Anyone Here Read online

  “You’re very amusing, Jacob. Very.”

  “Is that a mark in my favor?” The words sounded raspy, probably because they came through a dry throat. He swallowed to fix it, but it was more a gulp.

  “Oh. It’s one of several. I assure you.”

  Wow. Double wow. His skin started to react at her answer, sending an itching sensation all along every limb. Almost like it was craving her and pissed off at the denial, too.

  “Now, can we get back to our business?”

  “And I already asked. What…do you want? Specifically?”

  “How did you know about Dane?”

  He’d almost turned around to press his thumb against the ID fingerprint panel built into the handle that allowed entrance to just three people: Him, and his closest frat buds, Daniel and Sam. Those same guys were supposed to control access to him since they alternated weeks as heads of his security. Tonight was a farce. The red-head looking at his chest was proof. They were all still getting bonuses.

  “Dane?” he repeated.

  “Yes…Dane. You forget already? I’m here to find out about Daemon Bellus. Especially Dane. He’s the Viking vampire character from your game, the one who goes into a berserker phase and rips through opponents. Him.”

  Jake blew a sigh hard enough it lifted his hair from where it had dried on his forehead. “My Viking is named Dane because it sounded sexy, if you can believe that. I originally wanted Eric, but my marketing gurus vetoed it. And let’s get some of the jargon straight. Dane is not a character. None of them are. They’re avatars. Berserker is a gaming mode not a phase. And I got news for you, Cassie. I made him up.”

  She looked confused. At least, her mouth did. And she didn’t even balk at the use of his nickname for her. Sweet. He just might be getting to her. And then she shook her head as if reading his mind and negating it.

  “No. I don’t believe it. It’s too perfect. Too close.”

  “To what?” he asked.

  “What of the Slavic character — I mean avatar?”

  “Which one? The Hun?”

  “The lady.”

  “Oh. That would be Natalya. What about her?”

  “She rips through people’s chests to grab their hearts out. How did you know that?”

  “Pretty cool stuff, huh? I made that up too. She’s an invention. They all are. The ninja chick, the Hun, the inside trader guy in the navy pin-striped suit…even my Canadian Mountie. They’re all from in here.” He tapped his forehead.

  She looked unconvinced. At least her mouth did. And he was getting tired of basing everything on that little bit of her face.

  “Is that what your little visit is all about? Copyright issues? Because if I’ve tromped on somebody’s trademark, you’ll have to call the legal office during business hours. My lawyers check and triple-check everything. There’s not one reference to anyone or anything real, dead, or already fictionalized.”

  “You made them up? Truly?”

  “You’re joking, right? Or…are you one of those insane gamers? The kind that gets so fixated on a game, they actually start thinking its real? ‘Cause it’s not. It’s a game. It’s fake. Nobody gets killed. Nobody turns into an immortal creature. Only crazy people think it’s real.”

  “Don’t offend me.”

  “Look who’s offending. Let’s get this straight right here and right now, Babe. Nothing in my games is real. Nothing. Ever. I even design the settings. Castles. Swamps. Cemeteries. Wastelands. All of them. And the avatars? Not real either. Sorry. The Viking isn’t real. He’s a vampire, and everyone knows they’re not real. Neither are gargoyles. Werewolves. Demons. Trolls. Angels. Fairies. Dragons. Aliens…hell. None of it. And let’s just face facts. Berserkers are a thing of the past, too, if they even existed then.”

  “I said, don’t offend—“

  She poked her index finger into his chest and the entire world went off-kilter. The hallway rocked. Swayed. Lightning-type fire slammed through him and then it rocketed right back out, leaving him standing rooted to the tiles, breathless and shocked, and tingling all over with excitement. And that was just from one fingertip?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Whoa. Babe. Did you just feel that?” he asked.

  “Hush,” she replied.

  “That had to be an earthquake. In New Hampshire? That’ll hit the news. I’m talking major quake here. Close to seven in magnitude.”

  “I said…hush.”

