RetroCog (a Power Up! story) Read online

  “Not bad,” Frank said from directly behind her, making her jump. He chuckled. “I am the king of stealth.”

  “And a pain in my ass.” She grinned along with him. Lara didn’t take to people, but from day one, something between her and Frank had clicked. Before she could start a volley of verbal abuse that would be sure to take them past their daily insults into truly raunchy rhetoric, a man entered the inn.

  Everything around Lara came to a complete halt.

  Hello, handsome. About time you arrived.

  Lara winced. Oh hell. The voice had returned with a vengeance.

  “Honey, I have this one.” Frank preened as he slicked back his shoulder-length dark hair, which emphasized his good looks.

  Lara ignored the husky voice clucking in her mind. It really had been a stretch to think she could outrun her past. Especially with all the ghost stories in Brownville. Doing her best to compose herself, she donned the veil of normalcy she’d worked most her life to perfect and huffed, “No way he’s gay.”

  “Sexuality has nothing to do with this. It’s all about charm. Just watch me work my magic.”

  “Please. Even you can’t turn a straight man gay within five seconds of meeting him. You’re not that good.”

  Frank snickered. “But I’d love to try. Come on, Lara, get your head out of the gutter. I’m not after sex.”

  “Yet.”

  He ignored her. “Ten bucks says I can finagle dinner with tall, dark, and handsome. A friendly face to show him around town; that’s all. Sex on the first date is too tacky, anyway. I’m not that easy.”

  Yes, he was. Used to Frank’s amusing arrogance, Lara nodded. “You’re on.”

  Frank approached the stranger with his typical swagger, one of youth and confidence that never failed to attract attention from both men and women, regardless of their orientation. With bright blue eyes, a trim frame, and a sunny disposition, Frank could charm the scales off a snake. In a town that welcomed temperamental artists of all sizes, shapes, and sexualities, her part-time coworker fit in perfectly. Frank Hanover—popular figure on the art scene and her right-hand man when it came to running the inn.

  He rarely struck out when presented with a potential bedmate, and as Lara watched from her position behind a section of the inn’s original bar, she couldn’t help feeling a tingle of disappointment. The stranger took Frank’s hand in a firm grip and seemed to hold it a minute longer than he had to. Just more proof that all the good ones were taken.

  She and Frank had the same taste in men. Tall, rugged, and intense. The stranger had shaggy brown hair flecked with gold and paired with light brown eyes that looked closer to…green when he turned his head and the light hit him just right. He had an arresting face, one more interesting than classically handsome. Intelligence shone in his eyes set beneath dark brows that angled in confusion at something Frank said.

  Lara couldn’t help noticing the man’s broad shoulders even under the long tan field coat he wore. Oh, and what nice thighs he had. She felt like the big bad wolf angling for a tender morsel and chuckled at the image. Her inner voice chuckled with her, and that quickly, her amusement fled.

  At the sound of her laughter, the man looked over Frank’s shoulder and met her gaze.

  His eyes widened as if he recognized her in some way. But Lara would never forget a man like him. It wasn’t his looks so much as his presence. He screamed intensity just by standing there. Frank walked with him toward Lara, and she did her best not to smirk at her friend’s barely disguised disappointment.

  The stranger looked even taller up close.

  They stared at one another, but he didn’t speak. She added silent to her tall, dark, and handsome description.

  “Welcome to the Lady Fine Inn.” She wished she didn’t sound so breathless. “I’m Lara, the manager, and I see you already met Frank.”

  “I just got into town. Do you have any rooms available?” His voice rushed over her like liquid heat, and to her embarrassment, Lara felt her body respond.

  Glad for the short-sleeved sweater masking the tight beads of her nipples, she forced a smile. “You’re in luck. We have two rooms. A standard single that shares a bath with one of the other rooms, or the deluxe suite. It has a king-size bed and its own bath, but it’s more expensive than the standard.”

  “Great. I’ll take the deluxe.”

  Good Lord, but his rumble sounded like a mountain lion’s purr. A glance behind him showed Frank biting his lower lip and silently thumping his heart. So it wasn’t just her.

  Lara cleared her throat. “How long would you like the room?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Well, I—”

  “Put me down for a week.”

  Talk about the decisive, take-charge type. A forbidden thrill zinged through her warped libido. “Can do.” She pushed the guest book toward him. “Please sign in, Mister…”

  He handed her his credit card.

  She read out loud, “Noah First.”

  He showed her his Oregon driver’s license and scrawled his name and a phone number in the guest book while she ran the card.

  The sight of his hands arrested her. Strong hands. Large hands.

  Odd flashes of heat filled her belly, and she shivered as something inside told her this man had a purpose here. He’d come for her.

  And he’d always come for her, a husky feminine voice echoed in a bawdy laugh.

  Noah reached for his card. Their fingers touched. He must have felt the jolt between them because his breathing quickened and he leaned closer. When he glanced down at her mouth, she froze, overcome with the desire to taste his firm lips, to see if they felt as sexy as they looked.

