“I’ll live,” I said. “Amityville isn’t exactly booming with five-star hotels.”
We’d ended up in a Best Western or Days Inn or something like that. I hadn’t paid much attention. We’d driven past a few mid-range chains before I chose one that seemed a little less run-down than its brethren.
“There was the Hollywood Motel in Farmingdale,” I said. “Though it would have been a tough call, deciding between the Cheetah Room and the Arabian Room.”
“Arabian,” Jeremy said as he unlocked our door. “I’m not keen on cats.”
I laughed and let him usher me in. “The Web site also mentioned an exotic dancer room. Complete with stripper pole.”
He paused in the open doorway. “Stripper pole?”
“And stage.”
“How far did you say Farmingdale was?”
I grinned. “I think we’d better pretend it’s too far for now. Considering I’m in town officially …”
“Jaime Vegas Checks into Stripper Room with Lover isn’t quite the headline you’re looking for?”
“No, sorry. Especially since, by the time it got through the rumor mill, I’d have checked in with three guys, all half my age, and invited the rest of the motel to watch the show.”
“I would defend your honor. In fact, I would go so far as to provide photographs proving that I was, indeed, the only person in the audience.”
I put my arms around his waist. “That’s very chivalrous of you.”
“I would, however, for the sake of discretion, refrain from posting videos. Although I’ve heard such things can make people quite famous, even if they lack any other discernible talents. For someone with your proven abilities, it could be quite a marketing coup.”
“Twenty years ago, maybe. I think my body’s a little past that.”
“Not unless it’s changed drastically since I last saw you.” He slid his hands down my thighs and pushed the hem of my dress up to my hips, hands cupping my rear as he leaned over my shoulder. “Mmm, no, this half looks photo ready. As for the rest …”
One hand moved to unzip my dress. He tugged it off my shoulders and let it pool around my feet. His thumbs traced down my sides, sliding over my breasts before stopping to rest on my hips. Then, still holding me, he stepped back a bit for a better look.
“Definitely camera ready. And I have been told that my new phone takes excellent pictures.”
“You are more than welcome to take photos anytime you want. Provided your phone is password locked and kept out of the reach of everyone at Stonehaven.”
I slid from his grasp and circled around him, feeling his gaze on me as I walked across the room. I ran my fingers over the short post at the end of the bed.
“Not exactly a stripper pole,” I said. “And I don’t have much to strip.”
“You have enough. Those heels go very nicely with those stockings.”
I grinned over my shoulder. “I thought you’d approve.”
The heels were last year’s, but the rest of the “outfit” was new—a black and teal lace demi-bra with matching garter belt and stockings and a very tiny pair of panties.
I reached up and pulled out the pins in my hair, letting it sweep down over my shoulders.
Jeremy let out a soft growl and started toward me.
“Uh-uh,” I said. “Not yet.” I reached one hand over to caress the bed knob. “I still need to figure out what I can do with this. Since we missed out on the stripper pole.” I moved closer, still rubbing it. “Umm, I don’t know. Any ideas …?”
“I have plenty of ideas. None of them involve that bedpost.”
“Too bad.” I moved closer and rubbed the front of my panties against it. “Hmm, let’s see. What could I do …”
I lifted onto my tiptoes and straddled the post, then leaned forward, hands on top of the footboard, to give him the best view as I rubbed myself against the pole.
“Oh … Now that is a good …” I exhaled through my teeth. “Damn, I didn’t realize quite how much I missed you. That feels …” I shuddered. “Damn …”
I glanced back at him. He was watching intently, one hand gripping a chair against the wall.
“You can sit if you want,” I said. “Just relax and enjoy the show.”
“I am definitely enjoying. But I can’t help feeling a little jealous, too.”
“Hmm.”
I rolled onto the bed and popped the clasp on my bra. I slid it out from under me and flipped it across the room. My panties followed. Then I reclined on the pillows and slipped my hand between my legs, arching back and groaning.
“Better?” I asked.
“Same problem. While I can’t argue with the view …”
I eased to the edge of the bed and knelt on it, flipping my hair over my shoulder as I looked back at him.
“You’d prefer this one …?”
“That one will do nicely.” He undid his pants as he crossed the room, gaze fixed on me. “Thank you.”
“Oh, you’re very …” I gasped as he slid into me. “Very welcome.”
SEVEN
I stretched out in bed, Jeremy warm against my back, sheets tangled around us. I idly pulled my knee up and fingered the protection rune tattooed on my ankle.
“Yes, it does appear to be defective,” Jeremy said. “The artist should give you your money back.”
I laughed softly and flipped over, curling up under his arm. “If it brought you to me in that basement, then it’s working just fine.”
“Actually, you left a scent trail.”
“Ah. Right. But if I hadn’t, you’d still have found me.”
“Perhaps. The tattoo, however, is only tangentially related to that.”
Both came from the same place—his kitsunegari blood—but they were separate powers. Powers he’d never comfortably rely on, having spent most of his life not knowing where they came from, only that he was different from other werewolves. Uncomfortably different.
He rose on his elbow and looked down at the tattoo.
“It works just fine,” I said. “The runes add protection; they don’t protect absolutely. Nothing can. Whatever I saw in the basement didn’t hurt me, just scared the crap out of me, and that only bothers me because it hasn’t happened in a very long time. I think I’m long past the point where a ghost can send me shrieking into the night, and then …” I shrugged. “It happens. It seems there’s always something new lurking around the corner.”
I glanced up at him as he settled back on the bed. “Did Elena say she’d have time to check the inn?”
Elena was a Pack werewolf, the Alpha-elect, to succeed when Jeremy stepped down. She was mated to his foster son, Clayton. Along with their five-year-old twins, they lived at Stonehaven with Jeremy.
As a freelance journalist, Elena had access to online media databases. If there was a story on my dead girls, she’d have found it.
“She texted back while you were dozing,” he said. “There’s nothing.”
Now it was my turn to rise, hair tickling as it fell over my shoulder. “Nothing?”
He pushed the hair back. “No murders at the inn. No hauntings at the inn. No crimes matching that description in Amityville or the surrounding area. Which means you were not seeing a residual.”
“So I was hallucinating.”
He met my gaze. “No, you were seeing ghosts. Real ghosts.”
“But how? Why? What reason would ghosts have—”
He cut me off with a kiss. “Questions for another time, though I strongly suspect I already know the answer.”