His Final Seduction Page 9

  She shook her head clear of the rampant thoughts. If she kept this up, she’d have a migraine in about ten minutes. Why in the hell had she gone into that creepy hut in the first place? The man was probably a local kook. She should ask Damien about him and forgo security altogether.

  A chill crept over her skin despite the humid Caribbean heat. On the wind, the soft strains of a steel-drum penetrated the firewall in her brain and let in a little bit of reality.

  “Sydney James, is that you?”

  Her skin goosefleshed. She didn’t need to turn to know the face that went with that deep voice, but she prayed she was wrong, that it wasn’t actually him.

  With hesitant steps, she turned.

  Damn. Matthew Burns.

  She felt as though a swarm of locusts had been set loose in her belly. The resulting nausea threatened to double her over. Of all the people to run into down here, why did it have to be the man who’d ruined her life? The man she’d been caught screwing at the office the night her career ignited in flames.

  “Hot damn, it is you!” Matthew slapped his thighs and his belly shook as he laughed.

  The man had certainly put on some weight since the last time she’d seen him. He didn’t seem to care. If she wasn’t already nauseated, his bulging-in-all-the-wrong-ways Speedo would have done the trick. He was certainly trying his best to look like the pig he was. Funny, this was exactly how she pictured him every time she slipped into a cursing-the-past moment.

  “How the hell are you, sweetheart? It’s been a long time.” His chilling eyes traveled down her body.

  Sweetheart? The jerk actually used an endearment after what had happened between them. “I’ve been good. I moved back to Arkansas to be closer to my family.” That was partially true. She narrowed her gaze at him. “How’s your wife?”

  He laughed, causing his belly to jiggle even more. “As incredibly bitchy as ever. She thinks I’m on a fishing trip.”

  Apparently, she’s not the only one who hasn’t changed. Surveying the area, Sydney ascertained the best way to make a hasty exit. Directly ahead. Walkway into the main building of the club. “Anyway, Matthew, it was nice to see you again,” she lied, “but I’m on my way to meet someone, so we’ll have to cut this reunion short. See you around.”

  God, she hoped not.

  “I’m sure we will.” He traced a coarse finger down the valley between her breasts. She immediately slapped it away, but the action only encouraged him. “Or maybe we could find a little out-of-the-way spot and catch up on old times?”

  Or maybe you can find the nearest meat grinder and stick your dick in it.

  She wanted to say it, but somehow, she held back the barb. “I’ll have to pass. Like I said, I’m meeting my boyfriend.”

  He ignored her warning and ran his index finger along the outside of her upper arm. Sydney fisted her hand and was about to deck him, but at the spot where his skin touched hers, a hellish warmth sprouted then crept up and down her arm.

  “Come on, Syd,” he crooned, dragging her body against his. “For old time’s sake?”

  She wanted to fight, but her body rebelled as if she’d been drugged with some serious meds. Her head went woozy, her mind like a bowl of cold oatmeal. She stumbled backward, but his hold on her stayed firm.

  “Stop,” she demanded, but her voice was so soft she wasn’t even sure the words had actually left her mouth. Had he injected her with something?

  “I know you don’t really mean that, Sydney.” He pulled her toward two nearby shops, away from the flow of heavy pedestrian traffic. “Besides, I know a perfect out-of-the-way place where we can go to be alone for a while.”

  Somehow she surfaced enough from her drugged state to bellow one resounding, “No!” but the emotional strength didn’t cross over into the physical realm. He kept pulling her, closer and closer to the alley between the two huts. Sydney dug her heels into the ground. She wasn’t about to be taken this easily. “Let! Go!”

  “Shh, Syd.” He crushed his hand over her mouth and nose. “You’re causing a scene—”

  Sydney bit down on the flesh pressed against her face, and Matthew let out a fierce howl. In a move of desperation—and some sort of adrenaline surge—she stomped on his foot while simultaneously elbowing him in the groin.