  Peppermint. He always tastes like peppermint.

  They remained unmoving for what felt like forever but was in fact no more than a few seconds. Then Noah took his card back and placed it in his wallet, and their odd connection faded as if it had never been.

  He stepped back. “Thanks.”

  Lara stared at him, not sure what to think. For a moment, she’d felt so close to him, as if she knew him. But how could she? He stared back at her, a question in his eyes, and she wondered if she’d imagined that brief connection because she wanted there to be one. When was the last time she’d felt a flutter of anticipation in her belly because of a man?

  “Right, Lara?” Frank was saying as he reached behind her for the key to room 8.

  She looked at him and felt like an idiot for missing the conversation, lost in a stranger’s eyes. “Ah, sure. Right. Enjoy your stay, Mr. First.”

  “It’s Noah.” He gave her one last strange look before turning away to follow Frank up the stairs.

  Before she could question her odd response to her new guest, one of the antiquers who’d checked in a few days ago waved her over. She lost herself in the discussion of some of the town’s best places to visit and didn’t realize how much time had passed until Frank tapped her shoulder.

  “Lara, if I could have a word?” Frank nodded to the guest and pulled her away but not before slipping a ten dollar bill into her hand.

  “Told you.” She pocketed the money.

  Frank sighed. “Yeah. He never once checked out my ass. But Mr. Sexy might be a problem.”

  Lara glanced around to ensure their privacy. “What about him?”

  “He was asking a lot of questions about you.”

  She felt flattered. “About me?”

  “Yeah, you. But Lara, there’s something about this guy that’s not all there. The minute we walked into the room, he stopped. Wouldn’t move an inch and just stood there, staring at the bed like it was about to eat him. When I asked him if he was all right, he took a few seconds to answer, then waved me away, as if he hadn’t just pulled a Dead Zone. I don’t think he’s firing on all cylinders.” Frank huffed. “Too bad too, because if anyone could break that celibate streak of yours, it’d be Noah of the dreamy eyes.”

  “Frank, shush.”

  “Oh yeah, he
’s just what you need. A little fun under the sun. Six foot four, I’m guessing, no fat on him anywhere, and honey, that package was awe-inspiring. I peeked when he took off his jacket.” Frank smacked his lips, and Lara couldn’t stifle her laughter.

  Unfortunately, other laughter joined hers, creating a chorus of womanly mirth only she could hear. One voice hers, the other…not. Dammit.

  Someone tapped her shoulder, and she turned to see Ida Knowles, her boss. The older woman’s short, frosted hair stood on end, as it normally did. Watery blue eyes smiled up at Lara with sincere appreciation.

  Lara smiled back. “Hey, boss. Nice to see you made it for the evening coffee.” She glanced at Bill, Ida’s nephew and the town’s fire chief. Since Lara’s arrival in town, she and Bill had become friendly but nothing more. Lara had a hectic schedule and a need to prove herself. Men weren’t high on her list of priorities lately, which made her reaction to Noah First strange.

  “I wouldn’t miss it, dear. I’ve been meaning to come for some time, but my health, you know how it is. Rumor has it you made sticky buns.” Ida reached for Bill’s strong forearm.

  Bill grinned. “A great cook, a pretty innkeeper, and a heck of a hostess. Where’ve you been all my life?” The look he gave her reminded her she had yet to answer him about the date he kept bugging her to accept.

  Blond, blue eyed, and seriously built, Bill Knowles had garnered a reputation in town for being an all-around good guy. He’d taken over for the old chief just as she’d arrived in town, and he seemed to be doing well. The ladies sure seemed to like him. If she hadn’t been so busy settling in and working around the clock to upgrade the inn’s services, she might have tried to see what so many found so captivating about the fire chief. But Lara had goals, and a relationship didn’t exactly factor into owning her own inn.

  “Sorry, Ida. No sticky buns. We’re having lemon blueberry scones tonight, but I promise, they’re delicious. The dining room is all set up. Let me show you to a table.”

  She skirted the center of the large dining area filled with smaller tables. An old oil lamp in the center of each table provided mood lighting for the many regulars joining the inn guests. She liked to think of it as a throwback to the old days, when the inn had functioned as a saloon.

  After seating Ida, Lara turned around to leave and bumped into Bill. “Oops, sorry.”

  Bill stepped closer. She had the overwhelming urge to flee, an abnormal start of hysteria when she saw something flash in his eyes that didn’t belong there.

  Finn’s gonna be so pissed. Need to get out of here before… He ran a finger down her cheek. When she shivered, he smiled. But the expression didn’t reach his eyes, which impossibly darkened into brown. Brown? Bill had blue eyes. She blinked, and Bill chucked her chin.

  “Thanks, Lara. You really do make the best coffee in town.” His blue eyes twinkled as he stepped back and sat next to his aunt. They both ordered coffee and scones as if nothing had happened.

