All That Sparkles (Siren Publishing Classic) Read online

  Suddenly, there are hands on my shoulders and Detective Logan magically appears behind me. I know I should be wondering where he came from but for some reason, I don’t. I just roll with it.

  He stares at me in the mirror now, too, his bright blue eyes sparkling with desire as they travel up and down the entire length of my body. His hands move slowly down my arms and across my belly. My heart is pounding like a jackhammer as a surge of warm, wet lust settles between my legs.

  The faint, blue moonlight bounces off Dreamy’s short blond hair like a beacon that’s calling to me, and I want to run my fingers through it. He spins me around to face him and I raise my hand tentatively, brushing my fingers through the soft, cropped hair above his ear. He doesn’t object, so I raise my other hand, letting my fingers move gently over the dark stubble that’s spread across his chiseled, handsome face. It’s soft and bristly, and all I know is that I want to feel it on me, on my special places, my dark places, all of me. He leans his face into my hand and nuzzles, prompting fresh cream to gather in my nether regions.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, and I feel myself blushing. He leans down, holding my face firmly with both hands, and kisses me gently, his tongue parting my lips sweetly, curiously seeking.

  My body comes alive as his hands begin to roam, moving up and down my hips and my stomach, searching out every dip and contour they can find through the thin, slinky material of my dress. Slowly, his hands migrate to my breasts, where they lightly caress as he sprinkles my neck with nips and kisses.

  His lips continue downward until I feel his hot breath against my hyper-sensitive nipple. He teases, drawing hot, wet circles around it with his tongue, and then gently bites and nips. Oh…ah…He pinches and rubs and rolls until both nipples ache with pleasure and I’m not sure I can stand anymore.

  My legs are barely holding me up. Still, I manage to slip my hands beneath his jacket and I let them wander over his shirt. I drag them across his wide, muscular chest, and I trace his nipples lightly with my fingertips, trailing them down to his stomach. I can feel the muscles stiffen, his abs hard and firm against my palms.

  The passion-o-meter ratchets up to boiling as he pulls me closer to him, cupping my ass with his hands, and pushing his hips into me until I can feel his hard cock grinding against my stomach.

  “Oh. Yes.” I breathe, answering some unspoken question.

  His lips move to mine and he kisses me again, hard and passionate this time, biting my lips and probing my mouth with his tongue, absorbing any strength or willpower I may have had as I writhe and wriggle against him. My needs are well beyond my control now.

  Lost in his kiss, I let him drive me gently back until suddenly, he stops. He shoves me slightly so that I fall back onto a soft, plush bed with dark, satin sheets. I’m not sure how it got there as I hadn’t seen it before, but surprisingly, I’m not surprised. I don’t question it.

  I sit up, leaning on my elbows, panting, as he slowly unbuttons his shirt and I watch the soft light play on the curly blond hair that’s sprinkled sparsely across his broad, muscular chest. He drops the shirt to the floor and his fingers move on to the first button of his jeans. I watch with delicious anticipation, huffing and puffing like I’ve just run a marathon, every muscle in my body tensed and poised for action.

  “Here,” he says, pausing his little strip-tease and breaking my trance. He reaches behind him and presents me with a pair of shiny, silver handcuffs from his back pocket. I’m confused, and wonder briefly if he’s going to arrest me. Then, like a cat, he’s on top of me, his taut stomach resting lightly against my lips as he pulls my arms above my head. I’m about to run my tongue across it when he says, “Don’t move.” What the hell?

  Afraid to disobey, I do as he says and I lie very still. The cuff clicks soundly around my wrist and I dip my head so I can watch him. He weaves the cuffs through the bed rails above my head, and then he clicks the second one on my free hand. I tug against them just to test what my eyes are seeing. They don’t lie—I can’t move my hands.

  “Perfect,” he whispers, grinning wickedly as he stands to admire my precarious predicament.

  His fingers make quick work of the remaining buttons on his jeans, and I wish my hands were free so I could touch him. He shoves down his pants with haste and his long, hard cock springs free, pointing at me as if to identify the clear object of its desire. I tremble at the sight and lick my lips, ready for my Dreamy Popsicle. But he doesn’t give me the chance.