  His grip loosened enough for her to flee. Riding the adrenaline spike, she lunged away but didn’t have the strength to stand. Crawling like an army soldier, she kicked and flailed her arms, slowly moving away from the shops and toward the murmuring crowd.

  Hands made contact with her back, and she immediately cried out, moving even faster.

  “Calm down, novia. It’s just me.”

  Damien?

  She rolled onto her back. His handsome features were hard but his eyes were soft, and when his arms came around her and lifted her into his embrace, she finally allowed her fear to take control.

  “What happened?” he asked, rocking her back and forth like she was a child who’d just awakened from a nightmare.

  “A man…” she gasped, scanning her surroundings. “Attacked me. Thought he was gonna rape me.”

  Even through his dark complexion, his skin boiled a violent red. He pulled his phone from his belt and activated the walkie-talkie feature. “I need security on the courtyard now. Outside my office by the Seashell Bodega.”

  Several beeps and intermittent static spurts later, a male voice said, “On my way.”

  Snapping the phone back on his belt, Damien studied at her. “Did he hurt you?”

  “No. Felt like…he drugged me.” She shook her head, trying to clear the thick-rolling fog from her mind. “Touched my arm. Felt…funny.”

  “Could you describe him for security?”

  “Know who…he is.” She collapsed even more into his arms, her legs sagging, her arms clinging. “M-Matthew Burns. Worked together—”

  Her head did a loop-the-loop.

  The world started to spin.

  And darkness took her.

  hhh

  Damien sat on the edge of his bed and watched Sydney sleep. With one arm thrown over her head and the other draped across her bare middle, she personified the purity of innocent beauty.

  He brushed a few stray hairs from her face. The security sweep had turned up nothing, and no client by the name of Matthew Burns had checked into Club Carnal in the past week. The man could have given a false name at check-in, of course, but Damien didn’t think that was the case either. The symptom Sydney described—the sensation of being drugged by a single touch—was a distinctly incubus method of subversion.

  Giselle had used her powers of transformation and attacked Sydney; he was sure of it. No other explanation made sense, but for the life of him, he didn’t know why she had. Maybe it was some sort of warning—just because you won’t kill her doesn’t mean I won’t. An unstable woman with that kind of power was dangerous.

  Although he possessed some of the same abilities, he’d never used the full brunt of them on anyone. He’d lowered inhibitions on women who already wanted what he had to give. He’d never actually taken a woman entirely against her will.

  His head snapped up.

  The last time he’d given Sydney a lustful push had been at dinner the night before. Everything else had happened outside the influences of his powers. Their attraction had been genuine, each touch and caress, each emotional connection, had been that of a woman and a man falling in—

  He didn’t dare say it. Thinking the words would do him little good. A relationship between them had no chance of success. Circumstances dictated he keep his mind focused and his mission clear.

  Sydney cooed in her sleep, a soft, subtle noise that burrowed into his heart. Her eyes fluttered open and zoned in on him. A slow smile spread across her face and his cock stirred. How had he lived so many years without her?

  Shit, that was another bad sign…

  He plucked a washcloth from the bowl of water on his nightstand. “How are you feeling?” he asked, placing
the cool cloth against her forehead

  She blinked hard, like she was trying to get her brain to engage. “Like I laid out in the sun all day then someone slipped me a roofie.”

  Not quite an accurate depiction, but he understood how she made the link. “Would you like some water?”

  “Anything cold would be wonderful.”

  He pressed his lips to her forehead. “Be right back.”

  “How long was I out?”

  “About four hours.” He pulled a bottle of Evian from the mini-fridge in the wet bar across the room. His loft-style bedroom was one of his personal retreats. His and his alone. Sydney was the first woman he’d ever brought back here. “Can you remember what happened?”

  “Pieces.” She sat up when he unscrewed the lid and held the bottle out to her. Her hands shook as she reached for the plastic container. God, he hated seeing her like this.

