Shaking Off the Dust (43 page)

He smiled at the naughty whisper and gripped her waist, the cotton of her blouse soft against his palms.

“I’ve got everything I want right here.”

From beneath her lashes, she flicked a glance at him. She trailed a slender finger down his chest, leaving unbearable excitement in its path. Her fingernail traced a circle around his navel, the muscles in his gut jumping under the soft touch, his erection growing to press against his fly with excruciating intensity. The maddening finger slid down to skim along his waistband.

She lifted her other hand to release her hair. She shook the sleek mass back and he reached up, itching to bury his hands in it. She caught his wrists, her thighs pressing harder into his.

“You must have some fantasies, Calvert.” She leaned toward him, her blouse gapping to offer him a glimpse of the sheer bra he’d dreamed of all day. She nuzzled his throat, almost purring. “Something that pushes your buttons.” Her husky voice, a dark whisper, shivered over his ear. Thumbs caressed his wrists, but continued to hold his hands at his sides. “Whatever turns you on.”

Everything she did turned him on. She’d been every one of his fantasies since he’d taken her to his bed.

Or hell, if he was really honest, since that first week at Quantico, during a course on takedown methods, when she’d knocked him on his ass.

“Cait—”

“Or maybe you want me to figure it out.”

Lean thigh muscles flexed against his legs and she pushed at his chest, a light shove, until he lay flat, reclining on his elbows. He laughed, the sound emerging rusty and strangled. “We’ve been here before, Falconetti.”

“No.” She curled her fingers into his waistband, and his stomach contracted. “Definitely not here, Calvert.”

Knuckles brushing his abdomen, she popped free the metal button, and his breath stopped. The slow trace of her lowering his zipper felt like a caress. Desperate to touch her, he reached for her, intending to drag her down for a kiss.

She caught his hands. “No. You’re not touching yet.”

“Cait.” The frustrated sound was close to a strangled plea and he swallowed hard. He caught her teasing smile before her hair fell forward to shield her face. How the hell did she think he’d keep his hands from her? He was hard, straining and ready now, and she’d barely touched him.

She pushed his arms above his head again. Stretching forward, she nipped his shoulder, her breasts

rubbing against his chest.

“Damn it, Cait, you’re killing me.” The words were wrung from him on a gasp when she ran her nails down his torso in a light rake, stopping just short of his open fly.

He grasped her waist and found his wrists captured in a firm grip. She held him down this time, leaning over him, her body cupping him intimately. She moved in a slow, sinuous circle against his straining erection, her low laugh doing incredible things to his nerves. “I don’t have to get out the cuffs, do I, Calvert?”

The scary thing was he’d let her. He’d let her do anything she wanted to him and enjoy every minute of it. He was hers.

Great. He was already a goner.

“Whatever you want, Falconetti.”

“Giving me control can be a dangerous thing,” she murmured against his ear. Easing his hands above his head once more, she rotated her hips into his, and he ground his teeth, aching to be inside her.

“And I told you, I don’t have a problem relinquishing control. Sometimes it can be damned interesting.”

Releasing him, she kissed him, a slow, teasing caress. “Let’s find out how interesting.”

Metal clinked before the cold circle closed around his right wrist. He jerked, and the other cuff rasped shut on his left wrist. His fingers brushed the heavy wood post on his coffee table, and surprised, he stared into green eyes near black with passion and mischief. She rested her hands on the floor, either side of his torso, a smile quirking at her mouth, and excitement burned in his gut.

Interesting wasn’t the word.

She didn’t speak, but blazed a trail of kisses down his abdomen. Her fingers curled in his waistband again and she tugged downward, jeans and boxer briefs sliding over his hips. At the rush of cool air, his dick twitched, and he caught another glimpse of her wayward smile. She pulled the garments free of his body and tossed them aside.

Tracing a design on the inside of his thigh, she tilted her head. “You said something about giving me control?”

Considering he was the one naked, incredibly aroused and handcuffed, he figured she already had it.

“It’s…interesting.”

Her fingertip moved up his leg, eased over his scrotum in a featherweight caress. Uncontrollably, his back arched, his eyes slid closed. “God, precious.”