  He leans forward, his fingers reaching greedily beneath my dress and carefully removing my panties. They look small in his hand as he lifts them slowly, presses them softly against his face, and inhales them. His cock twitches. I watch, both repelled and attracted at the same time.

  Before I can react, he grabs my ankles, tugging me roughly toward him, and spreading my legs wide so that I lay splayed out and helpless before him. I’m so hot, I’m afraid I’ll combust as he trails his tongue softly up my thigh toward my anxious pussy. I writhe in precious agony, moaning and bucking my hips.

  He sweeps his finger between my moist lips, tickling and exploring, diving and circling. I stiffen and moan as I feel him take me in his hot mouth, sucking and licking my throbbing clit, and I am gone.

  I come, shouting blessings and curses at the same time, every muscle in my body jerking and jumping. I am a sea of ebbs and flows, a whirlpool of delicious sensations that he milks until every last convulsion calms. Ahh…

  Chapter Four

  I pop straight up in my bed, quivering and panting like my sex is on fire, both arms tangled firmly in the sheet. I can’t move my legs! I paw and rut wildly at the bed until I see Aunt Jo’s quilt kneaded thoroughly around my feet. What the f-? I thrash around until my feet are loose, and then I shake my hands out of the sweaty sheet. My eyes dart around the room like a hawk searching for its next meal. But I don’t see Dreamy anywhere.

  Finally, I give up. Clearly, he’s not here. Then, feeling like a character in an E.L. James novel, I perch on the side of the bed and blink myself awake as the daylight pours into my room. It’s warm. I glance at the clock and see that it’s already ten-thirty.

  I stand and stretch, knowing that while that might have been a dream, my orgasm was definitely real enough and now I need a shower. I grab some fresh clothes from my dresser and head to the bathroom, still reeling from my first wet dream. Hm…Detective Dreamy. I sigh.

  Refreshed and surprisingly hangover-free after my shower, I opt for a quick brunch of juice and a banana, which is odd since I usually prefer a caffeine-laced sugar rush to get me started in the mornings. I lean across the bar, sipping the juice slowly and feeling very Michele Obama-like, when my phone rings.

  “Hello?” I toss the banana peel in the bin behind me.

  “You up?” Rachael’s voice is perky and upbeat.

  “I’m up,” I chirp. “I’m actually finishing my breakfast as we speak.”

  “Hm…Coke and a Ding Dong?” She knows me so well.

  I smile. “Nope.”

  “Dr. Pepper and a Ho Ho?”

  “Nope.”

  “I give up, then.” She laughs. “Mountain Dew and Captain Crunch?”

  Grinning, I explain. “I told you, new me. I’m gonna start eating healthier, working out more, and working less.”

  “Good for you! Your first totally free weekend in five years with no second job hanging over your head. Or, third, for that matter. I’m so happy for you.” Her tone changes now. “So, how did you sleep after last night?”

  I sigh loudly for effect. “Well, funny story.”

  “Oh no.”

  “No, it was great, actually.” I stroll to the living room and push open the curtains. “Let’s just say I woke up and wanted a cigarette and a shower.”

  “What?”

  “Remember that detective from last night?” I ask, leaning toward the window, squinting. A black truck is parked across the street, no driver, no passengers. And, given that I have no nearby n
eighbors, it seems very out of place.

  “Detective Dreamy? No, you did not!” She squeals.

  “Yeah. Dreamy.” I giggle and pace back toward the kitchen. “Well, wait. Not really. But can I just say that I had the most delicious dream of my life this morning?”

  “No, you can’t. I need details,” she snaps.

  “Well, I can tell you that it’s just sad that the best sex of my life was all a dream. But I have a lot of new material that I want to try the next time I get half a chance.”

  “Wait! Just hold that thought. I’m leaving the farmer’s market now and I’ll be there in thirty.”

  “Okay. Seems I have nothing better to do than sit around and wait for you today, anyway.” Apparently, hot sex makes me snarky, too. I grab my empty juice glass, rinse it, and leave it in the sink.

