Bethany's Rite Read Free Page B

himself to drop his arms,
keeping her caught between him and the car.
    “Wyc Kilth.”
* * * * *
    Nervously, Bethany licked her lips and looked up at the man
who had just incinerated the memories of every other kiss she had ever
received. Burned them to less than ash.
    “I’m not sure what just happened here, but it makes me think
I shouldn’t be anywhere with you that isn’t a public place.” Her hands were
still pressed against him and she tapped his chest, gauging the space between
them. “A very public place.”
    “What are you scared of, Bethany? Me?” His voice rumbled
low, the struggle he waged for control still evident.
    She looked away from his gaze. “I don’t think so. Though you
haven’t really given me a reason not to be. Any woman in her right mind would be
at least a little suspicious of a stranger who sat and watched her for hours,
then backed her up against a car and kissed her into oblivion.”
    The fierce lines of lust on Wyc’s face softened to something
less desperate, but just as dangerous. The change in his expression eased her
wariness.
    Wary? She was wary? She shouldn’t be wary. She should be
frightened as hell. But there was an aching familiarity about him that she
couldn’t explain. Like he lived in an elusive memory drifting on the outside
edge of her consciousness. By the same token, she was certain Wyc Kilth was not
a man any woman could forget.
    If she believed in reincarnation, she’d think they had been
lovers in some past life. But belief in anything along that route was parked
strictly in the science fiction category. Emphasis on fiction .
    He lifted her chin with the tip of his finger so she was
once more staring into his unfathomable gaze. “What’s the frown for?”
    She still couldn’t tell the exact color of his eyes. “How
did you do that earlier? Talk inside my head? Was it some kind of subliminal
suggestion?”
    “No.” He took a deep breath and, with the tips of his
fingers, brushed her brow and over her cheek in a gentle touch. “Where do you
want to go to talk? I promise. No kissing unless you ask.”
    “Don’t hold your breath.”
    A dark flame leaped in his eyes. He leaned in close and
whispered in that smoky voice, “There’ll come a time, Bethany, when you won’t
only ask me to kiss you, you’ll beg me to fuck you.” The absolute certainty
with which he spoke made her skin tingle with unwanted anticipation.
    But from experience, she knew that anticipation would be all
she got. Being cursed was the only explanation she could come up with. She’d
never had a man go down on her or even give her a simple freaking finger-fuck.
    A year ago she had tried nearly every night for a month to
get laid. Different men, different bars, even different cities. Every single
time, something happened to the guy she picked up, cutting the evening short
well before she attained any hint of satisfaction. Whenever a man got close
enough to do some good, he would get suddenly and violently ill, start cramping
up, turn ghostly pale and thrash around in pain. One even passed out cold and
scared the crap out of her.
    Once, out of desperation, she had stripped and straddled a
guy as soon as they got to his place. In a heartbeat, he had gone from grinning
like a lottery-winning loon to screeching. A horrible, high-pitched shriek that
sounded like a small, cornered animal and made her want to check to see if her
ears were bleeding. He pushed her off and swore she had stabbed his dick,
though when he checked, he was completely whole—and completely deflated.
    No matter how turned on a man was with her, he never got
close to finishing what he started. Much to her endless frustration. And men
thought a woman with PMS was a bitch to be around. They had no idea.
    Surprisingly, Wyc hadn’t fallen prey to the curse. Maybe it
was because she was still dressed when she started climbing up his body. She
wondered if she could rub herself to climax against his erection through