  As she left to get them their order, she decided she must have imagined the creepiness in Bill’s gaze. An oddness in itself. The voices she heard sometimes grew too loud, but they never impacted what she saw or knew to be real.

  As she readied their orders in the kitchen and helped Shelly with a few other requests, Lara couldn’t shake the notion that there just might be something to the new voice she kept hearing after all.

  Chapter Two

  Noah had a hard time doing anything more complicated than breathing as he stood in an honest-to-God brothel. The place had sexual vibes echoing as if they’d been made yesterday.

  “So okay, then. If you need anything else, dial nine on the phone.”

  Frank waved and left him alone in his room. Finally.

  From the moment he’d stepped foot in this town, Noah had sensed the vast history throbbing just under the street’s concrete. Impressions of gunslingers, miners, and the occasional drunk strolling through town had told him he’d stepped into another place—time—entirely. Some areas were like that, full of history that reached out and slapped him. But nothing could have prepared him for the impact this building had. Or its manager.

  According to the oh-so-helpful Frank, Lara Graham had arrived in town six months ago. She worked for Ida Knowles with the hopeful intent to eventually buy the property. The place had recently begun to prosper as guests from far and wide came to stay in the very place where the lusty madam Cecilia Fine and the infamous outlaw Finnegan Fury had loved and lost back in 1856.

  The history of the place seeped through the walls of the building, but it was the image of Lara that had held him fast. She looked exactly like the woman in the portrait he’d been ordered to bring back. A living, breathing work of art come to life. The same full lips curved up in a smile, those expressive, rich brown eyes, so mysterious yet daring. And that body…

  He stifled a groan, wishing he’d indulged in some quick, meaningless sex before flying out here. Because a man who hadn’t had sex in nearly five months, confronted with even half the things he was now seeing, would be hard-pressed to focus on this case. Downstairs, when he’d looked at Lara’s mouth, he’d seen a ghostly overlay of slick, glistening red painted over her lips. Then a woman’s transparent tongue had darted out to lick suggestively, hinting at all kinds of things Lara might do for him.

  No, not Lara. That other woman. The one from the portrait.

  Noah tried to get a handle on his sweltering libido when another image coalesced into a moving picture on his bed.

  “Oh fuck. You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Two naked men were all over a woman clad in nothing but garters that held up netted stockings. He had a sense she was a working girl, one of the Lady Fine whores and two of her customers who’d paid for a tumble. Cowboy hats, dusty clothes, and grimy boots lay strewn in one corner, while the rest of the room lay under flickering shadows of candlelight.

  As he watched, the noise only he could hear grew louder. Moans and groans, the sucking and smacking sounds of lips over moist flesh. Noah’s cock thickened in seconds—already hard from his recent thoughts of Lara—now eager to participate.

  Noah liked to watch, and he liked to play—rough. So the sight of one guy’s head between the woman’s thighs, his cheeks rubbing against her smoky hose while he gorged on a wet cunt, was bad enough. But when the other fucked her face hard enough that she choked around him, Noah had to move to better see the three of them in action.

  In and out, the rough guy pushed into the whore’s mouth with eager strokes, his balls mashing against her chin with each shove forward. The woman didn’t seem to mind it much, or she was that good an actress, because she pulled his thighs toward her, encouraging his advances. She shivered and sucked harder as she made whimpering sounds hinting at a climax. The rough guy stilled and yelled out as he came, then pulled away from her. He stepped back and stood next to Noah, the pair of them keen on the outcome still pending. The man kneeling between the whore’s plump thighs reared back, mounted her, and fucked her until he too climaxed.

  No condoms, no talking other than grunts and groans. A small pile of coins sat on a washstand across from the iron-post bed, and the creaking of the bedsprings told its own story. After the last man came, he pulled out, and the three lovers smiled at one another.

  The ghosts of yesterday vanished until all that remained in the room were Noah, his hard-on, and the same bed soon occupied with new patrons. The scene shifted into another vision of oral sex, this one between two women totally intent on one another. Sixty-nine had become his new favorite number.

  Unable to rebuild his shields until he took care of his own needs, Noah grabbed a few tissues, undid his pants, and masturbated to the hottest sex he’d seen in some time. To his annoyance, he kept imagining Lara Graham on her knees, on her back, taking a nipple or a cock between her lips. The urge to dominate Lara, to bend her to his will, tempted him to let loose the bands on his honest needs. The dark desires he normally kept secret threatened to overtake him
. Lara, bound and pliant. Submissive, his to play with, his to own… The fantasy only made his rushing orgasm that much more powerful.

  Though he didn’t want to be here, and he didn’t like his odd sense of connection to the woman in the painting—to Lara—he couldn’t ignore it. But he could avoid the shame accompanying his base hungers by pretending they didn’t exist. Like he always did. At least his release abated the need, if not his desire. But when a new couple materialized, fucking on the floor, he focused hard to will away the visions still pressing his psyche, for fear he might inadvertently seek out Lara to make his fantasies all too real.

  Nothing is ever fucking simple when it comes to Jack Keiser’s missions.