Kiss of the Phantom: Sexy Paranormal (Book 3, Phantom Series) (20 page)

“A particularly crafty fiend by the name of Gemma Von Roan.”

***

“He’s not bluffing,” Gemma said, a humorless chuckle in her voice. Paschal held the phone to his shoulder while Ben waited on the other end of the line. If anyone could accurately predict Farrow Pryce’s next move, it was his former partner in crime. “He’ll melt those coins with glee if he thinks Mariah’s going to die a slow and painful death as a result. She’s committed the ultimate sin—she denied him something he wants and humiliated him in the process. I’ve never met her, but tell her she’s my new best friend.”

Paschal returned to the line and repeated what Gemma said, then added, “I’d advise you to have Mariah free Rafe from the stone and then just trade the marker for the coins, but freeing the phantom doesn’t entirely diminish the magic of the object. If Pryce has both the sword and the stone, there’s no telling how much power he’ll have at his disposal. He could go after the Source, and I’m sure you’ll agree that’s not a good idea. The K’vr leadership is small potatoes next to what he could do with such extreme power.”

His son agreed, but made him promise (again) to be careful and stay put in Florida until he, Cat, Rafe and Mariah took care of the problem. Paschal nearly asked to speak to Rafe, but then thought better of it. He didn’t want technology between him and his youngest brother. They’d never been particularly close, and centuries had only added to their separation. He did not wish to exchange small talk. He wanted to look his brother in the eyes and apologize for taking so long to find him.

Paschal slipped the phone into his pocket and watched Gemma twirl Rafe’s flute, which she hadn’t relinquished since her vision at the K’vr headquarters.

“Anything new?” he asked.

She looked up at him, just as surprised that he was off the phone as he was by the fact that she was still playing with the flute. Below, waves from the Atlantic Ocean ebbed and flowed across the Florida shore in a steady, hypnotic rhythm. The balcony of their suite at the Crown Chandler St. Augustine was lovely, but Paschal longed to return to Isla de Fantasmas, where this entire matter had begun.

“I was just thinking,” she said.

“About?”

She balanced the flute on the tip of her finger, a task made more difficult by the insistent night breeze. “The magic. My newly discovered ability. The combination of the two. I mean, I can copy paranormal powers, right? That’s what you believe.”

“Yes,” he answered cautiously.

“Then if I’m in the presence of someone who is controlling Rogan’s magic, then I’ll be able to steal that, too, right?”

Paschal’s mouth dried. He had no idea whether she could steal the magic, but her ambition was precisely what made her so intriguing. The woman was driven and ruthless in her need to rule the K’vr, but just like Pryce, her ambitions could explode, if given the right opportunity.

But he also knew better than to lie.

“I have no idea what will happen when you are exposed to the magic,” he responded.

Despite the progress she’d made in finding her authentic self, her grin was every bit as hungry as the first time he’d met her.

“Then what are we waiting for?” she asked, standing. “Let’s go find out.”

“You should let him in,” Ben said the moment the door shut behind Cat, who had offered to take Rafe on a tour of the hotel. Mariah was glad for time to think, though she wished Ben had left, too. Gemma Von Roan hadn’t been much help. She’d only verified that they had every reason to fear Farrow Pryce if he had magic at his disposal. Even she was scared. So instead of using the rest of the night to sleep, they’d been plotting until now—only an hour from daybreak.

“Who are you talking about?” she asked, not really wanting to hear his answer.

“The man who needs you to love him.”

She attempted to quell his interference with a scowl. “You want to give me advice about my romantic relationships, mate? That’s rich.”

“At least I’ve learned from my mistakes,” Ben said.

“Oh, so now our previous partnership was nothing more than a mistake?”

She said the words, but they lacked true conviction and she knew it. Her reluctance to open her heart to Rafe went well beyond anything Ben had done to her. She knew that, even if he didn’t.

“We never stood a chance,” he continued. “I was too arrogant and self-absorbed. You were too eager to get out of Australia. And we were both too young.”

“Well, half of that was true,” Mariah quipped. “I was seventeen. You were almost thirty.”

“You lied about your age, I was twenty-five and that’s not the point.”

With her elbows on her knees, Mariah dropped her head between her legs and lost herself in the rush of blood to her brain. Their age difference had never been the problem. She’d simply never excelled at discussing her feelings with anyone. Her father practically forbade it, and her mother...well, her mother tended to try to associate even the simplest of emotions with some sociological theory or cultural paradigm. Mariah knew she was shitty at dealing with things like friendship and love, and that she was better off keeping things casual and arranging all her relationships so that they met some basic need. Like with the Barketts. They owned an airstrip and gave her access to planes and contacts. Great friends for a pilot to have.

