Seduced by Him

By Alyssa Breck

Kylie McAllister has it all until her world is shattered by the death of her husband, Jackson, in a car accident. After a year of grieving, Kylie uses the proceeds from Jackson's life insurance to purchase a plantation home on the outskirts of New Orleans to start over with their daughter, Abby.

Confirmed bachelor, Ryan LaCroix, has no intention of settling down with anyone, let alone his best friend's widow, but somehow Kylie and Abby find their way into his heart.

After discovering an old Ouija board in the attic of her new home, Kylie unwittingly opens a cosmic door to an incubus who pretends to be the dead husband she is so desperately struggling to let go of. She falls deep under his potent spell of delicious sex and malevolent obsession while he gradually drains her life to fortify his own.

By the time she realizes he's an imposter, she is powerless to stop him. Together, with Jackson's subliminal guidance and the help of a kind voodoo practitioner, Ryan and Kylie wage a fight for her life against the evil entity.

Warning: This book contains violent and sexual situations. Reader's discretion is advised.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alyssa Breck
• Release date: Aug 16, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386368960

Book preview

Chapter One

The open expanse of the Pontchartrain Lake sped by in a blur of black ink. Driving over the bridge at night was almost like flying. If it weren’t for the shine of the moon showcasing the ripples of the current, it would be impossible to tell where the skyline ended, and the water began.

I see the big dipper. Jack peered through the windshield and moved his hand to her leg. The thin fabric of her slacks didn’t do much to block the heat of his fingertips as they inched up her toward the V of her thighs.

Kylie looked over at her husband and smiled. That’s the little dipper.

He shook his head and laughed. I’m going to put my big dipper in your little dipper when we get home.

You’re filthy, Mr. McAllister.

And you love it, little woman.

God. Yes, I do, she conceded. I’m crossing my fingers that Abby finds it in her heart to sleep for more than just a couple of hours tonight.

Jack glanced into the backseat where their daughter snoozed in her car seat. He leaned over and nuzzled Kylie’s ear. Keep your fingers crossed and your legs open.

She put her hand over his and squeezed. Don’t make me pull this car over.

Jack nibbled her neck and slid a hand up the front of her blouse and cupped her breast. Have I told you how beautiful you are today?

No, but feel free to ameliorate that.

He brushed his knuckles over her nipple. You’re beautiful. Jack knew just how to take her from cool to hot in seconds.

She sighed. Mmm. You’re not so bad yourself.

Jack fumbled with a button on her blouse and slipped his hand inside. He tugged at the cup of her bra when an earsplitting cry broke out from the backseat.

Whoa. There’s another country heard from. Kylie kept her hands on the wheel and laughed. Her timing is impeccable.

Jack leaned his head against her shoulder and laughed. Our beautiful little buzz killer.

Kylie buttoned her blouse and winked at Jack. That’s her job. 

She threw her pacifier behind your seat. I can’t reach it from here. Jack pressed the release on his seatbelt and climbed over the console and into the backseat.

Kylie watched him in the rearview mirror. She smiled while he made cooing sounds and tried to coax the baby to latch onto the plastic pacifier. That little girl had him wrapped around her pinky and then some. Kylie stared a moment longer before refocusing her attention on the bridge.

Taillights blinked and then blacked out ahead. Engine trouble on the bridge would be bad news. She took her foot off the gas pedal and looked over her shoulder. Another car cruised up beside her so she couldn’t get over into the next lane.

Oh, shit! Jack, hold on! Kylie screamed almost simultaneously as she slammed into the stalled truck. Glass shattered, shards cutting into her hands and cheeks, stinging. The airbag blew smoke in her face. She choked and waved her hand in front of her face. Her head spun, and she fought to open her eyes. The baby was crying, and a hissing sound came from the engine compartment. Kylie looked over her shoulder. Abby was screaming but didn’t seem hurt.

