

“You have a flashlight,” I pointed out, genuinely intrigued by the last possibility. “What kind of a magazine? Is it dirty, Doc?”

I was kidding—mostly—but when he just stared, seemingly taken aback by my brashness, I grinned, a genuine smile, knowing that I’d caught him red-handed and that he was slightly embarrassed to admit it.

Taking his silence for affirmation, I chuckled with genuine amusement. I couldn’t say I’d ever read a skin magazine, but once again, I’d succeeded in getting a reaction—and heaven knew there wasn’t much else to do. Kneeling in my seat, I reached into the back, rooting around until I found the glossy magazine in its brown paper bag.

The position afforded Brody an excellent view of my ass in the clingy wet cloth, and, from the harsh intake of his breath as I wriggled, he definitely noticed.

I settled into my seat again, clicking the flashlight on. I tore the protective plastic off the magazine and noticed out of the corner of my eye that Brody was at a complete loss for words. I could just imagine what was going through his head—never before had he come across a woman who was even remotely interested in the smutty magazines that most men collect by the dozens. Was he supposed to look at it with me? Politely turn away? Hell,
he
hadn’t even read the damn thing yet.

I was silent as I turned the pages, shining the light on each slick surface, studying, absorbing as he watched and pretended not to. Slowly, I became aware, very aware of his breathing; at first light and deep, it got faster and shallow whenever he saw something he liked.

I heard a light, barely whispered curse and flicked my eyes his way just in time to see his cock twitch against the rough denim of his jeans. I held in a smirk, knowing that, if he was anything like most men, he’d be thinking frantically of the last baseball game he’d seen, just so that he wouldn’t disgrace himself in front of a stranger.

Personally, I couldn’t see that it would be all his fault if he did. What kind of woman sits brazenly in a stranger’s car, in a dress made sheer by the rain, looking eagerly at a porn mag? In fact, I’d be thrilled if he gave away his rising excitement, dangerous as I knew the game that I was playing was. It didn’t make me feel very good about myself, what I was about to do, and yet the nagging voice inside my head kept urging me to do it. I needed something, anything about myself to cause a big reaction, the big bang that showed me I wasn’t worthless. That I wasn’t frigid, or cold, or boring enough to drive a man into another woman’s arms. Again.

Really, I should have planned this elaborate scenario for Kyle—he was the one I wanted to punish, after all. But Kyle wasn’t here, so Brody would have to do.

With a look on his face that showed that he knew he was in slightly over his head, Brody reached into the backseat and procured the bottle of wine from its bag. It was a cheap bottle, with a screw-on lid, which he cracked open. He gulped noisily, big swallows that I could see working down his throat, making his Adam’s apple bob. He offered the bottle to me. I sipped, and merlot slid down my throat, rich and sweet, and I felt slightly better when my blood began to hum with the effects of the alcohol.

To be polite, I refrained from drinking too much and instead turned and offered the bottle back. He grasped it gratefully but spilled crimson liquid on his hand as he saw that the magazine, spread wide open in my lap, was displaying a close-up view of a thin redhead, one who bore enough of a resemblance to me that I was sure he’d make the connection. The erotic connection, since the woman was contorted into a position that left nothing, absolutely nothing, to the imagination.

I wanted him to see me that way. Wanted him to want me like that, wanted it with an urgency that overtook everything else I was feeling. Really, I couldn’t have planned it better.

“Wanna see?” I handed him the magazine in a calculated gesture; he dutifully looked at it again, studying it so soberly that I fought the urge to chuckle. He shifted in his seat, trying, I assumed, to assuage the ache that was starting deep in his groin as he studied the picture of the woman. Her left hand had strayed down, down to the juncture of her naked thighs. Long, slender fingers caressed a deeply toned clit, a clit that was displayed between two fleshy, naked lips like a pit in a ripe, juicy peach.

When his eyes began to dilate, and his gaze slid to the girl’s right hand, which was frozen on her tiny, tart-looking nipples, I reached for his hand. He jumped at the touch, and rich red wine sloshed out of the glass bottle, painting his skin with its color. I sipped the spilled wine from his hand, bit by bit, grinning internally as he shifted, brutally quick, to arrange the magazine in his lap.