Even with Rafe, she shared a symbiotic relationship. When he used the magic, he needed sex. When she was anywhere near him, the feeling was mutual. When she needed his powers to help her find the coins, he’d obliged. Now he needed her to free him by loving him, exposing herself to the possibility of untold hurts and disappointments. Where was the quid pro quo in that?

Love meant sacrifice, and not just on the big things. That part was easy. She’d choose life over death for any stranger, as long as they weren’t trying to take her out in the process. But Rafe needed a woman to love him who was more like Irika—gentle, kind, wise. Not fucked-up from years of keeping her emotions hidden where even the best treasure hunters could not find them—not even her.

Ben slid onto the couch beside her. His jaw was tense, and his eyes, so much like Rafe’s that she couldn’t believe she hadn’t made the genetic connection between the men immediately, gleamed with seriousness.

“I can’t do this, Ben, Not now.”

“You can never do this. That’s your problem.”

“Don’t tell me what my problems are unless you’re ready to hear a damned long list of your own, okay?”

He leaned back into the cushions. “You think Cat doesn’t point out my shortcomings on a regular basis?”

Mariah smirked. “She doesn’t seem like the fawning type. She’s good for you, I think. Takes your ego down a peg.”

“I think Rafe could do the same for you, if you’d let him.”

Mariah jabbed her hands into her hair, tugging at the roots, trying to make her brain and her heart communicate with each other in a way that could result in Rafe’s freedom. She knew she couldn’t attempt to undo the curse now. They needed his magic in order to thwart Pryce. But after it was all over, if they succeeded, he deserved a life like the ones his brothers were enjoying—living with beautiful, successful women who’d somehow bridged a two-hundred-and-sixty-year difference in culture to fall madly in love.

Her stomach turned. She wandered to the table and picked through the remnants of Rafe’s room-service lunch, scoring a slightly wilted celery stick and chomping on it simply to avoid having to talk.

“Mariah,” Ben pressed.

“You think I don’t want to let him in?” Mariah asked, washing down the tasteless root vegetable with a swig of her lukewarm beer.

“Have you ever let anyone into that heart of yours?”

“You didn’t want in,” she replied.

“Fair enough. But this isn’t about us anymore. I chose my family over you. I apologized then, but I’m not sorry anymore. My father and I aren’t exactly bosom buddies, but we’ve made strides. You and me? We could be friends. Hell, we could be relatives.”

He muttered the last part, but Mariah heard him loud and clear.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” she warned him. “Don’t you think your uncle deserves someone better?”

“What’s wrong with you? I mean, you’re headstrong and full of yourself and single-minded and untrustworthy and coldhearted, but other than that?”

She reached across the couch and slapped him on the back of his head.

“Ow!” he protested.

“I am not
untrustworthy
,” she claimed, then swung around to the other side of the room, away from the alcohol, because it would be all too easy to lose herself in the act of getting truly and honestly dirty, stinking drunk. “But I can’t argue the rest. Has he told you about his wife?”

Ben’s eyes widened. “I didn’t realize he’d been married.”

Mariah hummed, then strolled to the seat opposite Ben. “Oh, yeah. She died right in front of him shortly after he was trapped inside the stone. Had her throat slit by the soldiers who’d come to murder the Gypsies.”

“No,” Ben gasped.

She closed her eyes and described to Ben what Rafe had told her, trying to picture what he’d gone through—what it had felt like to watch the woman he loved slaughtered when he was inches away, but unable to save her. If Irika had just walked a few more steps and brushed her hand over the marker, would she have freed him? Would he then have been butchered alongside her, or would he have been able to use the magic to save them both?

They’d never know.

“No wonder he’s so brooding,” Ben said when she’d finished.

She sat up, surprised. “Rafe isn’t brooding. He’s surprisingly well adjusted—I mean, for a phantom.”

Ben rubbed the stubble on his jaw. “He’s got a definite darkness in his eyes. Who wouldn’t, after going through that?”

“He’s made up for it,” Mariah said. “For not being able to help her, I mean. He may not know it yet, but I think Irika would have been proud of him. From what he’s told me, she was sweet and quiet and calm. And likely very forgiving. All the things I’m not.”

“You can be calm,” Ben said, a hint of a chuckle in his voice.

“I’m also
usually
self-sufficient. He’s saved my arse three times already. Pathetic, isn’t it?”

Ben attempted a smile, but while his eyes lit up with humor, his mouth managed only to quirk up at one corner. “Pretty much. But in the big picture, it should be a sign. What more do you need, Mariah, to convince you that he’s the one?”

“But what if I’m not the one for him?” She cursed, deciding this touchy-feely conversation had gone on long enough. “Look, I know I have to love him to free him. But right now, we need to worry about Pryce. And Velez. Once we’re clear of them, I can focus on Rafe. Not until then.”

Ben pursed his lips, slapped his hands on his knees and stood. “That buys you a reprieve for at least another day.”