Kylie turned back around slowly. Her breath caught in her throat and nausea roiled in her stomach. Blood dripped from a jagged hole in the windshield. Her vision blurred but she willed herself to stay conscious. The passenger seat was empty. Jack wasn’t in the car anymore.

No. No, no, no, she whispered to herself. No! she screamed, forcing her door open. Her heart beat a tattoo in her chest and echoed in her head. Her knees buckled when she put her full weight on them.

A portly man in a cowboy hat stumbled out of the truck in front of her and rushed towards her, grabbing her by the elbows. Are you okay, lady? I had my flashers on. I called nine-one-one.

Other cars stopped, and people gathered around her, asking questions, talking on cell phones. They needed to move, Kylie needed to find Jack.

An ache throbbed in her neck and her balance was off. The world was tilted to the left. My husband. Where’s my husband? Please, she sobbed, pushing through the crowd. Did anyone see him?

Solar-powered lights lined the bridge, illuminating the scene like the set of a movie. She looked back at the man-sized hole in her windshield and followed the trajectory. Kylie scrambled towards the F-150, eyes locked on the back of the cab. Blood oozed down the window and she traced the trail to where Jackson lay in a motionless heap. Adrenaline coursed through her veins and a sense of clarity came over her. She turned to the man who first approached her.

He stood frozen, his hand over his mouth, staring into the back of his truck. I’m s-s-sorry. His voice was muffled through his pudgy fingers. 

She grabbed his shoulders. I need you to help me.

He broke his gaze from the truck bed and looked at her, blinking rapidly.

She bit back a sob and squared her shoulders. Please go to the back seat of my car and bring my baby here. Don’t take her out of her car seat.

The man nodded, still covering his mouth.

Kylie climbed into the bed of the truck and crawled over a spare tire. A stray bold cut her into knee but she ignored the pain.

Jackson wasn’t moving. His lips looked wrong, too dark. His neck was cocked at a weird angle and something inside pressed against the skin on the left. She slid her fingers over the lump, searching for the telltale thump of a pulse. Nothing. His pupils were dilated, one bigger than the other and not reactive; what they called fixed in the ER. Her years as a trauma nurse said he was beyond help. All rational thought left her as the first responder stepped aside and the desperate wife took her place. Jackson couldn’t die, he just couldn’t.

She tugged his body down, trying to straighten his misshapen neck. There was a box of shop rags in the truck and she pulled out a few to tuck under Jack’s head. She felt his chest, finding the landmark to begin CPR. Tears stung her eyes as she started compressions. His ribcage gave way too easily but she kept going. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. Kylie inched up to his head and tilted it back. She looked into his mouth, pinched his nose and gave him two quick breaths. She used the sleeve of her sweater to wipe away the blood dripping down his left temple and began the next set of compressions, counting them off in her head. Hearing the muted sounds of sirens and a baby crying, she glanced over her shoulder and saw a woman standing beside the truck holding Abby.

Kylie continued CPR. Come on, Jackson. Hold on, baby. Help is on the way. You can’t die. She choked on a sob and wiped the tears away with a bloody hand. She didn’t have time to cry. Fatigue set into her arms and every compression felt like lifting a fifty-pound weight. She laid her head on his chest for a moment before steeling herself to keep going, ignoring that with every compression more of his blood ran onto the truck bed.

A strong hand came down on her shoulder. Ma’am, back away please. Let us have a look at him.

She stared up into the face of a paramedic she knew from the hospital. What was his name?

Kylie? Jesus. Are you okay?

Please, don’t let him die, she whispered. She rocked back on her heels and wrapped her arms around herself. Don’t let my husband die.

Another paramedic helped her step down from the truck and led her to the ambulance van. He shined a light in her eyes and fastened the velcro of a blood pressure cuff to her arm. A fire engine pulled up and two more men climbed into the truck bed with Jack. One of them shook his head.

A third fireman walked toward Kylie or maybe he was a police officer. He was a blur of motion in a blue uniform. The baby was screaming, her little body shuddered from the sobs.

Kylie held her arms out. My baby.