She skimmed the finger along the length of his erection, the light touch shivering through him, sending sparks to every nerve.

The lush wetness of her mouth closed around him. He bowed again, his stomach clenching, the cuff chain rattling against the table leg.

“Holy hell,” he gasped, his breathing coming in uneven bursts. More than anything, he wanted to touch her, the smoothness of her skin under his hands, and he could do nothing but give himself over to the pure sin of her mouth.

She had him completely at her mercy.

One woman’s struggle to learn the truth turns into one man’s battle to save her life.

Winter’s Daughter

© 2007 JC Wilder

Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble...

Twenty years after the untimely death of her mother and cruel separation from her sisters, Synnamon Angelov returns to her abandoned childhood home in Salem, Ohio. She is determined to find her sisters and search for the answers behind the half-buried memories and nightmares that still plague her. Not surprisingly, the superstitious people of Salem aren't all happy that Syn is back in town.

Secrets revealed...

Police Chief Matthew Whitefeather doesn't deal in hocus pocus; he works with cold, hard facts in both his personal and professional life. When Syn starts asking questions around town, Matt pays little attention to the whispers of witchcraft and murder—until someone tries to force Syn to leave Salem.

Dead or alive.

Matt and Syn reluctantly join forces and find themselves caught in a web of deceit. Just what happened the night Victoria Angelov was found dead on a lonely country road?

And why were her children forced to pay for her sins?

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Winter’s Daughter
: She didn’t miss the narrowing of Haines’ eyes. By this evening it would be all over Salem that the witch’s daughter had returned.

Her gaze met Whitefeather’s. “The house is mine, and I’m cleaning it out before the renovations begin.”

“I’ll need some identification.”

“It’s in my car outside.”

“After you then.” He stepped back and allowed her to lead the way.

Calling for Maddie, Syn left the house and jogged down the porch steps. She caught sight of two marked vehicles beside the house and a third coming up the drive. Mentally she cursed. She should’ve paid closer attention to what was going on. Instead, she’d been caught in the painful memories of her childhood, so she’d turned up the music to drown out the voices in her head.

Reaching the Jeep, she opened the glove box to retrieve her wallet. “Were you expecting a den of thieves to be out here or what? How did little ole’ me rate three officers to roust me out of my own house?”

“I’m sure you can understand an abandoned property is the perfect place for kids who are up to no good.” He took her license.

“The property was hardly abandoned. We have a caretaker keeping an eye on the place and—”

His radio squawked, cutting her off.

“Four-ten.”

He keyed the microphone attached to his shoulder. “Four-ten, go ahead.”

“Nineteen ninety-nine Jeep Wrangler, brown, registered to one Synnamon Angelov, age thirty-four, five-ten, black and blue, one-sixty, at a Sedona, Arizona address. Break.”

“Go ahead.”

“This Angelov has a lengthy arrest record. We’re currently checking to see if she has any outstanding warrants. Break.”

Syn’s gaze met his, and even though she was withering on the inside, she offered him a brazen smile and a shrug. “Some of us were born to be bad, Chief.”

He keyed the mike again. “Go ahead.”

“She has both a juvenile and adult record. Petty theft, vagrancy, drug abuse, trespassing, and fifteen years ago she was convicted of involuntary manslaughter.”

Syn’s skin crawled and she wanted nothing more than to slink away, but she wouldn’t give any man the satisfaction of seeing her shame. While she wasn’t proud of her criminal past, she’d accepted the dark and twisty side of herself a long time ago. If she hadn’t walked that road, committed those crimes and lived on the streets, she wouldn’t be the woman who stood before him now.

No longer was she the lost, broken woman who’d lived the life of criminal. Her desire for death or the mindlessness of drugs was gone, banished by years of hard work and intense therapy. But no matter how many times she’d wished the past could remain just that—in the past—it never did. Always, when she least expected it, the old Syn would make her presence known.

Whitefeather’s gaze never left hers as he spoke into the radio mike. “Copy that.”