“Fuck oft mate. I don’t see a ring on Cat’s linger. You’ve been together for more than a year. What the hell is up with that, Mr. Romance?”

He nodded as he shuffled to the door. “You’re one-hundred-percent right. And since I don’t want to lose the best thing that’s ever happened to me, I’m going to rectify the situation very soon. What are you going to do?”

If only she knew.

***

“There isn’t much time,” Rafe said, charging back into the hotel room shortly after Ben had left.

Mariah jumped and turned away from the window. “What’s wrong?”

“This is wrong,” he said, tearing off his shirt, sweeping her into his arms and kissing her as if he’d never kissed her before.

He waited for her to surrender to the sensations, to melt into his arms as she’d done by the waterfall or at the cabin. But her resistance was palpable. If he let her go, she’d try to speak. Ask questions. He did not want to hear her voice unless she was screaming his name in pleasure.

During the hotel tour, Catalina had explained how his brothers Damon, Aiden and Paxton had been freed from Rogan’s curse. She’d been entirely certain that it wasn’t mere exclamations of love that broke the spell, but the sentiment—the true and honest surrender of one’s soul to another, as he’d once had with Irika.

And only Mariah could help him.

He’d never imagined sharing his soul with another woman. And yet, he knew Mariah did not love easily. In another time and place, he might have coaxed and seduced her emotions to the surface. But did he have that much time left?

After centuries of torturous solitude, he had a rare and precious opportunity to rebuild bonds with his brothers. Paxton, known to the others as Paschal, did not have much time left on this earth. When he met the others again, he wanted to do so as a man. Free of Rogan’s infection.

But Mariah had to love him. And he knew she didn’t.

Not yet.

“Rafe,’ she said, pulling away from him.

“The dawn approaches.” He held her tighter. “I need you, Mariah.”

“Did something happen?”

“Is the magic the only reason you believe I would want you?”

She pushed completely out of his arms and turned back to the window. “If you were smart, you wouldn’t want me at all.”

He wrapped his arms around her middle, standing snug against her so she could feel the fullness of his desire. “My need for you defies the mind. Let me make love to you, Mariah. Allow me to undress you. The sun is less than an hour away. I cannot rest until I’ve felt you beneath me.”

She dropped her hands to her sides in surrender, and one by one, he undid each of the buttons on her blouse, plying her shoulders, neck and arms with kisses. He peeled the material away, and then removed her pants, leaving her in only her lacy lingerie.

She moved to shut the curtains, but he stopped her, blinked and doused the lights behind them, bathing her in the amber lights shining in from outside the suite. He inhaled the sweet scent of her until surrender rolled off her skin and eased the darkness that had sparked within him. That was the last bit of Rogan’s magic he’d use tonight. He wanted her elementally, deeply—and as a human man. Or at the very least, as close to a human man as he could be while still ensnared by magic.

He nibbled at the skin on her neck while he unhooked the contraption that buoyed her breasts.

“You taste so sweet,” he murmured, invigorated by the sound of her sigh as he dragged the material away from her body. “And you feel,” he whispered, cupping her with both hands, loving the weight of her, “like satin.”

He flicked his thumbs over her nipples, which were already erect with wanting. When she cooed, he tweaked her harder and took her earlobe into his mouth, sucking to a rhythm that made her push her backside hard against his engorged cock.

“Yes,” he said. “This pleases you?”

“Oh, yeah,” she admitted.

He nipped at her pulse point, feeling the jump in her blood. “Your heartbeat is quickening. Where else can you feel it? Show me.”

She drew one hand down the other arm, wrapping her fingers around her wrist.

He smoothed his palm down her arm, lifted her wrist to his lips and suckled the succulent inside skin where her veins pulsed.

“Where else? You feel it deeper; I know you do. Show me.”

With a whimper of acquiescence, she slipped her finger down her panties.

“Oh, yes,” he encouraged. “That’s where you beat for me the strongest. Where your body slickens. Test how wet you are, Mariah. Tell me you want me as badly as I need you.”

He pinched her nipples hard, then soothed the sensitive nubs with his thumbs. He had no idea where his brazen questions came from, except his need to be whole. Human. Real. Not just in the night, but in the sun. He wanted to exist in the light with equal longing to mate with her. The needs were just as overpowering. And just as intertwined.

She moved her hand, but he snared her wrist and guided her fingers back to her panties.

With a moan, she understood what he wanted to see her do. Gooseflesh blossomed across her skin as she slipped a finger inside. Her body quivered. His cock pulsed and he found himself mimicking her rhythm, wanting desperately to join her pleasured crescendo. But not before he showed her—not before he made promises with his body that he could not make in words, knowing that nothing would send Mariah running faster in the other direction than sentiments she could not return.

“Rafe, please,” she begged, tugging her panties off and attempting to pry his hands from her breasts. “You’re driving me crazy.”