Bed on Arrival

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Talk about dreamy sex...

Medium/social worker Jenee Vicknair can hardly think straight these days...and it's all because there's a sinfully sexy stranger sharing her bed every night. Her mystery man instinctively knows how to touch her, how to kiss her, how to drive her out of her mind with desire. It's a relationship she'd like to explore...if only he didn't disappear, literally, the moment the deed was done....

Private investigator/psychic ...

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Talk about dreamy sex...

Medium/social worker Jenee Vicknair can hardly think straight these days...and it's all because there's a sinfully sexy stranger sharing her bed every night. Her mystery man instinctively knows how to touch her, how to kiss her, how to drive her out of her mind with desire. It's a relationship she'd like to explore...if only he didn't disappear, literally, the moment the deed was done....

Private investigator/psychic Nick Madere has never been on a case like this one. He's looking for a missing child, but whenever he uses his psychic abilities, he ends up in bed with a woman who's too sexy for her own good. Not that he's complaining...but time is running out. If he doesn't find the child soon, not to mention the woman who's haunting his dreams, he might just lose them both!

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780373794133
  • Publisher: Harlequin
  • Publication date: 7/1/2008
  • Series: Harlequin Blaze Series , #409
  • Format: Mass Market Paperback
  • Pages: 224
  • Product dimensions: 4.00 (w) x 6.60 (h) x 0.70 (d)

Meet the Author

Award-winning author Kelley St. John's previous experience as a senior writer at NASA fueled her interest in writing action-packed suspense, although she also enjoys penning steamy romances and quirky women's fiction. Since 2000 St. John has won over fifty writing awards, including the National Readers' Choice Award, and was elected to the Board of Directors of Romance Writers of America.