  She ended her words with a “shhh” hiss. And he actually obeyed. It had something to do with how he was still sucking for breath, but probably more with how she lifted her hands into the space between them and worked at the four little buttons at the right wrist of her lace glove. He watched it with complete absorption and absolute anticipation.

  Wow. That was even weirder. He was salivating and panting, while other parts elongated and hardened until the confine of sharkskin trunks pressed back in reply. And for what? A glimpse of the hand beneath a glove? What the hell? Jake was used to women dropping everything in his presence – including their underwear. Harems of women. He’d seen everything and experienced more. And yet this Cassandra chick had him glued to the sight of little pearl buttons leaving their loops. He didn’t even dare blink.

  She pulled her fingers out, one at a time, and held the glove in her left hand while rubbing her naked thumb pad all along her fingertips. Jake licked his lips. Stumbled through a shaky breath. Groaned inwardly. Her hand was finely boned, the fingers long and slender, and she had soft-looking, really white skin. She wasn’t the type to frequent nail salons, either…not for the fake nails anyway. Her nails curved along the tops of each finger, and there wasn’t a speck of polish on any of them.

  She was absolute perfection.

  She’d finished testing the sensation on each finger, and then she looked at her palm before turning it outward. Toward him. And then reaching for him. In slow motion. And the closer she got, the more his body tensed. His rod strained against the trunks. Hard. Needy. Every portion of his body felt as if it did the same. Readied. Primed. Anticipating. Her palm neared his abdomen. Every muscle he owned coiled. And then she touched him, pressing lightly against his six-pack, and reality took a hike.

  Again.

  This time he got sound along with the riot of other sensations. The hallway about him rocked. Swayed. Rotated. Jerked. All accompanied by a musical symphony of bass notes that throbbed through each ear, taking their rhythm from the waves of heat radiating from where her hand rested. Against him. Jolts of electrically charged sensation emanated from where she touched, pulsing through every limb, sending something so close to ecstasy in their wake he gloried in it. And then he shook with it. And then he pulled up to arch backwards, smacking his head into the glass doors behind him in order to emit a solid groan of sound that blended nicely with the tones resonating through each ear.

  She lifted her hand away, stopping every sensation in that exact instant. The echo of his cry faded. Jake opened his eyes and took in the LED fixtures all along the ceiling of his halls, bravely sending light from their antique-styled fixtures even as they blurred. He was close to sobbing at the absolute cold and bereft feeling overtaking him, consuming the warmth and pleasure she’d just given. He blinked rapidly against the instant emotion and had it conquered before he brought his head back down to look at the top of her head. And that ridiculous hat. He probably snarled. It was the best he could manage.

  “What…just happened?” The first word was a croak. The rest wasn’t much better.

  “Oh, Jacob.”

  Damn it! Her voice carried a hint of tears. It just made his eyes water up again. That was the absolute last thing that could happen. Jake blinked with machine rapidity, and when that didn’t work, he moved his vision, looking over her head at the opposite wall. His muscles were slowly relaxing, although they still burned with use, as if he’d hefted an economy sized car, and somehow survived holding the weight. He focused on his breathing, filling his chest with air, holding i
t, and then exhaling it. Slowly. Efficiently. Just as he’d learned in Tai Chi. Long breath in. Hold. Count to eight. Release it slowly. Count to eight. Inhale. Hold for eight. Exhale. He kept his mind on counting and breathing and finally managed to conquer the urge to cry.

  She was fussing with something. He heard the whisper of material. Or something. He moved his glance back to her. She’d removed her other glove. They rested on the floor beside her boots. Those gloves looked expensive. Real lace. Hand tatted. Old. Strange that she’d just drop them. She had a little ring at her middle finger, at its center a really high grade ruby. That probably cost a pretty penny, too. Everything about her smacked of value and old money. And tons of class.

  She lifted her veil over the hat. He watched it come across the mass of red-wine-shaded hair that comprised her bun. And then she moved her head, grazing his frame with her gaze as it traveled up his chest…reached his neck. His chin. And then her eyelashes fluttered a moment before she brought her gaze right to his.

  Pow!

