Wicked Fantasy (15 page)

“You'll have to show me something worth running from first. Who do you work for?”

She hated this part. Payton had to change the organization's name. “The Paranormal Undercover Field Force.” He could take out the word “undercover.” The paranormal underworld knew all about them. “We make sure nonhuman entities obey Texas laws.” She counted out the seconds until he got it.

“You work for PUFF?” He shook his head. “Sweetheart, if you weren't loaded down with enough weapons to wipe out Galveston, I would
not
believe either that name or your game.”

So much for her hidden weapons.

“How'd your organization come up with this thing about five hundred wives?”

She'd blown her cover, so no need to keep anything secret. She was pretty safe inside the club. He wouldn't want to jeopardize his chances of finding a shiny new wife by killing her in front of all these witnesses, some of whom were also powerful entities. And he was evidently secure enough to think she wasn't a danger to him. He'd find out, though, that what she lacked in experience she made up for in stubbornness.

“My boss got an anonymous tip he felt was pretty credible. The person described your eye color and grim reaper tattoo. The tipster said you were a powerful being who'd murdered five hundred wives and that we'd find you at Live the Fantasy.”

He looked like he was doing some deep thinking. While he was thinking, Gerry glanced around to see if any help was near enough to signal. Nope. Eric and Brynn had been at the bar a short time ago, but they must've left to do their fantasies. Damn.

“Bitch.”

“What?” Startled, Gerry looked back at Edge.

“Not you.” He pushed away from the table. “Come outside with me.” He didn't look back to see if she was following as he strode toward the door.

You bet she was following. She did a mental inventory of her weapons. Most of them were for hand-to-hand combat. The kind of criminal she'd hunted in her short career with PUFF didn't have her strength or speed. And her fangs were an added plus. If she could get close enough, she could do serious damage. Her chances of getting close to Edge? Not so good.

Once outside the castle, Edge moved into the shadows. Gerry didn't follow him there. That promotion wouldn't do her any good if Payton awarded it posthumously.

“Let's get this trying-to-take-me-down thing out of your system.” The white flash of his smile wasn't comforting. “How'd you like to use all of your weapons on me?”

“Uh, is this a trick question?” Even as she asked, she was reaching back for her knife. She'd give it her best shot, but she already had a bad feeling about this.

A few minutes later, her entire arsenal except for her gun, taser, and bottle of holy water lay on the ground in front of Edge. She had a silencer on the gun, so she'd taken a chance that no one would notice her shooting at him. The bullet simply bounced off his invisible shield and joined the knives and hatchet. The taser? Why bother? Nothing got past his damn shield.

“Well, that was pretty futile.” Gerry dug in her pocket and pulled out her PDA. She scrolled through her list of entities. “Hmm. No info on how to bash, stab, or mutilate a cosmic troublemaker.”

“You still have your holy water and taser.” He was openly laughing at her now.

“What the hell.” Gerry moved up closer and pressed the taser against his invisible shield. Nothing. Then she used the edge of her T-shirt to unseal the bottle. Didn't know what holy water would do to her and wasn't about to find out. She heaved the liquid at him.

Ever obliging, he lowered his shield so the water could splash over him, wetting his hair and shirt and then trickling down his face. “Oh, the pain, the agony.” He smiled as he swept the water from his eyes.

She scowled at him. “Thanks for the bone. You've proven your point. I don't have anything that can touch you.”

But she would. She'd do some research on cosmic troublemakers and come back with a new and improved bunch of weapons. She started to walk away and then paused. She turned to look at him. “Did you really kill five hundred wives?”

“I never had a wife.” For just a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of emotion. And then it was gone. “But if I did, why would I kill her when there're so many more pleasant ways to get everything I want?”

“Uh-huh. Makes sense.” Strangely enough, it did. Wow, major shock. Her intuition said he was telling the truth. Her intuition rarely lied. Besides, if he was the killer, he had enough power to get rid of her like he'd rid himself of all those pesky pool boys and pizza delivery guys. And he was right. She didn't doubt for a minute that most women would hand over all their money and then smile as he drove away with it.