  “Good! Stay right there. I’m on my way.” She hangs up.

  I smile, shaking my head, and drop my phone on the bar. It feels weird to have all this free time on my hands. I quit my part-time job at the grocery store last month, and was finally able to quit my second part-time job at King’s Pizza last week, once my first full paycheck from the chemical plant was deposited safely in the bank. Full-time at the plant means I can relax and just work one job like other normal people, and still be able to eat and pay my mortgage.

  I return to the window and look across the street to see if the missing driver has returned. The truck is gone. Hm. I shrug and grab the remote. Slowly, the television crackles to life and Gordon Ramsey instructs me on steps for making a perfect flank steak. Just as my mouth begins to water, the doorbell rings. Rachael? I thought she said thirty minutes? I click off the television, toss the remote on the sofa, and walk toward the front door. There’s an impatient knock before I get there. Definitely not Rachael.

  “Yes?” I open the door expectantly, but not quite expecting what was there.

  “Miss Carter?” Holy Sheep Shit! I nod slowly, stricken suddenly mute. “I’m Callum Stone.” He looks at me as if I should know this already. “Cal.”

  I stare at him for a minute, only vaguely aware that my mouth is hanging open. He smiles, his shaggy, dark hair outlining a hopelessly handsome face. His dark hooded eyes are tinged with flecks of red and set above a smooth, square jaw. My eyes drift down to his lips, thick and full and perfect for kissing. What is wrong with me? I blame it on the sex dream and allow myself some liberties as I take in his tall, masculine physique.

  All this gorgeousness is wrapped in a dark grey pinstripe suit, topped with a neat, black tie tied into a perfect Windsor knot and resting smugly against his long, tanned neck. I shake my head in an attempt to recover some composure.

  “Okay?” I say uncertainly, finally finding my voice as I stare hopelessly into his deep, dark eyes. I’ve never seen eyes like his. I fantasize his next words will be that he’s here to service my deviant sex needs following an urgent call from my best friend.

  He shifts nervously, peering discreetly over my shoulder. “Can we talk for a minute?”

  “Um…” I glance behind me at my empty house, reality creeping in to ruin the mood. “Sure,” I agree, stepping outside to join him on the porch. I close the door behind me and motion for him to sit down on the wicker love seat beside us. “Have a seat.”

  He smiles and shoves his hands into his pants pockets, seemingly aware that I’m considering the possibility he’s a serial killer. “Thank you. I promise I’m not a serial killer,” he says, because he’s obviously a mind reader.

  “How can I help you?” I ask with a little more vigor than intended. I cannot imagine anything in the world this beautiful man might need from me. But I’m pretty sure I’ll give it to him, whatever it is.

  He looks at me deeply, long and hard, and I get a feeling that he is searching for something. It makes me uncomfortable and I shift nervously in my seat. Finally, I break his gaze, and for a second, I’m glad I’m already sitting down or my knees might actually give way beneath me. This man is intense, definitely swoon material. I glance down, watching my fingers twist nervously in my lap.

  “What is it that you want, Mister…” My mind goes blank.

  “Stone.” He smiles.

  “Stone!” I repeat, nodding emphatically. “Stone.” Idiot!

  “But you can call me Cal. Miss Carter, I—”

  “Ellie,” I interrupt. “You can call me Ellie.”

  “Ellie,” he says as if trying it on for the first time. He grins and my stomach does a somersault. “Ellie, I work with the owners of the Iron Horse. I understand you were at the club last night and saw…something?”

  “Oh,” I reply, more than a little surprised. Of all the people I thought he might be, that never entered my mind. “Yes.”

  He looks at me expectantly. “Yes?”

  I sigh, aware that his presence seems to have limited my penchant for common speech. “Yes, I was at the club and yes, I saw…something.”

  “And, what was it exactly that you thought you saw?” He stresses the word ‘thought’ and I realize that he’s not here to simply provide me with moral support.

  “I’m sorry.” I smile, switching to my professional voice and praying that it doesn’t reflect the small seed of panic that’s growing inside me by the second. “Who exactly did you say you work for?”