He handed Abby to her and touched her shoulder. I’m sorry, ma’am.

Kylie cradled Abby in her arms while the paramedic pulled a strap over her thighs to secure her to the gurney. Someone closed the doors of the van.

Jackson’s blood was sticky on Kylie’s hands. The knees of her jeans were stained dark, and her chest burned as if her heart had been ripped out. Her cell phone rang. Abby had finally calmed down and fallen asleep, and Kylie didn’t want to wake her.

The paramedic seated beside her reached down and picked up her leather bag. Do you want me to find the phone for you?

She couldn’t speak and nodded. She didn’t know if she was hurt. Her body was numb but for tingling in the tips of her fingers and toes. Her hands felt clammy but maybe it was just the blood beginning to dry.

He fished through her purse and handed the phone to her. The display showed Jack’s mom’s number. The ringing stopped then a message popped up to indicate a voice mail.

Kylie pulled the oxygen mask up on her forehead and couldn’t stop the sobs that racked her body. How could this happen? How could she be so careless? This was all her fault.

Can I call someone for you? The paramedic placed his hand on her arm and squeezed softly. The hospital already knows we’re on our way and they’re standing by.

Kylie handed him her cell phone. Please call back the last number that called me and tell them that we’ve been in an accident and to meet us at MCLNO.

Okay. I’ll handle it. The young man pulled the oxygen mask back down over her nose. Keep that on.

This can’t be happening. Not to Jackson. Not to me.

Kylie pulled in a deep breath and rubbed Abby’s back to calm herself under the guise of comforting her daughter. The paramedic van slowed down. It was backing up into the ER bay. Normally, Kylie would be waiting outside to receive the patient.

The paramedic made his way to the doors, and Kylie looked out at the team waiting for her just as the second ambulance pulled into the next bay. She recognized all the faces looking in at her. Bile rose in her throat, and she fought off another wave of nausea. Then she saw him, her father’s face creased with worry and sorrow.

She reached out a bloody hand to him. Daddy.

The gurney was lowered out of the van and her father grasped her hand. His other hand cupped the back of Abby’s head.

Kylie stared at the closed doors of the second van. No team waited for Jack. Nothing could be done for him. She knew the routine. They’d wait until she was out of sight before they unloaded him and took him to the morgue.

Your mother’s on her way. Her dad squeezed her hand.

I don’t know what to do. Kylie searched his face; looking for some sign that he could make this all go away.

***

Kylie sat on her bed and sifted through Jackson’s things. I don’t know if I should keep it or bury it with him, she said, fingering Jackson’s wedding ring on the chain around her neck.

Maisy reached out and touched her leg. I think you should save it and give it to Abby when she grows up.

Kylie looked up at the girl who’d been her best friend since junior high school. Maisy’s long, dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail and she had tears in her eyes.

Probably. He would want her to have it. Kylie nodded and let the ring drop back against her chest. It was odd sitting on the bed knowing he’d never sleep there again. A book sat on his nightstand, a marker sticking out from between the pages where he’d left off – a book he’d never finish. His briefcase was halfway into the closet, filled with cases he’d never resolve. The hard thing to accept was that life would go on. Someone else would read that book and someone else would take over his files in the DA’s office. It wasn’t right that people could be replaced like that.

Jack had used the same worn leather wallet since Kylie met him. She pulled out his driver’s license and studied him. No one really took a great driver’s license photo, but his was better than most.

Kylie traced her finger over his face. It was so him, with his lazy smile and blue eyes. His blond hair was cut short and combed to the side. Just a glimpse of his blue tie was visible at the bottom of the picture. His bar card and credit cards were tucked into the slots and she passed them up to flip through the few pictures in the plastic sleeve. One was of them in front of their house right after they’d closed escrow. Kylie was holding up the key and they were smiling like idiots. Another was Abby’s birth announcement photo followed by a more recent one of her with a yellow bow in her hair.

