Jackie Kessler: The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance 2

But it wasn’t as simple as that. Yes, they were in Paul and Jesse’s apartment, seated on the ground, their hands touching. but they were also floating in a world of grey, the colour somewhere between a soft dove and a winter sky, surrounded by thousands upon thousands of mirrors. They were both in the Real and on the cusp of the Surreal, the place where memories and dreams mixed like cocktails. He blinked, and the real world was an after-image behind his eyelids.

Aaron, with his expertise in memory magic, was used to the Surreal. But he wasn’t used to navigating the Surreal while still being anchored in the Real. It was damn disconcerting.

As was the sight of Caitlin’s naked body.

Because they weren’t grounded in reality while in the Surreal, her form was more of a sketch of Caitlin nude, all bold outlines and pale skin and black hair, with no contours to give her depth. Her eyes flashed emerald; her lips were a splash of cherry red. She reminded him of the Nagels in Paul’s apartment, and Aaron wondered if Caitlin had been influenced by the art.

If so, he must have been as well. From the little he saw of himself, his flesh was just as white as hers. And as nude as hers.

Then again, it was possible he just had sex on the brain.

He shook his head to clear it. “That,” he said hoarsely, “was not at all fun.”

“I’ve been through worse.” Caitlin sounded nonchalant, her expression giving nothing away. But Aaron was joined with her, so he didn’t need his eyes or ears to tell him that she had been caught off-guard by the rush of magic and that even now, she was floundering. He read her emotions as easily as a scrying bowl: Caitlin was discovering that being both a navigator and an anchor was slightly overwhelming.

What was more unsettling to her, though, was how she was still sensitive to Aaron’s touch, how just a nudge right now would send her over the edge and leaping into rapture.

Aaron, never the fool, pretended he didn’t know. And he pretended he didn’t care. “I’m sure you have, dearest. After all, you were married to me.”

That got sliver of a smile out of her. “You read my mind.”

No, not that. But he had her emotions down cold. And since she was joined with him, she had to know how he was feeling. What he was feeling.

How he wanted to touch her, hold her, kiss her.

“Well then,” he said abruptly. “Let’s get this rescue started, shall we?”

Caitlin had been in the Surreal before, many times. But she much preferred to be the anchor: firmly entrenched in the Real with only a cursory awareness of the miasma of winking mirrors that made up the Surreal. Those polished surfaces flashed hypnotically, beckoning to her.

Caitlin felt Aaron’s impatience before he spoke — a benefit (or not) of being joined. “Don’t look at the mirrors. Walk only where I walk.”

She sniffed. “You just want me to watch your ass.”

“It’s a great ass, you have to admit.”

Caitlin gave him her best Wicked Witch stare, and she firmly did not think about how great his ass really was.

His grin slipped. “I’m serious, Caitlin. Don’t look at the mirrors. With the spell on the memory box distorted by Jesse opening it, the mirrors may not be passive.”

Reluctantly, she nodded. If things had been normal — as normal as they could be in the Surreal — she could have gazed within any of the mirrors for as long as she liked, and she would have been treated to a view of a particular memory. But given how Jesse herself had been sucked into a memory, neither Caitlin nor Aaron could assume that they could look within and be unharmed. “You can find which mirror she’s in?”

“Yes. Just let me concentrate, and then follow me.” He frowned, then turned to the right. “This way.”

They walked for what felt like forever, their footsteps whispering along the grey nothingness. To either side, and above and below them, mirrors glittered like diamonds. Aaron strode confidently, taking turns without hesitation, as he sussed out which memory had captured her sister.

She had to admit, he did have a great ass.

Caitlin turned her head away so that she’d stop looking at how his buttocks moved as he walked and stop thinking about how she had enjoyed caressing him, letting her fingers trail across his bottom and slowly make their way to his front. She had to stop thinking about him, damn it. She had to stop remembering how good he had made her feel, how easy it would be to just touch him, kiss him.

No. Stop, stop, stop .

Glancing over her shoulder — nowhere in sight of Aaron’s terrific ass — she gasped as a mirror sparkled in front of her. And within, she caught a glimpse of her own face.

Not Jesse’s copy of her face, no, but her own face — hers, Caitlin Harris, smiling. Not a reflection, but a memory. And Caitlin watched herself open her mouth and.

. she says, “If you want another favour, Jesse, then you need to give me something in addition.”

The demon Jezebel stands before her, wearing a copy of her form, and she gives Caitlin a tiny, helpless smile. “You’re right,” she says. “I’ll give you something.”

And Caitlin feels that something settle over her, a subtle tickle of desire. She sneezes once, and then she looks into Jezebel’s face, her amazing face, and Caitlin feels her lids become heavy and her breathing quicken. Jezebel licks her lips slowly, suggestively, and Caitlin’s lips part in return. She feels invisible fingers skimming over her body, and a sound escapes her mouth — the softest of ohhhs. Heat kindles in her belly and lower, blooms over her chest until her nipples are hard, ready to be suckled.

Caitlin slowly unfastens one button of her flannel nightshirt. And then the next.

Jezebel’s voice is soft as silk. She purrs, “Say my name.”

Caitlin’s fingers fumble the third button open, and her right breast pokes out from the gap in her nightshirt. In a breathy whisper, she says, “Jezebel.”

And now she’s lost in Jezebel’s touch.

Until pain shattered the memory.

Gritting her teeth to keep from shouting, she stared daggers at Aaron. She pulled her arm out of his grip. The man had nearly dislocated her shoulder! How dare he.!

And then she realized what had happened.

She blushed fiercely. One slip. One small slip, all because she hadn’t wanted to stare at Aaron’s backside any longer. She could still feel the ghost of Jezebel’s fingers travelling along her body, tracing her curves, heating her blood. The memory had been from two months ago, right after she’d brewed the potion that would transform the demon Jezebel into the mortal Jesse. Jezebel had tricked her, bespelled her.

Seduced her.

Caitlin gingerly rubbed her shoulder as Aaron glared at her. Rage was stamped on his features — but through their joining, she felt the fear that gnawed at his gut. He was furious with her, but also terrified by what had nearly happened. “When I say ‘Don’t look in the mirrors’,” he snarled, “that damn well means don’t look in the mirrors!”

“It was an accident,” she said, hating how lame her words sounded.

“Penicillin was an accident! This was intentional!”

Her eyes narrowed. Yes, he was right to be angry with her; even so, she wouldn’t be his whipping post. “Stop yelling at me.”

She felt his emotions dance in quick succession: fury, frustration, relief, and something else, something she couldn’t — or wouldn’t — name. “Fine,” he said quietly. “Keep your head in the game, dearest, or a memory will try to eat you again.” He whirled around and stomped off, leaving Caitlin to hurry after him.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! She mentally slapped herself for being careless, and she slapped herself again for having to be rescued by Aaron. He’d never let her live that down. Damn it.