  The feeling was equivalent to a blow. Right between the pecs. It stopped his heart before that muscle decided it might as well keep thumping away in there. Jake didn’t move anything as eyes bluer than any he’d ever seen looked right into his. Deeply. Absorbingly. Questioningly. Closely enough he saw every slight variation of blue about her pupils. He couldn’t see a lens ridge, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t wearing them. That eye color just couldn’t be real. He added to that. She couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be real. Nothing like her existed. It couldn’t. He was asleep, and he was dreaming. That was it. Women this inherently beautiful just did not exist. Jake fancied himself an expert. He’d seen it time and again. Take away a woman’s make-up and you took away a good percentage of her comeliness.

  Except this one.

  Cassandra didn’t appear to use anything from a cosmetics counter. Everything about her looked the purest of natural. The most pristine. And he’d denigrated her. She wasn’t just gorgeous. She was the best looking thing imaginable. Without one bit of artifice. There wasn’t a hint of foundation, a flake of eye shadow, a film of mascara. No blush. Lipstick. Nothing artificial got anywhere near that face. The sound hitting his ears this time was a very pleasant high-pitched note. Perfectly played. Like something from a violin master on a Stradivarius. Complete with a vibrato toward the end of it.

  “Jacob?” He thought she asked it.

  “Yeah?” He might have answered.

  “I think…you’re my mate.”

  Urch!

  Jake’s eyes went wide and he lifted his head away, losing the other-worldly aspects of this near embrace, but gaining a bit of sanity back at the same time. He had to do something. Say something. Anything. Did she just say…mate? No way. He had to get this back to his normal affair – a sex romp with a beautiful girl that fitted nicely into a long string of them. That way it could end without ramifications and recriminations. On either side. Adios, Seniorita. Gracias. Just like always.

  “Did you hear me?”

  “Uh…Cassie—”

  “You wish to feel it again?”

  His knees sagged. He had to lock them to remain upright. She’d probably seen the sway before he controlled it. He let it go. She was handing out weakness with the total male desire rippling across the surface of his skin, making the spandex suit even more restrictive. It didn’t disguise much. He was hard and large enough to lift the robe’s surface. It wasn’t possible to hide any of it.

  “Look. Cassie—”

  He tried again. She interrupted him again.

  “It’s not something you can fight, Jacob.”

  Oh yeah? Well, this guy was swinging and kicking and screaming. He wasn’t going down without a fight. Her voice was seduction itself; her scent, more so. The view would be enough to send him to his knees. It felt like he was already fighting every cell in his body, and that just to stay away from her gaze.

  “Am I going too fast?”

  Oh, hell no. She did not just ask that. No woman had ever said that to him. Ever. A few moments ago he’d have said it wasn’t moving fast enough. That was before her touch and the resultant altering of nature. And if that happened from just a touch, what would a caress feel like? A skim of his fingers down her curves? A taste of her lips? He groaned slightly at the thoughts as everything on him immediately craved all that. And more.

  “Jacob. Look at me.”

  He gulped, swallowing audibly. Moved his head back down. Oh, no. She was still watching him, those unbelievable eyes sucking at his gaze. She’d moved closer, too. And she’d unfastened her bun, releasing her hair. He’d been a bit off on the length. Dark red locks skimmed the backs of her knees. And it was thick even at the ends. Wavy. Shiny. Feminine. That bosom of hers was getting to him, too. She’d also felt something, and her emotion had pushed bountiful breasts he’d noted earlier upward, where they were framed and lifted by black lace. As if for him. A roar of something resembling a flash fire flared into being within him. He began vibrating to it. It was an incredible sensation. And he wanted more. Tons more.

  And that’s when he lost the fight. Sort of. If pretending to be her mate was the way to get more of her magic – then so be it. He pulled in a breath that trembled.

  “This mate thing…uh. It’s not—uh. It’s not forever. Right?”

  She smiled slightly. His entire form jerked. He barely kept from grabbing her up and against him by a sheer act of will.

  “I mean, it’s just for…the moment. For now. Yes?”

  “It bothers you that much?”

