Hyde, an Urban Fantasy Read online

  “Oh. Then go play with the little snot-nosers and leave me alone.”

  “College students can wipe their own noses.” Usually. “Are you this condescending to everyone?”

  “Yes. Don’t you have morning classes?”

  “It’s summer.”

  He looked around, squinting in the sunshine. “Ah, so it is.”

  When she starts law school in the fall, would she still be waking up on doorsteps? His doorstep? Just living the dream, aren’t you, Eden? Would his foot be her alarm clock every morning? His strong features, slicked-back hair, and athletic body be the first thing she saw? It was a great view, but not worth the attitude that came with it.

  She couldn’t deny her attraction to him, even as unlikable as he was, which, quite frankly, was a lot. But neither could she believe the attraction was merely sexual—he was like a magnet, one she couldn’t avoid or escape from. Eventually she was going to smack into him even harder than she imagined they had during the night, thankfully, still hidden deeply in her subconscious.

  And one or both of them was going to end up very bruised. She had to stop that from happening.

  “Mitch,” she said.

  “No.” He arched his eyebrow and shook his head as if in warning.

  “What? I haven’t asked you for anything yet.”

  “That’s not my name.”

  “Fine. What should I call you? Dickhead?” The word left her mouth before she could stop, her heart pounding even faster. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

  “What? Calling me a dickhead? I am one.” He cocked his head to the side. “Or worse.”

  “True.” But cursing was one of the many things she didn’t do. Not that she cared when other people did, but long ago, she’d made a list of things not to do. A list solely based on what she hated most about her mother—sober or stoned. Not cussing was the second simplest thing on it. She’d thought sleeping with strangers was the first. Huh. Perhaps it was time to look at that list again.

  “I don’t cuss,” she said.

  “Ever?”

  “Never.”

  “I’m not even sure ‘dickhead’ is a bad word. It’s just two nouns stuck together to describe an asshole.” His hand flew up and he pointed at her. “There you go! Asshole, try that one. Still two nouns, but ‘asshole’ has more punch.”

  “I don’t cuss.”

  “You got some strange kind of morality going on in that head of yours, lady. Call me whatever you want. Just not ‘Mitch’.”

  “Fine. And it’s ‘Eden’. Not ‘lady’ and not whatever name you called me the other day.”

  “Chastity? That’s what you told me to call you.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “No, I—” She clamped her mouth shut. Too bad she needed this snot-noser’s help. “My name is Eden. Please call me that.”

  “I don’t plan on calling you anything. Other than ‘gone’ or ‘what the fuck was I thinking’.” He brushed past her and headed toward the silver Jag in the driveway.

  Eden raced after him. “Mitch— Mitchell?”

  He didn’t stop.

  “What-The-Frig-Was-I-Thinking!” she called.

  He stopped and then turned toward her. He was scowling and his jaw was twitching, but he had stopped and turned.

  “You have to help me,” she said. “I’m being drawn to you.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t owe you anything.”

  “She’s leaving me on your doorstep every few days. You don’t think that means something?”

  He stepped forward so fast, he nearly knocked her off her feet. “She?”

  She stumbled, but caught herself before she fell. “What?”

  “You said ‘she’ is leaving you. She is leaving you on my doorstep.”

  “I did.” It came out as a statement, not a question, as it hit her. There was another person inside her. She wasn’t just sleepwalking.

  “She.” It sounded . . . right.

  “You have a partner-in-psychosis? Someone to drop you off, then drive you home when you’re done annoying people? Well, believe me—it’s time to call her for a pick-up. Because I am done, I’m over-done, I’m done-r than anyone has ever been done. I hope you both have great lives”—he shook his head and crossed the driveway to his car—“somewhere far, far away.”

  She was bringing Eden to Mitch. And she must have a reason.

  Unblinking, Eden watched him drive away. She kept staring at the end of the driveway long after he’d gone, her eyes dry and scratchy. Unsure what to think, feel, or how to react, she eventually decided it might be a good idea to walk home.

  She. Well, didn’t that just throw things completely out of whack? Into a whole new sort of whack, actually.

  Only one more week until Carter got home. He’d take care of her, stop her from leaving the apartment, help her figure out a way to stop what seemed to be memories—that couldn’t possibly be—from showing up in her head. Every day, the visions gained detail, gruesome detail, whenever they appeared. Eight more days. Eden only needed to last eight more days.

  Who is she? became the mantra of the slow walk home. Days later, she was still asking the question.

  CHAPTER VI

  Mitch yawned as he walked through his office building’s empty parking garage to his car. Fucking time zones. Fucking teleconferencing. Why do the Japanese need coaching anyway? They are kicking our Armani-covered asses. And he was very confident that his expertise was less-than-apparent after midnight. Visions of a hot shower and a soft pillow danced in his head like the sugarplums of some shit-sappy story his parents had never read to him as a child.