Not me, though.
No, she was into immortal warriors. Tall, powerful men with shaggy dark hair, smoky gray eyes, sensual lips, and overprotective tendencies.

“As entertaining as this all has been, I've got to chase down Sparkle.”

From Edge's expression, Gerry figured there wouldn't be lots of happy talk when he found her. Well, that wasn't her business. She watched him walk away before focusing on her own worries.

Okay, so now she had three problems. First, how to tell Payton that maybe his tip was wrong. Her proof? Not a damn thing except her intuition. Fat chance that would fly with Payton. So until the boss called her off, she had to keep trying to apprehend Edge.

Second, find the pond scum who was trying to kill her. No clue yet how to do that.

Last, deal with her growing attraction to Conall. Fine, not attraction. Lust. A big, fat honking case of I-want-your-body.

She wasn't sure which of the three was the most dangerous.

Sighing, she headed back into the castle. She'd forgotten a problem. Jinx. She'd go down to the dungeon and nab him when he dragged his loot back to his room.

Gerry had barely stepped into the castle when she saw Conall bearing down on her. He was a rolling thundercloud leaving dark skies in his wake. Whoa, would you look at that costume. He must be playing the Ghost of Christmas Future with that black robe and hood. Scary.

“Where the hell did you go?”
Don't shout.
He shouted. Conall knew his costume plus his fury was cutting a wide swath through the people cluttering the lobby. But he barely noticed them scuttling out of his way.

He stopped in front of her and glared. Armies had fled from that glare.

She sniffed. “Stop shouting. You're frightening the guests.”

“Holgarth woke me, and you'd gone.” Not unexpected. She wasn't a stay-here kind of woman. He should've found a way to keep awake.

“He said you asked about Edge.” That's what pissed him off. Conall didn't try to fool himself. He wasn't angry because she'd put herself in danger. What he felt was raw, primitive jealousy. Over a damn Kavanagh. It was enough to scare the shit out of him.

“I have a job, and Morrigan's curse isn't going to stop me from doing it.” She started to push past him.

Damn it, this wasn't about Morrigan. It was about . . . “Wait.” He put his hand on her shoulder, not grabbing, not holding. Conall didn't think grabbing or holding would work with this woman. “I have a fantasy to do. Come with me. You can grab a costume, and we can talk while we're waiting for the customer.”

“There's nothing to talk about.” But she followed him to the costume room.

He wondered why.

Once she was wearing a robe and hood like his, he led her up one of the winding stone steps to a dark landing.

“So what're we supposed to be?” She adjusted her robe and hood.

Conall grinned. She was only about five-three, and the costume was made for a bigger person. The robe swallowed her up and pooled around her feet. Cute. Creepy? Not so much.

“We're evil, demonic entities who wait in darkness to pounce on unsuspecting medieval men and maidens who venture too close.”

She nodded. “Cool. So what happens after we grab them?”

He shrugged. “Don't know. Before we can do any wicked stuff, the perfect Prince Brynn rescues them. Eric used to always play the bad guy, but marriage has mellowed him. Now he's the brave warrior who fights the forces of evil with Prince Brynn.”

“Playing an evil force is more fun.” Gerry tilted her head to gaze up at him. “You know, you look the part. You'd terrify me if I didn't know you were a softy inside.”

“Softy?”
Not even his worst enemy would've dared throw that insult at him.

She grinned. “Yeah, a big, gooey melted marshmallow. Who else would've thought about saving Houston?”

He ground his teeth. “I'll pull the damned weed out by its skinny roots.”

“Oooh, scary.” She moved closer while the darkness wrapped them in a false intimacy.

“Woman, you're driving me crazy.”

“Mmm, tell me how so I can do it more.”

“Mmmph.”

“Gee, that was a bit garbled, but I think you slammed my snarky comments and independent attitude.”

He could feel the explosion building, pushing up from his stomach, ready to blow away his control. “Wrong.”

Only one way to defuse what was coming. “This is what drives me crazy.” He pulled her into his arms and lowered his mouth to hers. Tracing her lips with his tongue, he allowed himself to sink into the joy of those sexy lips, their texture and taste—tempting with a hint of something wild and exotic.

