The Ghost Exterminator (19 page)

She kissed him, tangling her tongue with his as she shifted around on his lap. Wyatt helped as much as he could, mostly with hiking up her skirt as high as it would go, but plane seats—even luxury planes with wide, comfortable chairs—were not designed for sex. A blatant engineering flaw.

She knelt, her knees squeezed on either side of his hips, and he scooted forward a little to give her more room to maneuver. He would have offered to hang upside-down from the ceiling if that would have helped.

When she slid down onto his erection, his brain clicked off and his eyes rolled back in sheer bliss. Jo walloped him on the shoulder.

“Wyatt! The ghosts! Focus.”

Focus. Right
. He’d tried baseball statistics and thinking of Margaret Thatcher before to delay an orgasm, but this was the first time he’d tried thinking of ghosts while a gorgeous, stacked woman was bouncing up and down on his dick.

Jo clutched his shoulders. Her hips pulsed rhythmically against his and she began making small, sexy sounds in her throat. Wyatt ran his hands up over the still-covered territory of her breasts, then up her legs, across every inch of bare skin he could reach. Her cries changed pitch, higher and more urgent now. Wyatt, for his part, felt like he might black out from ecstasy at any moment, but he ground his teeth together and held back. He refused to think about how hot and wet, tight and eager she was.

Wyatt reached between them, unerringly finding her clit and pressing down. Jo’s back arched and she gave a rough cry, her body tightening around him as her orgasm rocked through her. Wyatt rolled his finger against her, milking her for every cry until the last shuddering ripples of her release passed. She fell against his chest, breathing heavily.

Wyatt braced his hands on her hips, trying to think of anything but how she felt, still seated on him.
Barry Bonds, seven hundred, sixty-two home runs. Hank Aaron, seven hundred, fifty-five home runs…

Jo straightened and Wyatt’s hips pulsed upward once in reflex at her shift in position. She brushed his lower lip with her index finger, then her tongue. Wyatt realized he’d bitten it bloody.

“I’ve got the ghosts now,” she promised him, her inner muscles tightening around him in a way that made his vision blur. “It’s your turn.”

She began to ride him again. Wyatt let her do as she wanted, keeping the pace deliberate and slow, for approximately two seconds before he took control. His hands closed over her hips and he guided her faster, lifting her and slamming her back down on him. Jo quickly caught his rhythm, her enthusiasm undimmed by her own orgasm. She began making the noises in her throat again and Wyatt knew if he kept going she could come again, come with him, but he just couldn’t wait.

The orgasm hit hard, taking the top of his head right off. He emptied himself into her, his shout drowned out by the roar of the jet’s engines.

When he opened his eyes, Jo was looking at him as if he were the David, the Mona Lisa, and the Sistine Chapel all rolled into one. “I loved watching that,” she confessed in a whisper.

His cupped the back of her skull, pulling her into a kiss. “You can watch that again later,” he promised her when he released her mouth. He idly traced a pattern on the back of her neck. He was discovering he was a big fan of hairstyles that gave him easy access to that particular body part. “We’ll be landing in a few minutes.”

She shifted away from him slightly as she raised her head to look around. “Holy shit. I completely forgot where we were.”

Wyatt experienced a well-deserved surge of smug satisfaction at her words. “Don’t worry. The flight crew are paid very well to be discreet. They stay out of the passenger cabin unless we call them in.”

She arched a brow at him. “You often need this degree of privacy when you fly?”

Wyatt tucked her against him, pressing her head onto his shoulder, before he let himself smile. She didn’t need to know how pleased he was by the jealous streak she was displaying. “I often do business when I fly,” he explained. “I promise you are the first person I have even been tempted to be so unprofessional with.”

She chuckled. “Poor Wyatt. I’m a bad influence on you.”

He was starting to think she might be the best influence he had had in a long time, but he knew better than to say that. Jo wanted to be bad and he liked her that way. “Yeah,” he said agreeably. “You’re corrupting, all right.”

Jo murmured happily and lay cuddled against him until the pilot came over the PA to announce that they would indeed be landing shortly.

As she slipped out of his arms to adjust her clothing and resume her seat, Wyatt realized how soon she would be slipping out of his life. After the ghosts were gone, and he had absolute faith in her ability to get rid of them now that she knew what she was dealing with, then what possible excuse would he have for keeping her in his life? Not forever, obviously, and not necessarily as part of his public persona, but he wasn’t ready to let her go until he knew what it was about Jo Ellen Banks that made him feel so alive.

They were both silent, lost in their own thoughts, as the plane touched down.