She’d seen the look in his eyes many times before. He’d already passed judgment and found her lacking. Most people who learned of her dark past did the exact same thing. So what did it matter if one more small-town cop thought she was some sort of drug-addicted, murdering skank?

“Is there anything you’d like to add, Ms. Angelov?” Whitefeather’s tone was noncommittal.

“Hardly. I’d really hate to ruin any future surprises for you. I just love the anticipation.”

“An explanation might go a long way toward my trusting you more.” He handed her license back to her.

“Oh, my life is over, the chief of police doesn’t trust me.” She rolled her eyes. “Your dispatcher will come back and tell you I have no warrants. I’ve been clean for fifteen years and I’m not going to make excuses for a difficult time in my youth. I don’t owe an explanation to you or anyone else.” She stuffed her wallet back into the glove box and slammed it shut. “I did the crimes, I did my time and I’m a law-abiding citizen now. That’s all you need to know.”

“Fine.” His handsome lips tightened and she would almost swear he was disappointed by her response.

“In the morning I will verify the ownership of the house, and if everything checks out, you’re good to go.”

“You do that.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she propped her hip against the Jeep. “The house will be listed as held by a trust company in Boston. If you call them, they will assure you I’m the legal owner of this place.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“Suspicious, aren’t you? Did you ever stop to think maybe a person is innocent until proven otherwise?

Isn’t that a tenet of our judicial system?”

His dark brow arched. “People who are innocent don’t usually talk back to the law, nor do they have lengthy criminal records.”

“Ah, the unforgiving type I see. I’ll bet you never made any mistakes growing up, did you?” Syn’s smile was icy and thin. “Thank you so much for coming all the way out here to harass me. What’s the matter, not enough crime going on in Salem to keep you busy?”

“Unfortunately, there is always something to be taken care of in Salem.” He crossed his big arms over his chest. “This was considered much more important.”

“That just warms my little heart, Chief.”

“I’ll bet.”

Haines walked out of the house with a troubled look on his face. In retrospect, this one probably didn’t remember anything of the dark times, as he’d been pretty young, possibly the same age as the twins. Still, she had little doubt he’d heard the rumors and speculation that must’ve run rampant in the town after they’d left. The destructive side of her personality would not let her leave it at that.

“Officer Haines, please make sure you give your daddy and mama my regards.” She walked toward the steps.

“Do you two know each other?” Whitefeather asked.

“This one here was but a child when my sisters and I left Salem.” Syn’s laugh was careless. “But I surely did know his older brother, Donnie. He spent most of my fourteenth summer trying to get into my panties or shove his tongue down my throat. I think he was almost eighteen. If he’d succeeded, wouldn’t that have been statutory rape?”

“No, Chief.” Haines’ face looked as if it were carved from stone. “My family didn’t associate with common trash.”

“Just the uncommon kind.” Syn reached the top of the steps and she turned to face the men. “Yeah, well, if anyone in Salem knew what trash was, it was your mama, boy. Edina Mayhew Haines could spot a bad seed, couldn’t she? How do you think she and your daddy got together?”

His face turned bright red, and for a moment she thought his head might explode. If looks could kill, she’d be dead where she stood.

Without another word, Haines spun on his heel and stalked to his cruiser. Slamming the door hard, he took off in a spray of gravel.

“Hmm, maybe you need to think about anger management for your officers,” she said to the chief.

“I apologize for Officer Haines. He’s been under a great deal of stress lately.” His tone was stiff.

Syn shrugged. “I can tell he must’ve been the whiner of the Haines brothers. He probably had a lot to live up to, with an upstanding brother like Donnie. And how is Trent? Is he still as crazy as hell?”

“I’ll check out your story, Ms. Angelov,” Whitefeather continued. “Then I’ll be by tomorrow around noonish, so I’d recommend you don’t leave the county.”

“How very Hill Street Blues of you, Chief. If you have so much spare time on your hands, why don’t you look into my mother’s murder instead of harassing those you’re supposed to be protecting?” She struck a look of surprise and snapped her fingers. “Oh wait, now I remember. The Salem Police only look out for their own, isn’t that right?”

Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

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