Tempted by His Wicked Kiss Read online

  But in the meantime, she’d do this. With rent and food to cover, raising enough money for that last semester would take many months, even years. Her first summer working on the curb had been a profitable one, but as the temperatures dropped, so did her income. Although it didn’t come with much prestige, she really did enjoy her new business endeavor. She liked meeting people from all walks of life. She had always been interested in the supernatural and was talented at reading people’s fortunes. Even if she did feel something negative in someone’s future, she tried her best to put a positive spin on it.

  It felt good to practice a talent she had been ridiculed for in her youth. The other kids in her classes made fun of her mercilessly. And when a rumor spread that she could see spirits? Forget it. She became even more of a social outcast than she had been before. At the end of her junior year, she’d packed up her crystals and oils—and anything she used to toil around with—and put them away. Luckily, the teasing stopped, though she continued to see things, feel things others didn’t. She went from being tortured every day to being completely ignored. And the crushing loneliness of the latter somehow felt much worse. So when she dug out all of her materials and dusted them off this year, it almost felt like a relief. She’d forgotten how much she loved the craft.

  While her new life wasn’t very glamorous, she reminded herself that there were people in much worse situations. She had an apartment—albeit a shabby one—but a roof over her head nonetheless, (barely) enough food to eat, and her health. That last part possibly being temporary if she stayed out in this cold any longer.

  Charlotte breathed out a heavy sigh and felt her lips burn. They were beginning to get dry and chapped from the cold. She bent down to reach her fringed purse tucked neatly under her small metal stool and retrieved a pot of lip balm. Unscrewing the top, she swirled the pad of her pointer finger around a few times before applying it to her lips. They felt instantly soothed, as she faintly tasted the pineapple flavor. She brought the pot to her nose and inhaled deeply, the scent giving her the feeling of summer for just a few precious moments. But when she opened her eyes again, the dusting of snow that’d been falling earlier had turned into a heavier accumulation, the flakes now sticking to the benches and trees of the park around her.

  She glanced across the street and saw two small children trying to scrape enough of the slushy white snow into their hands to make a respectable snowball. She smirked, thinking back to how snowball fights had been considered actual warfare in her old neighborhood when she was a kid. She drew her thumb up to her mouth and lightly bit her fingernail. Though it was a nearly a week after Christmas, the realization finally hit her. For the first holiday season ever, she was utterly alone. A small tear began to gather in the corner of her eye, but she looked down at the ground and blinked a few times, not allowing it to fall. When she glanced up, she noticed that she was being watched.

  At first she thought the man was simply standing near the curb, waiting. Waiting to meet someone, on the lookout to hail a cab—she didn’t know. But after a while, he continued standing there, facing her, without moving a muscle. He had his arms folded in front of him, a pair of black fingerless gloves decorating his hands. He just stood there, his eyes never leaving her, his brow in a deep furrow as if he were trying to solve a complicated problem in his mind.

  There was no look of menace etched onto his face. And though he was still across the street, she could detect something like pain in his eyes. Looking more closely, she realized there was something oddly familiar about him. She scanned him up and down, studying his features. Yes, he definitely looked familiar. Charlotte bit her lip, her eyes glancing slightly upwards as she concentrated, trying to place his face. She was struck with the distinct feeling that he was someone from her teenage years. And then, as if a curtain had been lifted, a name filled her head: Jackson Holloway. It was a face she hadn’t seen in a long time.

  A flash of images played in her mind like a film reel. Doodling Mrs. Charlotte Holloway in curly script all over every one of her color-coded notebooks. Purposefully dropping more pens than she could count in hopes of feeling the brush of his hand, her heart aching each time his eyes refused to meet hers. Eating her lunch alone underneath the bleachers, fantasizing what it would be like for him to have his arm draped protectively over her shoulders as they walked through the hallways, steal a kiss on the stairwell of her apartment building, relish in the feeling of one of his hands slipping under her wool school uniform skirt, the soft pads of his fingers caressing her knee. Though he never acknowledged her existence, these were the thoughts, the fantasies that comforted her as she remained friendless, her social status plummeting in the exact opposite direction as her grades.

  She was sixteen when she first laid eyes on him, Jack having transferred with his trusty pal Calvin by his side after being kicked out of the last school they were in. While he was hard and tough around the neighborhood—always getting into trouble—she had an inclination that behind closed doors, it was all an act. Whenever he did something terrible, there was a devious glint in Cal’s eyes that just didn’t exist in Jack’s. In her own little world, Jack would be tender towards her, gentle with her, as if she were a porcelain doll.

  What a dreamer she’d been in high school. Her heart gave a twinge of discomfort when she recognized him. She squinted. She was sure it was Jackson Holloway. The same gorgeous bad boy that permeated her dreams just as fiercely as those intense hormones pumped through her teenage body. It must’ve been ten years since then. He’d grown at least a foot taller, his shoulders had become broader. He’d put on at least thirty pounds of pure muscle. But his face was a little thinner, leaner, accentuating his sharp cheekbones. The mop of black hair she remembered flopping into his eyes as a teen was now buzzed to a military crew cut so short it would make someone turn on a heel and run away if he ran into Jack in an alley at night. That was probably the look he was going for, Charlotte figured. Without a hat or skullcap, she wondered how he could walk around with his head so exposed; he had to be freezing.

