Waking The Serpent. Jane Kindred

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ glow of candlelight.

      The hairs on Phoebe’s arms rose. For an alarming instant, she thought lightning was about to strike right through the roof, until she recognized the familiar tug. The shades had come and they were seeking entry—all three at once.

      She’d never hosted more than one step-in at a time. When Phoebe opened her mouth to tell them to wait their turn, a wild laugh came out of it. Not her own.

      Dimly, she heard Rafe asking if she was all right, but the shades were pushing her consciousness down, making her a sort of backseat passenger. There was no uncertainty as with the shade this morning, and even her own uneasiness felt secondary to the personalities of these shades. They’d done this before.

      “Marvelous, darling.” Her mouth formed the words in a husky, sensual purr. She sensed Lila as an older woman, pleased with the youthful body she occupied. “Though it’s crowded in here.”

      “Step out, then, chica.” Phoebe’s voice this time was rough and deep, and heavily accented. Ernesto.

      “You step out.” Another masculine cadence, slightly amused, with a soft, Texas twang, challenged the first.

      Phoebe was beginning to feel light-headed, and she must have looked it.

      Rafe reached across the table and took her hands in both of his. “Let me speak with Phoebe for a moment.”

      She opened her mouth to assure him she was still there, but her breath seemed to be sucked from her across the table, and Rafe took in a deep, gasping inhalation, eyes wide, as one of the shades leaped from her into him. It was a first in her experience.

      “What are you doing?” Ernesto protested with Phoebe’s mouth. He swore in Spanish and then Phoebe felt a strange wrenching sensation. Lila was shoving Ernesto out. She thought she’d have more control now with only one shade to deal with, but instead of coming to the fore, she felt herself slipping deeper, her distress at the sensation all but subsumed by Lila’s eminent self-satisfaction.

      Rafe pulled her to her feet and drew her around the table. But it wasn’t Rafe, of course. It was Jacob. “Care to dance?” Jacob’s amusement sparkled in the dark eyes.

      “I thought you’d never ask.” She could swear she was hosting Kathleen Turner. Before she could try to wrest some control from the step-in, she found herself in Rafe’s arms, arousal evident in the hard warmth against her thigh as he pulled her in tight. Rafe’s lips were kissing hers and Phoebe’s were ardently kissing back. She gasped into his mouth as his tongue prodded her open, his fingers drawing goose bumps along her skin, and she moaned as he pinched one of her nipples through the thin cup of lace.

      She was instantly wet, needing this man as she’d never needed anyone, desperate, lest he disappear once more and fade into the incorporeal shade of the man she loved but was denied. Too much time had passed since he’d been taken from her, too much time had been spent alone, and she would not allow this moment to be taken from her, as well. Jacob was hers and she meant to have him inside her, to experience the union she ached for finally.

      Rafe’s fingers slid down Phoebe’s side as he kissed her, dipping inside the elastic of her panties. Phoebe begged with little moans into his mouth for him to go farther, to open her. Two fingers teased at the perimeter of her sex, one slipping toward the center and stroking like a warm knife against buttercream frosting on a springy cake.

      Deep in her mind, alarm bells were going off. This wasn’t her. It wasn’t Rafe. Something neither of them had consented to was about to happen. Even if she couldn’t deny wanting the body pressed against her, the desire flooding her decidedly her own, this wasn’t right. She ought to be the one in control here. She was the mediator. Rafe was essentially at her mercy.

      The panties dropped to the floor and Rafe slid down one bra strap and let the taut nipple peek out, just at the edge of the fabric.

      He lowered his head, his breath against her breast. “God, I want you.”

      God, she wanted him, too. His mouth closed over the nipple, sucked between his teeth, his other hand prodding between her legs, fingers poised to enter.

      “No!” The word tore out of her throat, even as she writhed with pleasure under the adoration of his mouth.

      Rafe paused and lifted his head, confused.

      Phoebe gritted her teeth. “Get out, Lila. Jacob, let him go.”

      Rafe’s hands dropped away from her and he took a step back, doubling over with a sudden groan as if he’d been punched in the gut. The shade rushed out.

      Phoebe heard herself screaming—Lila, anguished and mournful, a banshee’s wail as she was torn from Phoebe’s corporeal matter. For a moment, while the connection still held, she experienced the shade’s desperate sorrow as her own. She felt like a heel as Lila left her. But that was only fleeting next to the full awareness flooding back to her. And just to help out, the electricity blinked back on, leaving them standing facing each other in the glaring light of the wagon-wheel chandelier.

      “Oh, my God.” The blood drained from Rafe’s face as Phoebe tried to re-cover herself with as much cool, collected calm as she could muster—which was zilch.

      Rafe grabbed an afghan from the back of the couch and threw it around her. “Phoebe, I—I swear to you, that wasn’t my... I don’t know what happened—”

      “You don’t have to explain. It was the shades. I’ve never felt any quite so...determined before.” Her knees began to shake in the aftermath of the possession, quickly morphing into a full-body tremble, complete with chattering teeth. “I need to warm up.” How ironic. She’d been plenty hot a second ago. “This happens sometimes, after.”

      “What can I do? What do you need?”

      “Run a bath for me. Please.” Her knees buckled and Rafe caught her, easing her to the couch. After gently setting her head on a pillow, he hurried down the hall, the sound of running water announcing he was doing as she’d asked. He stayed in the bathroom while the tub filled, too mortified, she supposed, to be in the same room with her. She had to admit, not looking at him right now was probably a really good idea.

      When it was ready, he came to get her, dressed in his damp, steamy clothes fresh from the dryer. She was still unsteady, and she made a little yip of surprise when he swept her off the ground and carried her the rest of the way, setting her on her feet only when he’d reached the bathroom rug.

      “Do you need any help?” He addressed the top of her left ear.

      “No. I’ve got this. Thanks. It’ll just take me a few minutes to warm up.”

      Rafe nodded and stepped out, closing the door to give her privacy. He’d also given her bubbles—lavender. That was sweet. Phoebe dropped the afghan and her underthings in a heap and climbed into the claw-foot tub, sinking into the aromatic suds. It was impossible not to replay every touch—illicitly received though they might have been—as she lay back against the porcelain and closed her eyes. Her body wasn’t likely to forget it, even if she managed to stop thinking about it. Even the taste of his mouth and the smell of his skin lingered.

      A sound carried from the front of the house—the click of the front door closing. Damn.

       Chapter СКАЧАТЬ