  Jake opened his mouth and started talking. “It’s ownership. Slavery. I mean, my parents told me once they were soul mates. Right. No such thing. They never wed. They just mated. Unfaithfully. And then they grew to hate each other. Until dad passed on anyway. Is that what you mean with this ‘mate’ thing? I mean, I’ve firsthand information. It’s complete and total crap. Your heart in exchange for a knife to stick in it. Worse than a living death…it’s—it’s mortal purgatory. Every man knows a woman can’t be—”

  She stopped him with a complete cheat. She’d jumped up slightly, wrapped her arms about his neck, and pulled his head down so she could plant her lips firmly against his. And fireworks erupted. They shot through his skull, and then the hall, and probably out into the New Hampshire night. She had her perfect fingers threaded through the length of hair at the back of his neck, that bounteous bosom firmly entrenched against his pecs, while creating absolute heaven with her mouth, and then her moans. He felt a spike of pain, as if she’d slit open a cut inside his lower lip, and that was followed by a feeling of such immensity, his entire body trembled. Vibrated. Shook.

  She came closer, and he helped. He lifted her against him, supporting her with a scooped arm while she wrapped her legs about his hips, linking her little ankle boots at his lower back. And all of that in order to slide parts of her still undiscovered and hidden against where the sharkskin trunks were in the way. Jake slid his free hand to the waistband of the damn things and then peeled them off, shimmying the garment down his legs, dancing to force it to his ankles, and then kicking the trunks aside. He had to get in his bed. Screw that. He had to get her on a couch. He had to get buried in her. He had to. He couldn’t think beyond that. He almost couldn’t breathe, except she seemed to be orchestrating them from where she was affixed to his chest.

  Jake reached back with one hand, somehow found the thumb ID pad, and with the instant click of the door, he shoved backwards through the portal. She didn’t help. At all. She was riding him, with little kicks from her legs, while doing maneuvers with her mouth against his that threatened to liquefy his limbs more than once. He slammed against the back of a flat-screen television, jostling cables and making the entire thing tremble against its fastening in the ceiling. He didn’t care if it fell. Even if it was the brand new 2160 pixel, 480 refresh rate, 120 inch, razor thin, flat screen. All he cared about was finding his way around it. He stumbled at the edge of a platform, lurc
hed somehow up the steps without falling, and she applauded that bit of athleticism by sliding her mouth across his cheek to his neck. He felt a never-ending series of shivers. An elevation of every sense. A whisper of sensation like a burn. A bit of wetness as if she tongued her way into the perfect spot.

  And then she latched right onto his throat, somehow sending a perfect cohesion of bliss and excitement all the way through him. That combination completely undid him, weakening his legs and sending them sprawling. Jake spun, taking the brunt of the fall with his back. He bounced lightly on leather. It must be his lucky night. Obviously. He’d reached one of the black leather sofas. Didn’t really matter. He’d prepared for the floor. All that mattered was making certain the waves of ecstasy she sent with her sucking motions continued. And her moans. Along with her sinuous, writhing motions against him. He moved his head, shoving his chin against hers, until she granted him the same access to her throat that she had to his. And then he was just below her ear, breathing onto skin before sliding his tongue along it, thoroughly enjoying the little bumps that lifted as he licked his way along her neck.

  Oh…baby! He gave her goose bumps. And an even more ecstatic sounding series of moans. And then, for some reason he opened his jaw, scraping teeth along her flesh, skinning the surface and raising more than bumps. And at the first taste, everything went to absolute nirvana. Shangri La. Paradise. And heaven. Rolled somehow into one. Jake shifted, rolling to one side before one more jolt got her beneath him, her legs still tightly wrapped about his hips, her woman spot almost melded to him. At least, as closely as it could through his spa robe and her various layers of clothing.

  And that was changing.

  Both hands delved beneath her little skirt, searching and then finding the tops of her stockings. From there, it was an easy move to roll them in a sequence of motions resembling the butterfly stroke in swimming. Those crocheted stockings hadn’t much elastic in them, if any. They rolled easily right over her knees and to where her ankle boots stopped them. She sucked a bit harder on his throat, sending him into an arc of complete and total delight. Joy. Rapture.