  He purses his lips briefly, thinking. “I work for Donahue International. Here.” He reaches inside his coat and produces a small, white business card. I nod, accepting the card, and I run my fingers over the glossy, embossed words as if they might divulge some clue behind his visit. “You see, we’re very hands-on in the management of our investments and, frankly, we’re a bit concerned that the events of last night could go a long way toward damaging our reputation.”

  “I see.” I lift my eyes and glance around the yard casually before resting them on the shiny black truck parked in my drive. It’s the same one I saw earlier across the street. “Well, I haven’t held a press conference yet, if that’s what you’re worried about. But I did tell the police everything I saw last night.”

  He chuckles. “Yes, I know. And, I have spoken with them. But we really want to hear from you, in your own words.”

  I wonder briefly if this is normal. It certainly doesn’t feel normal. I haven’t witnessed a lot of murders, but it seems strange to me that the Iron Horse owners would want to send a representative to my house to interview me personally. I clear my throat and stare at his business card, trying to think of the right response for this situation.

  “Look, Cal…Mr. Stone.” I correct myself, deciding it might be best to keep the interaction on a professional level. “I saw a man stab a woman to death in the alley of your club last night. It was bloody, it was brutal, and it was tragic. I’m sorry if it damages the reputation of your business. But it’s a fact. And, beyond that, I’m really not prepared to provide any more detail.”

  I stand, cueing him to leave, but he looks up at me, seemingly unmoved by my passionate speech. “I understand. I’m sure it was a terrible experience for you.”

  “Thank you. Yes, it was. And, I’m sorry about your club’s reputation. I really am, but I’m not sure there’s anything I can do for you.” He stands and I hold his gaze, though suddenly I’m feeling very small.

  “I’m not so convinced of that, Ellie. Were you able to get a good look at him?” he persists. “I mean, if you ran into him again on the street, would you know who he was?” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. In fact, the red flecks in his eyes almost sparkle now in the morning sunlight, and I wonder if this guy isn’t Satan himself.

  “Uh…” I’m temporarily stunned by the inappropriateness of his question. And, if the use of my name was supposed to make me feel safe, it had the opposite of its intended effect.

  Alarm bells go off inside my head and all I can see is my second grade teacher, Mrs. Pratt, with her wrinkly pink lips repeating ‘Stranger Danger’ over and over. She never warned us they’d look like this guy, though.

 
; “I’m not sure if I would recognize him or not. I just don’t know.” I lie. “Listen, I’m expecting someone. They’ll be here any minute.”

  He nods, his steely eyes riveting me to the porch. “Who? Rachael?”

  Kaboom! My heart explodes in my chest and my fight-or-flight instincts visit me again for the second day in a row, though they’re still unclear as to which is the right response.

  “How…who?” I stammer, my ability to put words together to create simple sentences having flown the coop once again.

  “You should be careful who you speak to, Ellie. And, be careful of what you say.” He pauses for a moment and adds, “You just don’t know who you can trust.”

  A thousand thoughts run through my head simultaneously, like an old silent film. Me, picking up a sofa cushion and whacking him over the head as I race toward the road screaming. Him, chasing after me and tying me to a railroad track, like villains do. I consider the possibility that he’s a hitman or an assassin. Not the ninja nunchuck kind, but the other kind. His looks are obviously meant as a distraction. He looks all cute and cuddly with those big brown eyes and bad boy features, but I’m sure that underneath, he’s a deadly killing machine. After a few seconds, I manage to nod my head.

  “Good,” he says, smiling again. “I’d hate to hear that anything bad has happened to you.”

  Is he threatening me? How dare he threaten me on my own front porch? I don’t care if he is a ninja! I stand up straight, gaining at least an eighth of an inch, and set my jaw. “Thank you for your visit, Mr. Stone, but I think you should leave now.”

  He looks unfazed. “Of course. But believe me when I say that I’m only thinking of your well-being, Miss Carter.”

  “I believe you. Now, please. Go.” I point toward the road to illustrate. My well-being. Right. In a pig’s eye.

  He smiles warmly and heads back to his truck, pausing to rest his head on the cab and look at me. “It was really nice to meet you, Ellie.”