  “Let me.” He held the rim to her mouth. Occasional droplets dribbled past her lips and down her neck, and it took every ounce of willpower he possessed not to chase the drips with his tongue. He’d save that fantasy for when Sydney was better.

  Partially pulling her head away from bottle, she signaled she was finished for now. “Thanks,” she hiccupped, wiping her mouth with the fronts and backs of her hands.

  “Think nothing of it.” He sat the bottle on the nightstand.

  Opening himself up to her, he experienced anxiety laced with a healthy dose of apprehension, but the emotions didn’t exactly feel as if they were in regard to the attack. Something else was bothering her. He wanted to find out what.

  “Tell me what’s on your mind, Sydney.”

  She worried the sheets between her fists. “Before running into Matthew, I remember being in this old, rundown hut on the edge of the shopping center. Inside, there was this old man who read my fortune. Do you know who I’m talking about?”

  He shook his head. Giselle must have really dosed her. “There is no rundown hut anywhere on this island. I’m constantly upgrading, trying to keep everything looking new.”

  “No hut?” She rubbed her palms over her face. “What about that man?”

  “Doesn’t sound familiar.” Hallucinations had been known to occur in victims of an incubus or succubus attack. That must be what was going on now, so he spoke quickly, hoping to reassure her. “Sometimes, when people experience traumas, their minds make up happier memories to take the place of the bad ones.”

  “I guess.”

  But she didn’t look very convinced. Maybe it’d be best to save the rest of his questions for another time. “Are you feeling strong enough to eat? I can have something sent up. Share a late lunch?”

  “Sounds good.” The strap of her bikini slid from her shoulder. She tugged it back into place. “But I don’t want anything heavy or greasy. I’m not sure I could keep it down.”

  He winked, lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips against her palm. “I know just the thing, novia.”

  hhh

  “Mmm. That was wonderful.” Sydney dropped her spoon into a shallow bowl and rubbed her hands over her exposed stomach. She wasn’t sure which she’d enjoyed more, the meal, the man, or the view from Damien’s patio.

  The section of beach his house overlooked was nestled between two outcroppings of rock. The only noises were the steady beating of the waves against the sand and the occasional call of various tropical birds she’d never heard before.

  “What did you call this again?” She pointed to her bowl. The stew-like dish consisted of chicken, rice, veggies, and a wonderful garlicky sauce. To accompany the meal, he’d picked out some sparkling non-alcoholic fruit drinks.

  “Asopao.” Damien savored his last bite. “My family is from Cuba, and this is one of my mother’s favorite dishes, so needless to say, I ate it a lot as a child.”

  “It’s so much better than the southwest casserole my mom made all the time.” Wrinkling her nose, she shook her head. “How the nasty dish never killed anyone I’ll never know. It tasted like cardboard smothered in Velveeta. God, I can still taste it. Yuck!”

  He smiled as he picked up her empty dish and sat it on top of his. “You look as though you feel better.” His gaze roamed over her face. “Your color is returning.”

  “I do feel better.”

  At least physically. Emotionally, she was still trying to piece together all that had happened. On her wrist and ankle, she wore the seashell jewelry she’d purchased earlier, so at least that much of her memories were real. She’d seen Matthew too. It was the memories of the events between those two periods that confused her.

  Damien had told her there was no old man, no hut, but the memories were strong. The things the old man had told her, the things she’d experienced…none of it had been real? Should she tell Damien? Better safe than sorry—

  “Something you said last night at dinner has been bothering me,” he said, interrupting her thoughts.

  Thinking back to their shared meal—if it could really be called a meal because they’d never actually taken the time to eat—she replayed as much of their conversation as she remembered. The task wasn’t easy seeing as though their conversation wasn’t exactly the highlight of the evening.

  “About hurting myself?”