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Halloween at the Haunted House

Jo loved Halloween—the one night of the year when
everyone
was a freak—and spending the holiday at a Victorian mansion that positively writhed with ghostly energy was pretty close to her idea of nirvana. Especially if she got a chance to kick some big, bad, ghostly talisman ass. This year, Halloween night was also the night of the full moon, adding an extra layer of spooky goodness to the holiday.

Jo left a message with Karma to bring her up to speed, but on Samhain night, her boss would be dealing with a thousand different crises in the non-ghost-removal sides of the business, so Jo wasn’t expecting the cavalry any time soon. Wyatt suggested waiting a few days, until they could bring in reinforcements, but Jo didn’t want to think about how many ghosts the talisman would collect by then. Not to mention the whole Wyatt’s soul detaching from his body if they didn’t remove Angelica and Teddy pronto thing.

Besides, Jo was ready to act now. She knew she could do it. Alone, if she had to. She felt like Superwoman, revved up and ready to take down any monsters that crossed her path.

The plane ride had been liberating—and not just because Wyatt Haines was a one-man orgasm factory.

When Jo realized that she gave herself more grief for being a freak than anyone else ever had, a weight had lifted off her shoulders. She had spent her whole life begging for approval, but now she felt free. She didn’t have to try to be normal any more. Who cared what the rest of the world thought?

Jo Banks was a powerful, badass ghost exterminator. No apologies. No excuses.

She smacked the crowbar she held against her palm. Ghosties beware.

“First stop, kitchen demolition.” Jo strode up the front walk to the Victorian, slapping the crowbar lightly against her thigh.

After a few quick stops on the way to the house, Jo was back in black and denim, with her goodie bag slung over one shoulder, ready to take on the world. She felt like herself again—only more herself than she had ever allowed herself to be.

Wyatt, shockingly enough, emerged from his condo wearing
jeans
with his usual dress shirt. But even holding the other crowbar, he still looked like he should be negotiating a merger rather than ripping up tiles. You can take the uptight executive out of the boardroom…

Jo made a face.

If only she weren’t three-quarters in love with a man who
tolerated
freaks remarkably well. For all that she felt bright and new and strong in terms of how she felt about herself, her feelings about Wyatt were even more jumbled than ever.

“This is depressing,” Wyatt grumbled beside her.

Jo silently agreed with all her stupid heart. Then she realized Wyatt wasn’t talking about their hopeless not-quite-love-affair. She stopped abruptly, spinning to face him. “What?”

“We’re about to rip apart the one part of the house that I actually managed to get fixed. I’m allowed to be depressed.”

“We are about to fix your ghost problem once and for all. My excellent ghost exterminating skills are going to be put to most excellent use as soon as we get rid of the talisman. You should be thrilled. Go on. Be thrilled.”

As she stood there, waiting for him to be thrilled, Wyatt just rolled his eyes and stepped around her, heading for the front door. “Let’s get this over with, my most excellent ghost exterminator.”

Jo decided to follow, but only because he had called her by the correct title.

She studied the house as they approached. The ghosts zipped around double time. Apparently they were a little hopped up on Halloween jollies, too. Or maybe the talisman really was stronger on Samhain. She glanced at Wyatt, looking for signs of strain. Angelica and Teddy flitted around inside him, but he wasn’t jumping around, starting at voices this time.

“If you start to feel all wonky because of the talisman, go wait outside, okay? No heroics, Mr. Haines.”

“That goes for you too, Ms. Banks. Or did you forget which one of us had to be carried out of here last time?”

She made a face at the reminder. “Strictly academic. I won’t be trying to open a portal and shove ghosts through and fight off the talisman all at the same time. In fact, I won’t be trying to do anything supernatural. I’m just the tile-removal expert tonight.”

Jo waved her crowbar for emphasis and Wyatt ducked away from the flying blunt object. “You’re an expert, all right,” he said dryly.

Jo stepped up onto the porch, humming a stirring battle march.

Wyatt stopped. “Is that the Mighty Mouse theme music?” he asked incredulously.

She realized that she had, in fact, been humming “Here I come to save the day!” and decided to run with it. “Yeah. You got a problem with that?”

Wyatt snorted, then coughed and carefully blanked his expression when her crowbar wagged aggressively in his direction. “No, no problem. Lead on.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Jo put an extra dollop of swagger into her walk, feeling like John Wayne at high noon as she faced the front door. It was bulging slightly, likely from the force of the ghosts packed inside. Jo glanced back over her shoulder at Wyatt.

“You doing okay? No weird voices? No ghosts being ripped from your body?”

“The voice is back and it’s loud as hell, but I’m dealing with it. Let’s finish this.”