  He continued to stare at her. Was there a chance that he remembered her? He had absolutely no reason to, but then again, he wouldn’t be staring at her like that if he didn’t.

  She put up a hand tentatively in greeting, urging him to come over. Her stomach fluttered in anticipation of his next move. Would he cross the street and approach her? He fidgeted with his glove for a second, but when he looked up again and saw her still motioning to him, he returned to being immobile, as if he’d been caught red-handed. He looked confusedly to his right and left and something in his eyes—a piercing gray that was as deep as a storm cloud—said Who, me?

  She nodded, giving a small wave of her exposed hand. But something flashed over his face—was it fear?—and he looked as frantic as a trapped animal.

  He shifted his weight from foot to foot as if he were debating something. He doesn’t recognize me, Charlotte thought to herself. Half of her burned with embarrassment at the thought and a part of her wished she’d never made a move. But the other half couldn’t help but feel excited at the idea that he’d come close to her. Not to mention happy that he was alive and safe, knowing full well that the people who typically perpetuated his kind of lifestyle were in jail. Or dead. Maybe he’d turned his life around just like she’d always hoped.

  She waved to him again, but he remained still as a statue. Finally, after a few more agonizing seconds, he took a hesitant step forward, and then another, until he slowly made his way to the crosswalk. She felt a lump rise in her throat.

  When he finally closed the gap between them, she could barely breathe. He was here, actually in the flesh. Though she hadn’t thought about him in a long, long time, her body seemed to remember the sensation of being around him like it was yesterday. Her tongue felt like it was made of lead as she looked him up and down. Luckily, he spoke first.

  “Hi?” he said, the greeting coming out more like a question than a statement. A weird sense of trepidation fi
lled his voice.

  She smiled tightly and gave a small nod, desperately trying to hide her excitement. “Hi.”

  He bent slightly to either side, looking around Charlotte and behind her. It was almost if he were checking if she were really there and not just a mirage.

  Her brow wrinkled. Though he had no reason to remember her, there was something about his expression that made her think she was somehow familiar to him. But chances were that he wasn’t. So why was he staring at her like that?

  She stuck out her hand, hoping he would take it.

  For a second he looked at it as if it were a dangerous cobra about to strike. She felt a little weird, like he was going to leave her hanging, but then he reached out and his hand closed around hers. He gave her hand a few light squeezes like he was testing that it was an actual human hand and not one made of out clay. He glanced down at their joined hands like he was fascinated by them for some reason. His eyes were practically bugging out of his head. Suddenly, his hand traveled up her arm, lightly squeezing her forearm, her bicep, then her shoulder along the way. He seemed frantic, like he’d just discovered human contact. Before she knew it, he had drawn her into a full-on hug.

  She immediately stiffened in his embrace and let out a startled laugh. A million thoughts raced through her head. Why was he hugging her? But then she realized that she didn’t care and drew him in closer.

  She breathed in the scent of him, only to find that there wasn’t one anymore. She expected to smell the tobacco she remembered clinging to the clothes of all the “bad kids” Jack was known to hang out with, the kids her mother warned her to stay away from. And she did, but only because they’d never welcomed her into their circle. She’d longed to be around Jack as much as possible back then, and now here they were, ten years later—out of their neighborhood, embracing on the street. It was so bizarre. Now, when she breathed him in, she didn’t smell anything like what wafted from him when he sometimes walked in front of her in the hallways. Maybe he’d given up smoking. She smiled into his black canvas jacket and he squeezed her. She squeezed him back, her arms draped over his now broader shoulders.

  Suddenly her body became less rigid and melted into the embrace. Her muscles softened as he leaned down, his chin now touching her shoulder, his lips lightly grazing her neck. She felt his warm breath tickle her skin with every exhalation. His hands slid down her shoulder blades before settling on the small of her back. Despite her shawl, she could feel the strength in his hands. She shivered, sucking in a sharp breath. Deep inside, she knew she wasn’t shivering from the cold. In fact, something was stirring inside her, a deep heat she hadn’t felt since the last time she saw him. She’d bet that if they held their embrace any longer, sweat would start to form on her forehead.

  Jack pulled back, breaking the contact. They stood and looked at each other for a moment. He appeared deeply saddened and then suddenly uncomfortable at the outburst. She couldn’t read what was going through his mind. It was awkward.

  “Well, that was weird,” Charlotte admitted, trying to cut the tension.

  Jack laughed sheepishly. “Yeah.”

  “So you remember me, Jack? I know we never really spoke, but...” Charlotte trailed off as she looked down. “It’s um, nice to see you.”

  “You remember me?” Jack looked like he’d just been punched in the stomach. “You remember that night?”

  Charlotte was confused. Was he mistaking her for someone else? “What night?” she asked. “I was...talking about school. We went to school together.”

  Jack hesitated for a moment. “We did?”

  Her cheeks burned in embarrassment. “Yeah. That’s why...I thought you just hugged me. That you recognized me.”