  He dropped his briefcase next to the car and stuck his keys into the door lock before realizing that, um, yeah, he lived in this fucking century and could have started the damned thing from fifty feet away.

  “Hey, Handsome.” Female voice. Dark somehow. How else had he described it? Yeah—husky.

  He turned toward her as she stepped into a beam of light from overhead. “You are a troubled, troubled girl, you know that?”

  “Thank you.” She wore a blood-red micro-mini skirt and a tight, black halter-top. Hips swaying and sexy, long, curly hair bouncing, she slinked toward him like a leopard stalking its prey through the fucking Serengeti.

  He fought his own urge to pounce. “For what?”

  “For thinking I’m trouble.”

  “I didn’t say—” He shoved his hands deep in his pockets. “Yes, you are trouble too. Are you here to pay your bill? Because Jolie can take care of that in the morning.”

  “My bill?”

  “I can’t think of any other reason you’d show up again. You know I’m not very nice, right?” He kept his eyes on her face, and away from the soft flesh pushing out of her top, and geared up for his most patronizing tone. “This makes two sessions. And you’ve now wasted sixteen minutes of my life. Since you can’t replace the time, I should at least be compensated for it.”

  She didn’t stop until she was inches away from him. Jesus, she smelled good—like lust and chocolate in just the right proportions. And her eyes were unnaturally light, a blue so fair it bordered on silver. The garage might have been dark, but he’d have to be brain-dead not to know they weren’t this color in his office a few days ago.

  What, does she wear colored-contacts as part of her harlot costume for hitting the town? “Ah, are you playing the bad girl again? I’m not interested in repeating that mistake and getting sucked deeper into this. Go find other prey. I’m sure it won’t take you too long.”

  “I want you.” Her focus wasn’t on him, just his body, as she pressed closer.

  He reached farther into his pocket and tried to move his cock which was now so hard, she’d be skewered if she moved another centimeter. “Not going to happen.” Ignore the pounding of your heart, Mitch. The surge of adrenaline in your veins, the almost-compulsion to be near this woman. Man-up, for Christ’s sake!

  “But I
want you,” she breathed.

  “No.” Just as he thought he’d never actually said that to a woman before, she grabbed his shoulders and slammed him back against his car. As he hit, the thought and word preceding it flew out of his mind. “That was unexpected.”

  She pressed her body against his and ran her hands roughly over his chest, yanking his tie loose.

  He grabbed her wrist and pulled it off his body. She fought his movements, her bicep straining, but he was stronger. Careful, asshole, she’s dangerous. Their eyes locked. Both of them were breathing hard—though not from the physical effort. No, this was far more primal. A need. And not an acceptable one.

  He let out his breath when she took a step back. Then inhaled sharply as she slid down to her knees and nuzzled his cock through his pants. He took her head and pushed it away from him. She tugged against his grip, until all he held was her hair, wrapped around his fingers.

  She looked up at him and dragged her lip through her teeth. Then she leaned forward, his hands slipping to the back of her head, but still pulling tightly. She let out a little gasp and the corner of her mouth lifted in a grin. Not a grimace, a grin.

  Oh, shit.

  She reached behind her and put one of her hands on his, guiding him, creating more tension on her hair. This time her cry was at least half moan. “That hurts,” she whispered.

  He didn’t move. “Tell me to stop.” Oh, Christ, tell me to stop.

  “No.”

  He’d never let himself go there. Causing someone pain reminded him too much of Hyde’s desires. Gave the bastard more power over the man. So what the hell was Mitch doing here? Handing his power over to her?

  “You don’t want me to stop, do you?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Tell me what you do want.”

  “More.”

  This is very bad. With his heart thundering in his chest and his cock beating against his pants, trying to escape, he knew he was in trouble. What is it about this girl? Every cell in his body stretched out, begging him to follow her down the rabbit hole, and to a few other holes. “Do it,” they shouted. Every cell but the gray ones of his brain. Those all screamed, “Stop!”

  “Fuck it.” He went with the majority. Mitch hauled her up, one hand still fisted in her hair and the other on her arm. Without letting go, he brought her to him, slamming their bodies together. He kissed her hard, mouths already opened. Tongues dragged across teeth, teeth bit into lips. A total fucking mess of power, submission, domination, and control.

  Until this moment, he hadn’t realized how much he missed the connection they’d had the night they met, the freedom he’d felt. No thought, only desire. It scared the shit out of him. But it hadn’t been like this—no pain, no violence. Just gratification.

  He caught her tongue in between his teeth and held, hoping to stop her . . . to stop himself. Her muffled moan reverberated inside his mouth, bouncing off his palate and knocking out any common sense that remained.