“Whatever you say, boss. Just promise me that you’ll bail if the talisman starts controlling you.”

“If the talisman starts controlling me, I probably won’t be able to bail.”

“Don’t confuse me with logic. Just promise.”

Wyatt grinned at her, the expression so endearing that, for a second, she thought his teeth sparkled like a matinee idol’s. “I promise.”

Jo nodded once. “Let’s do this.”

She kicked open the door and walked forward, leading with the crowbar so when the door swung back to smack her in the face, it thwacked against the iron and rebounded again. Wyatt snorted behind her. “Nice entrance.”

The energy slapped her in the face as soon as she stepped across the threshold. The medallion must have been feeding off the energy of the ghosts somehow, because it was noticeably stronger now. She wasn’t even in the kitchen yet and already she felt like a buoy being tossed around on rough waters.

She wondered if non-believer Wyatt had even noticed the turbulence. Then the thud of something heavy hitting the floor sounded behind her.

Jo turned. Wyatt lay sprawled halfway across the threshold. His body bowed and contorted as the twin ghost energies inside him struggled to break loose.

“Wyatt!” The crowbar slipped from Jo’s fingers, clanking noisily to the ground as she rushed forward to kneel at his side. His eyes were wide open and staring, but he didn’t seem to see her. “Wyatt? Wyatt, look at me. Wyatt!”

His body bucked and a gurgling noise came out of his throat.

“Shit! Shit, shit, shit.” Jo grabbed his shoulders and began half-shoving, half-dragging him out of the house. The man weighed a ton and a half and he bucked and thrashed in her arms like a rodeo bull. “Hang on, Wyatt. You’re gonna be okay,” she murmured to him, the words tripping out of her mouth as much to reassure herself, since Wyatt didn’t seem to hear her.

She braced her feet on the wooden planks of the porch and hauled him across it. At the steps, she hefted his torso up against her chest and pulled him quickly down. From the
thwack, thwack, thwack
of his legs hitting the steps, he was going to be bruised from the waist down, but Jo didn’t care as long as she got him away from the talisman.

On the brick path, she stumbled, hissing as her weak ankle turned again. Wyatt’s body fell to the side of the path. He was still for a moment. Jo bent over him—to check that she’d managed to get him far enough from the house to stop the seizures rather than accidentally dropping him on his head hard enough to do him real damage. “Wyatt?”

His body convulsed again. His head cracked against hers.

“Ouch! Dammit.” Jo didn’t waste the time rubbing her bashed skull. She wrapped her arms under Wyatt’s and began hauling him farther from the house. “Come on, Wyatt, snap out of it,” she urged quietly as she dragged him up the path. “Come on. You’ve gotta be out of range now. Say something.”

She was panting from the effort of hauling him nearly all the way to the street when his convulsions suddenly eased. Jo settled him gently on the ground, leaning over him to peer into his face. “Wyatt? Are you okay?”

His eyes were closed, which was only somewhat less disconcerting than the blank-eyed stare. His breathing was shallow and periodically his body twitched and shivered in an echo of his earlier fits.

“Wyatt? Come on, babe. You’re scaring me.”

He remained unresponsive. Jo shrugged off her pack, digging into it for her cell phone and a stick of cleansing incense. She hit the auto-dial for Karma even as she rummaged one-handed for a lighter for the incense.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up.”

The ringing clicked over to voicemail and Jo swore viciously. Her hand closed around the lighter as she waited for Karma’s purring voice to run through the familiar instructions. She hurriedly lit the incense, shoving it under Wyatt’s nose. The tone beeped.

“Karma? Something’s wrong. Like really, really, bat-shit wrong. Oh shit, I think it’s happening. I think his soul is separating. We’re at the house. Oh, Jesus, Karma, he isn’t moving. The talisman is all amped up on ghost power and it’s doing something to him. I don’t know what to do.
What do I do?
”

Jo dropped the phone to the ground, not even sure she’d hit the End button. She patted Wyatt’s cheek, waving the incense in his face. “Come
on
, Wyatt.”

Jo scanned him with her second sight. The two ghost forms inside him were zipping frantically through his body. Jo tried to grasp them. She tried to quiet them or even just yank them out, but her focus was shattered by panic. “Dammit!” She was
not
going to let him die.

Jo looked back up the walk at the house. It panted and creaked, the ghostly energy giving it a sense of life. The damn house looked more alive than Wyatt did.

All at once, Jo’s fiery panic cooled and hardened into an icy knot of resolve. “You do not know who you are messing with,” she hissed at the house. Surging to her feet, Jo swept up her goodie bag and stalked toward the front door, collecting the pair of fallen crowbars as she went. “Ready or not, here I come.”