  He nodded, extended a hand across the table and covered her hand. The expression and warmth in his eyes begged for her honesty even though he didn’t ask her for it verbally, but it was enough to wipe away any qualms she had about lying to him. If she wanted him to open up to her, she needed to give him her trust…

  “A year ago, I was the closest thing to a sex addict someone could be without actually having a clinical diagnosis. My libido ruled my life and, as it happened, ruined it too.” She took a sip of her peach drink. “One night I was working late, preparing for a case with Matthew Burns, the man who attacked me earlier. Anyway, he made a sleazy pass at me, and not one to be outdone by the likes of him, I made an even sleazier pass back. And before my brain even engaged, we started having sex right there in the middle of the office, and his wife walked in. The woman was a mega-bitch to begin with. Couple that with her personal vendetta against me and all the contacts she had in the legal world, and I couldn’t get a job anywhere in California.”

  “So you ran back home to Arkansas?”

  “I didn’t really see much of a choice.” She withdrew her hand from his and tightened the strap holding her bikini around her neck. “The only job I could get was at the public defender’s office.”

  “And since you had a crappy job, you swore off sex?”

  “More or less.” It sounded ridiculous when he said it. “My sex drive was out of control, Damien.”

  His left eyebrow slid up. “So you punished it by becoming celibate?”

  “I’d never thought of it as punishment, but yes.”

  “It’s a shame.” He traced small circles in the valley between her breasts. “Because you can give one hell of a blow job.”

  She laughed, nearly toppling her drink. “Well, I took classes in law school.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  Joking with him came easily. In fact, everything about their relationship came easily. The flirty nature of their repartee, hinting at something more than lust. Maybe later she’d try to figure out exactly what it was.

  She gave his hand a squeeze. “I hope that wasn’t the only thing you thought I was good at last night?”

  “Not by a long shot. In fact, I was hoping to take advantage of your many talents again tonight.”

  “Why wait until tonight?”

  A fire flashed behind his dark eyes, and the nearly onyx irises smoldered in contrast to the words he spoke. “Not now, Sydney. You need your rest. They’ll be time for exploration when your strength returns.”

  Exploration? Mmm, she loved the visual that word gave her. Exploration was soo much more than just sex.

  On a sigh, she turned her gaze toward the stretch of beach surrounding Damien’s house. White sand radiated a pristine barr
ier between his home and the water. What would it be like to spend day after day in this paradise? She couldn’t even begin to imagine. This house, with its cast stone veneer and old-world charm, was one of a kind. The small yard brimmed with palm trees, and rainbows of flowers sat or hung in Venetian planters. Mini waterfalls, unspoiled cobblestone walkways…the place had it all, and piqued her curiosity even more about the man who lived here.

  “Tell me about your family,” she said, hoping he’d finally open up to her. “You’ve spoken of your mother. What about the others? Siblings? Nieces? Nephews?”

  His gaze turned seaward and sadness sobered his expression. She immediately regretted her question. There was pain in his features. Something about family pained him greatly.

  She opened her mouth to apologize, to say it wasn’t any of her business, but his answer stopped her.

  “I am the youngest of eight. Five sisters and two brothers. And I have eighteen nieces and nephews altogether.”

  “Do you get to see them a lot? You sound as if you miss them.”

  “Most of them still live in Cuba. I visit as much as I can, but let’s suffice it to say, they don’t come here.”

  She caught a hint of something in his voice that sounded an awful lot like regret. She squeezed his hand in support and decided to change the topic. “You told me earlier that you opened this club ten years ago. What did you do before that?”

  “Besides get in trouble?” He flipped his hand and interlaced their fingers, but the sadness—or regret—remained in his voice. “I owned a hotel in Paris. That’s where I made most of my money, but I wasn’t happy there. I wanted more.”

  “Like what?” She scanned his personal heaven on earth. “A beautiful, lush tropical paradise?”

  “A family.” He clasped his other hand over hers and squeezed. “The same things most men want eventually.”

  “A family?” Unprepared for his answer, her eyebrows bunched closer.