  Without breaking apart, she unclasped his belt and tugged his pants open so hard, he heard a rip as the clip popped off and the zipper’s jaw yielded. His hands flew down to cover hers, stopping her from taking his cock in her beautiful little hands.

  “I don’t deserve this,” he said, not knowing if he was being punished or shooting a ‘thank you’ out to the whole fucking universe.

  “What does deserving have to do with anything? We’re alive. That’s the only important thing.” Her smile was so beautiful it hurt him. Since he held both her hands, she stretched out a finger, tickling the head of his erection with tiny circles.

  He should have stopped her. But all he felt was her hands guiding his as they drew out his belt. He should have found the strength to stop himself as he lifted her up, carried her to the hood of his car, and set her down, spreading her legs around his thighs. He stared into those eyes that were ice-blue, yet warm and open to him, wondering what the hell he was doing. He should have been stronger. Instead, he raised both of her hands and wrapped the belt around her wrists, pulling the leather tight to secure them.

  She opened her legs wider, and he remembered the power she’d struggled to hold over him in his office. How much he’d enjoyed watching her fighting for it. So where was that girl now? And why the fuck wasn’t he running away?

  She scooted toward him, her skirt riding up. She wouldn’t need to wonder where her panties were tomorrow morning, she’d left them at home already.

  Until now, he’d never been in a fight he knew he’d lose. “I am a weak, weak man.”

  Her head tilted. “No, you’re not. You’re strong. That’s why you were chosen. Because you’re worthy.”

  Worthy? Me? He went numb at the word. A word he’d never expected to hear out of anyone’s mouth, not about him. Tempt not a desperate man. Especially not a man whose inhuman side was so very close to the surface, struggling for freedom. But, damn it, in this instance they wanted the same thing, for very different reasons. Hyde wanted to fill her body, Mitch wanted her to fill his soul.

  “Mitch?”

  His emotional orgasm interrupted, he said, “Yeah?”

  She crinkled up her nose. “Will you fuck me now?”

  He thought about it for approximately 1.4 seconds. “Yeah.” His hands dug into her hips as he pulled her closer.

  “Wait,” she said. “I want you behind me.”

  That he could do. He hauled her off the car and flipped her over, pushing her forward onto the hood.

  Her bound hands were visible above her head, her fingertips white from grasping at the smooth metal. She arched her back and lifted her ass up like an offering.

  With one hand on the small of her back holding her from wiggling too much, he ran the other up her inner thigh and under her skirt until he felt her wetness warm his fingers. When he moved higher, she arched even more, encouraging his hand to go back down to where it had been. He flipped her skirt up and looked at the pale perfection under his palm. He rocked his hips forwards and backwards, barely brushing himself across her ass. Every touch sent a jolt of anguish down his body—knowing he shouldn’t be here, but unable to stop. He could feel Hyde pushing toward the surface. What would happen if he gave the bastard what he wanted? What both of them wanted?

  When he went for the condom in his wallet, she raised herself onto her elbows, pressing back into him. “She likes you, but she’d never let you have her this way.”

  His body clenched. “What?” He pushed her against the car and leaned in close, ignoring her moan. “What did you just say?”

  “Miss Sensible Pumps. She might have the same ass, but she’d never let you use it like this.”

  Holy shit. What am I doing? This is all kinds of wrong. She’s just some messed up girl. Who has a great ass. And knows how to work it. How to work mine, too. Shit. He stepped back and pulled her skirt down. “Get off my car.”

  She turned, her breath shallow. “Do you want to go somewhere else?”

  “Yes. But not with you.” Mitch shoved his traitorous dick back in his pants and zipped them up as well as he could with a broken zipper and no hook. “Give me your hands. I need my belt back.”

  She stood frozen in front of him, her head tilted. “But you want me.”

  He caught her wrists before she twisted them away and unwound the belt. “I don’t know why you are torturing me like this, but it’s beyond old now. Go home. No, better yet, go check yourself into a psychiatric center.” The keys were still hanging from the door. Mitch yanked them out and slid into the seat, tossing his belt and briefcase into the back.

  He stopped. This girl is going to get ripped apart acting like this. Fuck, imagine me being the good guy. “Get in, I’ll take you.”

  “Where?” She walked around to the other side of the car.

  “To the asylum.”

  Her eyes looked like blue-diamond solitaires surrounded by some freaked-out whites, and she bolted.

  Mitch jumped out to run after her, thought better of it, and got
back in, slamming the door and driving in the direction she’d run. Okay, probably wasn’t the best moment for sarcasm. Two hours later, he was still canvassing alleys, side streets, and parking lots. He gave up looking at dawn.

  CHAPTER VII

  “This had better be important.”

  “Common courtesy states that you should say ‘Hello’ before making any rude comments when someone calls you.”