  He seemed flustered, his pupils darting from right to left. “Oh, Charlotte,” he exclaimed like he was having a moment of clarity. “Charlotte Simms, right? I remember you now. Just took me a moment to place you.”

  Something about his tone made her suspect he was lying, but why would he? He said he remembered her from school, and they hadn’t seen each other since then, so he had no reason to lie. He did know her full name, after all.

  “Surprised to see me?” She waved a hand in front of her, showing him her tattered clothes, her wild blond mane. “I’m not much to look at these days.”

  “No, that’s not true,” he said. He cleared his throat. “You look beautiful. Really. It’s so good to see you.”

  Jack just called me beautiful, Charlotte thought to herself. Her inner teenager was doing backflips. She couldn’t believe this was happening. While it felt amazing to hear him talk to her, she had to admit it was weird seeing Jack alone. She didn’t remember ever seeing him alone.

  “Where’s your Siamese twin?” she joked, trying to lighten the mood.

  Jack pursed his lips slightly before answering. “Cal?”

  “Yeah. You guys still friends?”

  Jack cleared his throat before answering. “Sort of.” He paused. The color was beginning to drain from his face. “Do you mind if we sit down on that bench behind...your table?” he asked.

  Charlotte scrunched her brow. “You feeling okay?”

  “I’m fine, I’ve just been walking around a lot today. Just need to sit down for a sec.”

  They walked over and Jack sat down quickly, as if he’d been pushed by an invisible force. The he hunched forward, resting his elbows on top of his knees. It looked like he was going to be sick, but was trying not to show it on his face.

  “So what is this?” Jack gestured to her table, its shabby poster board sign fluttering in the icy wind.

  Her cheeks, already chapped from the blustery weather, burned with embarrassment. “You mean, why am I doing this?”

  She had always been a devoted student, everyone had such high hopes for her. It was no surprise if Jack knew what she was like in school that he would wonder why she was on the street now.

  “I was in college,” she clarified. “But something happened right before my last semester and I had to leave. I’m just working to put together enough money so I can go back and earn my last twenty credits.”

  “You okay?” he asked uneasily.

  She sighed. “Yeah, it’s not ideal, but it’s okay. My mother always told me I had a knack for tarot and fortunes. She believed I had a strong pull toward the supernatural, even as a child.”

  “So, have you had anyone come by today?”

  She shook her head. “Not yet. Business is slow in the winter. Being outside and all.” She looked down at the pile of snow beginning to form on the toe of her boot.

  “Did you, um,” Charlotte started, but she had trouble getting the words out. She felt a little lightheaded in his presence. Get a hold of yourself, she thought. “Did you have any questions for me?”

  “Questions?” Jack asked.

  Charlotte tapped a finger on the sign taped to her table. “Like, for me as a medium.”

  Jack looked at the sign. “Oh.”

  “Have you ever been read before? My prices are the lowest you’ll find in Alphabet City.”

  He turned to her and, after removing one of his gloves, offered his hand, palm up. “Sure, I’ll be your first customer today.”

  The color had returned to his face and he smiled, showing off his impeccably white, straight teeth. It was a miracle he still had all of them considering all the fights he’d been known to start. The thought of having physical contact with his bare skin made her heartbeat quicken. It may have been years since they’d last seen each other, but it was as if her body had been craving his touch the entire time.

  “Great” was all she could manage to say. She thought for a second before continuing. “But I have to admit, palm reading isn’t my specialty.”

  He smirked. “What is your specialty?”

  There were a million different things she wanted to say, but all of them involved removing their clothing. There was only one way to get him back to her place. Now that they’d been reunited, and that he was actuall
y talking to her, she wanted to hold onto him for as long as she could.

  “Believe it or not, tea leaf reading.” It was a lie, but a white lie.

  Jack chuckled softly. “What?”

  “It’s when you drink tea and read the leaves left in the bottom of the cup. My apartment’s right around the corner from here, on Avenue B. We could go warm up there.”

  A flirty glint formed in Jack’s eye. “Good idea. I think we could both use some warming up.”

  Chapter Three

  Jack walked beside Charlotte in a daze. He couldn’t wrap his mind around it. She could see him. How the hell could she see him? More than that, she’d touched him, actually felt the size and breadth of him when he gave her that hug like a crazy person. But he couldn’t believe it. Around her, he was real.

  He had no idea how or why. But she was a medium, after all. Maybe she had talents beyond the parlor tricks she did out on the street, talents she didn’t realize. He felt something itching at the corners of his mind. What felt like bile churned in his stomach. It was an odd sensation to feel something again after being dead for almost a year. And he was feeling so many things at the moment.

  There was the shock that she could see him and a sense of sadness in realizing the impact the robbery had has on her life. That was it. He felt guilty. Guilty that he’d lied to her. He hadn’t remembered her from high school. No, not at all. He remembered her from a much more recent event. He knew exactly what led to her being out on the streets and why Charlotte had to drop out of school. Because he and Cal had something to do with it. If he were being honest with himself, the real reason he’d hugged her was that it was what he’d wanted to do the whole time the last time he saw her. She was the first person who ever made him feel bad about the things he did.