“You taste . . . sweet,” he murmured against her mouth. He hoped she didn't expect anything more specific, because right now his brain cells were migrating south.

Her chuckle was a soft puff of breath against his lips. “Sweet? I love sweet things”—she nibbled his bottom lip—“with a bit of bite”—she sucked on the fullest part of his lip—“and always creamy.”

Godalmighty. Her words ripped him apart. So sensual, so filled with erotic images. He just had to explore the source of those sexy words. When he pressed, she opened her mouth to him.

He met her tongue and tasted his own desire. Sliding into her wet heat he imagined another place—hotter, wetter. He groaned.

She gasped. “I like how you go crazy, O'Rourke.”

“Mmm.” Reluctantly, he abandoned her mouth. He pushed aside her hood to kiss the sensitive skin behind her ear. “The Castle of Dark Dreams is a place of fantasies. What's your fantasy, lady with a bit of bite?”

“A tree trunk.” Her breaths came in small gasps as he pushed her robe open and then lifted the red shirt.

He paused. “A tree trunk? Do I want to hear this?” The sexual haze cleared enough for him to realize what he was looking at. “A shoulder holster?” He slid his hand around to her back. “A knife?”

“Forget the gun and knife. Concentrate on my tree trunk.”

How could he concentrate on anything? Her breasts swelled over the top of another of those damn stretchy bras while
his
swelling was getting painful. “I haven't done any tree trunk fantasies lately. Fill me in.”

Fill.
He wanted to ease into her body, filling her, bringing her more pleasure than any of the men in her past. No. Wrong. He wanted to thrust into her hard, feeling her clench around his cock as he swallowed her gasp with his mouth. And then she'd wrap those gorgeous legs around him while he pumped . . .

“See, this goes back to my childhood. Oh, yesss.” She shivered as he slid his tongue over the swell of her breast.

“Your childhood. Right.” He wouldn't last past her sixth birthday. With a snarl of frustration, he pulled the bra up to expose her full, ripe breasts with their rosy nipples.

“My brother Will was perfect. He—”

Conall stilled. “Brother? There're more Kavanaghs?”

Gerry had shoved his robe aside and worked her hands under his T-shirt where she was rubbing a heated circle on his chest. “Stepbrother. When my father died, Mom remarried. No more Kavanaghs.”

His cock thought the rubbing was way too high. “Got it.” He smoothed his palms over her body as he circled one pink nipple with his tongue.

“Put your mouth on me.” Her breathing was ragged. “Gotta explain.” She wiggled her fingers under the waist of his jeans and shorts, then cupped him.

Explain? Explain what? He couldn't hear past the jack-hammer beating of his heart. There was something he was forgetting. Tree trunk. What the hell did he need to do with a tree trunk?

He covered her nipple with his lips and nipped gently before sucking.

“Oh, God, that feels good.” She leaned into him and kissed his chest while she slid her fingers around his shaft. “Have to say this fast, because my train of thought is leaving the station. Always wanted to be more perfect than Will.”

Well, his train was chugging down the mountain with no brakes. “Tree trunks. Get to the damn tree trunks fast or else it'll be too late.” His legs felt shaky and he wanted to drop to his knees, but then she'd have to take her hand from his cock.

“Never let myself fail. I . . .” She moaned as he transferred his attention to her other nipple. “I forgot what I was going to say.”

“Put the story on pause and get to the tree trunk.” He sucked in his breath, trying to control his need and succeeding, for about another thirty seconds.

“My fantasy. To let someone else win.”

Every cell in his body groaned in despair. “The. Tree. Trunk.”

She clasped his cock tighter and started the rhythmic up-and-down motion that would bring instant disaster. He put his hand over hers. “Don't.”

Gerry looked at him from eyes glazed with arousal. “I want to be chased through a forest by a naked wild savage. I run, but he catches me. I want him, but on my own terms.” Her sentences came between quick pants. “He tears off my clothes. Does lots of delicious things to my body with his fingers and tongue. I scream and scream and scream.”