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Read an Excerpt

Sitting with Chantelle and Kayla Vicknair at the circular table that occupied most of their small office in the Seven Sisters shelter, Jenee Vicknair listened to an ancient clock chime midnight while they created files for the shelter's newest arrivals. Jenee had moved into the shelter when it opened four weeks ago to fulfill the on-site staffing stipulation required by the state, so it was easy for her to work late; when she was done, she merely went to her room and slept. Chantelle and Kayla, however, usually had husbands waiting for them to return home at the end of the day, but when a woman and little girl had arrived at the shelter that evening, Kayla had decided to stay until Gage got off his shift in the E.R. and Chantelle had opted to spend the night, since Tristan was on call at the firehouse anyway.
The three of them, along with Ms. Rosa, the elderly black woman who ran the shelter, had worked for months filling out the necessary paperwork and obtaining the required licenses to open the Seven Sisters to battered women and abused children. They'd jumped through all of the hoops to receive state funding and support from the local parish, and now their dream was becoming a reality. They'd had no trouble at all finding reputable volunteers to help staff the home during the day; after suffering through Katrina, most people in New Orleans were more than willing to help others in need. And that rekindled spirit had helped the shelter qualify to house up to ten women and children. As of tonight, they had two teens, and an eleven-year-old and her mother in their care.
The teens were sisters and had been referred to the shelter almost immediately when the doors opened lastmonth. Fifteen and sixteen, Ellie and Chylia Lee had alternated between their actual home and foster homes for years. Each time the court had tried to reunify the family and had sent the girls back home, their father, or on occasion, their mother had used them as a punching bag whenever a drunken or drug-induced rage took over. Kayla had spoken on the girls' behalf in court and asked the judge to allow them to live at the shelter long term, until either their family could be proven unquestionably stable, or parental rights were finally terminated. The court had agreed, and Ellie and Chylia had become the first to live at the shelter.
Hannah Fosset, the eleven-year-old, had just arrived at the shelter that night with her mother, Delores. It was their files that held Jenee, Chantelle and Kayla's attention now. Delores had called the parish hotline for battered women, and following standard protocol, Kayla had picked them up from a "safe" location.
Delores's husband had beaten the woman beyond recognition, one eye swollen shut, cheeks yellowed from old bruises, mouth split open. Oddly enough, the daughter showed no signs of physical abuse, but Jenee suspected that Hannah Fosset had suffered. She was too quiet, too subdued, too terrified.
Jenee wanted to help her overcome that pain, the way she'd helped Ellie and Chylia. She already saw improvement in them; they no longer flinched when spoken to, or looked ashamed of the things they couldn't control. It'd take time, lots of time, and understanding and care, but they would survive the damage of their past and move forward, the same way that Chantelle and Kayla had after being sexually abused as children.
Jenee read through Hannah's information, what little there was, again. She didn't have much in her file as she hadn't spoken a word since arriving at the shelter. Jenee silently vowed to make that little girl's recovery her primary goal. She'd help with all of the cases, but Hannah's solemn brown eyes had touched her heart, and she wanted to see the girl smile again.
Her pulse pumped a little faster. She was finally doing what she wanted to do—helping children. She'd always been drawn to kids. Maybe it was because she saw so many child spirits when she performed her medium duties. Those tiny ghosts visited her regularly, and with each and every visit, Jenee's heart was pricked with emotion. She wasn't naive enough to think she could fix every dismal situation, but she was optimistic enough to believe that she could make a difference with some. And she'd start with the girls at the shelter.
Thanks to Kayla's vision of reopening the Seven Sisters, the orphanage she and Chantelle had grown up in, Jenee had a place to work as soon as she graduated from LSU. And she was gaining experience already, living at the shelter and performing more than her share of the daily staff duties while Kayla was in the first trimester of her pregnancy.
Kayla ate a cracker and sipped ginger ale as she reviewed the page displaying the violence wheel in Hannah Fosset's file. The wheel showed methods of physical and sexual violence, and Kayla was placing tiny checkmarks in the sections that she suspected affected the little girl. Abusing Authority, Verbal Attacks and Using Loved Ones each received a check from Kayla's pencil. Jenee was familiar with the wheel through her studies, but something about seeing its effects on such a tiny person made her look at it differently. It was no longer something to learn in school, but something very real.
"Rosa is with Hannah and her mother now," Kayla said. "Maybe Hannah will talk to Rosa. I always did."
"Do you think—" Jenee started, then her train of thought was interrupted, and she couldn't recall the end of the question. Her eyelids suddenly became very heavy, her view of Chantelle and Kayla became distorted, and she shook her head to try to clear it. She knew this feeling, that beckoning call to lie down, rest…and let her next spirit visit her dreams.
Each of the Vicknairs had signals for knowing when a ghostly assignment was on the way. Jenee's brother, Tristan, smelled smoke and her cousin Nanette heard thunder. Jenee, on the other hand, foresaw her spirits in a dream before their actual arrival, and she could usually tell what a spirit needed before the letter even showed up on Grandma Adeline's tea service.
"Jenee? Do you have a ghost coming?" Chantelle asked, quite aware of Jenee's personal calling card for coming spirits.
"I think so," Jenee said, both dismayed and delighted. Dismayed that she wouldn't get to finish this conversation with Kayla and Chantelle, and delighted that she'd get to help another child find his or her way to the light.
"Go on. We'll let you know if anything happens with Hannah, or any of the others, while you're connecting with your ghost," Chantelle said.
Kayla nodded her head toward the door as she withdrew another cracker from the box. "Go on. We both understand ghosts take priority."
"Thanks." Jenee made her way through the shelter to the small bedroom she'd called her own for the past four weeks.
Growing more and more lethargic with every movement, she barely found the strength to change out of her clothes and into a nightgown before crawling into bed. Finally, Jenee closed her eyes in relief and waited for the ghost. This one was practically forcing her to sleep, she could feel the child's urgent need to connect with her. Obviously, this spirit was incredibly strong, and extremely ravenous.
Ravenous? That wasn't the way she'd typically describe a spirit trying to reach her, but she couldn't deny that an intense hunger for something resonated from this ghost.
Anxious to find out what the ghost needed so desperately, she let her mind drift to sleep, but instead of immediately seeing a ghost within her dreams, Jenee was overwhelmed by another sudden wave of exhaustion that drew her deeper into unconsciousness.
In the recesses of her mind, she knew that she should be tending to the child spirit that had summoned her to bed, but the sound of her own breathing lulled her away from a basic dream state…and into fantasy. That had to be it, because she'd never dreamed anything remotely near the vision she saw now.
And it was a vision, rather than a ghost. Because the ghosts that visited her in her dreams were always—always—children. And the male standing near her bed definitely wasn't a child.
Have mercy, he was so not a child. What was going on? How had he gotten there? And was there any way that he might…stay?
She swallowed, focusing on the sun-streaked brown hair and turquoise eyes, full lower lip and five o'clock shadow. And he was big. Very big, and broad, with lines of hard muscle visible against the black T-shirt tucked into well-worn jeans.
Even his thighs were massive, and Jenee's throat grew tight as her gaze skittered across the center of his hips, where a noticeable bulge pushed against the soft denim.
It wasn't a child spirit that had summoned her to bed. It wasn't a spirit at all. Obviously, she'd been even more sexually deprived than she'd realized, willing her body to sleep so she could conjure up the ultimate fantasy man.
For the past year, she'd been so focused on her studies, and the shelter, and her medium duties, that she hadn't had time for men. Hadn't had time for sex. And right now, looking at the one she'd created in her mind, she didn't care that he was only a fantasy. She wanted him.
The sudden dampness of her panties was evidence of how much and—dream or not—she was going to have him.
Pushing the quilt off her tiny bed, Jenee pulled her nightgown over her head and tossed it to the floor. Then, never taking her gaze off those exquisite turquoise eyes, she shimmied out of her panties, tossed them on top of the gown and reached for her fantasy man.
Nick knew this was wrong. He knew it with every fiber of his being, but he had no idea how he could stop what was happening.
What was happening?
Five minutes ago, he'd been in his apartment in Virginia, staring at Emma Moore's photo and trying to connect with the missing little girl, to learn where she was so he could find her before she was harmed by her kidnappers. And he had connected, had seen brief glimpses of the world through Emma's eyes and thought he was finally going to pinpoint the girl's location.
Then he'd ended up here, in this tiny bedroom with the most enticing woman he'd ever seen. Nick's heart thudded against his ribs and desire ricocheted through him, then zeroed in on his cock, which rose to the occasion. He stood near her bed knowing that he should will the connection to be broken, but it would have been easier to will himself to stop breathing.
She looked at him, big brown almond-shaped eyes drinking all of him in, and then she gave him a soft, sexy smile and pushed the quilt from the bed. Then she slowly removed her nightgown.
Mon dieu, she obviously thought she was dreaming.
But Nick knew better. This had happened before, after all. But the other two times when he'd been attempting to connect with a missing child and found another psychic instead, they'd simply acknowledged one another, and then broken the link.
She wasn't making any effort to speak, or to break the connection. And she apparently had no idea that he wasn't just a figment of her imagination, or that in a sense, he really was here, in her bedroom, watching her undress.
As much as his dick begged to differ, Nick couldn't take advantage of her this way. He took a deep breath.
"I'm sorry." Was he ever sorry. "I can't do this. You're not dreaming, chère."
Nick expected her to scream, or to call for help, or—hell—tell him that she was a psychic too, and why didn't they have a little fun as long as they'd both ended up in the same place.
Like he'd get that lucky.
But she didn't scream, or yell for help, or converse with him at all. Instead, she lay back against her pillow, lifted her hips—and slid her black lace panties down her legs. They dropped to the floor at the same moment that Nick dropped his reservations. She wanted him, and mon dieu, he wanted her.
He pulled his T-shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor, following suit with his jeans. Then he moved his hands to the waistband of his boxers and waited. This was her chance to stop him, to send him back to where he came from and away from…wherever they were.
"Tell me no, chère. If you don't want everything, tell me no. Now."
She reached for him, and Nick stepped closer to the bed, allowing her trembling hands to gently move his fingers from his waist so she could take over. Lifting the top edge of his underwear, she moved the band over the head of his penis, then slid the boxers to the floor while she boldly eyed his erection, and while Nick's cock twitched in anticipation.
Then that sweet mouth kissed the tip, her moist lips opening to take him in, her tongue circling the engorged ridge, and Nick hissed in a ragged breath. He was twenty-nine, knocking on the door of thirty, yet right now he felt like an inexperienced teen, her snug mouth nearly taking him past the breaking point with one hot, delicious stroke.
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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4
( 4 )
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Sort by: Showing 1 – 5 of 4 Customer Reviews
  • Posted December 9, 2008

    more from this reviewer

    an enjoyable paranormal romantic suspense

    Like her cousins social worker Jenee Vicknair helps lost spirits reach the other side. Jenee¿s forte is assisting deceased children arrive at their destination.---------------- However, her newest lost soul is a sexy adult who is devastating her sleep. Private investigator and fellow psychic Nick Madere is seeking a missing child. His specialty is to use photographs of his target to guide him to the child. However, something strange seems to happen lately as he uses his gift. Instead of the trail of a youngster, his spirit ends up in bed alongside beautiful Jenee. He knows she is real and wants to meet her as he is very attracted to her, but first the case comes before his desire. She, on the other hand is confused as she wants this hunk, but has only seem his spirit, which she assumes is lost.----------------- BED ON ARRIVAL is an enjoyable paranormal romantic suspense starring two likable protagonists who first meet in her dreams. Although Nick obsesses over meeting in the flesh Jenee, he also knows the missing child comes before his desires. Sub-genre fans will appreciate this fine Sixth Sense entry (see FIRE IN THE BLOOD not read by this reviewer) that stands alone as a delightful tale of love forming in the astral realm between two caring people with special skills used to help children in differing ways.-------------- Harriet Klausner

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    Posted May 7, 2011

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    Posted October 18, 2011

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    Posted February 1, 2011

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