There was a photo of Kylie at her baby shower holding her belly. They’d talked about having another baby, so Abby wouldn’t be alone. That would never happen now. A wave of grief washed over her, and she shivered. Every day a new realization popped into her mind that she hadn’t just lost her husband; she’d lost her future.

Kylie slipped his Bulova watch onto her wrist. She’d bought it for him on his birthday the year they met. It was too big and slid nearly up to her elbow. The titanium felt cold against her skin, a stark reminder that he would never wear it again.

She looked through Jack’s side of the closet and picked out a suit. He liked the dark gray one. His ties hung from a rack and she grabbed a black and silver one. She stowed his wallet in her purse and put on her coat. As much as she wanted to curl up on her bed and sleep, she had an appointment at the mortuary.

She caressed his wallet as she picked out a casket. Jack’s family was there but no one talked except for the funeral director. He explained the finish on one casket and the lining on another.

Kylie barely heard what he said over the whir of the air-conditioning and the buzzing inside her head. A coffin in the corner caught her eye. She walked away from him mid-sentence and ran her hand over the glossy red wood, fingering the bronze hand holds. Jack loved dark wood furniture and it reminded her of the nightstands in her bedroom. She touched the soft silk inside. Jack would have liked it.

This one. Kylie looked up at the tall, thin man. He would have wanted this one.

Yes, ma’am. The man smiled in that sympathetic way that a funeral director should. He made a note on his clipboard.

Kylie and Jack’s mom flipped through a tacky photo album of flower arrangements and settled on a spray of white roses and carnations, but Kylie asked that two single red roses be placed in the center. Every year, on their anniversary, Jackson gave her two red, long-stem roses.

Only two. For me and you. If you want dozens, I’ll buy you dozens of white, pink and yellow roses, but the red is just for us, babe.

***

Kylie fiddled with the bow on her daughter’s patent leather shoe while she waited for the ceremony to begin. Abby had fallen asleep cradled against Kylie’s chest and snored lightly.

Funeral chapels smelled funny, antiseptic. The air-conditioning blew through the vent above her and she couldn’t help but think the stained-glass windows and fancy wood pews just made it a glorified morgue.

An hour ago, she’d stood over that wood box and looked at her husband’s body. Kylie knew it wasn’t him anymore. Thick makeup covered up the discoloration under his eyes. His mouth was stretched too thin and his lips were the wrong shade of pink. She’d mussed his hair because it was too perfect. He looked like a wax figure of himself.

Kylie stood on her tiptoes to lean in and kiss his lips, cold, hard, unresponsive. He would never kiss her back. A knot formed in her stomach. She wanted to scream. She wanted him to take a breath, to live.

I want you here, Jack. The tears slid down her face and she cried silently. A picture of Abby was tucked in the coffin next to Jack’s arm. Kylie pulled it out and put it under his stiff hands. 

She stared at the casket below the pulpit now. The lid was closed, and a poster-sized picture of Jackson stood beside it. Kylie wanted people to remember him smiling and alive, not lifeless in a coffin with formally folded hands and bad makeup.

Jack had been dashing on their wedding day in his black tuxedo with a red rose boutonniere to match the single red rose in her bridal bouquet. All she could think was seven years wasn’t long enough. Life – or was it death – had cheated her.

The pastor took his place at the podium and Kylie glanced over her shoulder. The chapel had filled up quickly to standing room only. Everyone loved him—from his colleagues in the DA’s office to the girl who manned the Café Du Monde coffee cart in front of his downtown building. And no doubt some of the people didn’t know him at all but liked to be part of something grim, pretending they knew the person who died to fake some sense of loss and experience a morbid sense of belonging. She’d seen it before.

On behalf of the family of Jackson Parker McAllister, I would like to say welcome. I’m pleased to see so many of you came out to join us and help celebrate and remember Jack. I’ve had the pleasure of knowing the McAllister family for many years and I personally baptized Jack when he accepted our Lord, Jesus Christ, as his savior. Pastor Michael’s salt-and-pepper hair and kind face reminded her of the stereotypical man of the cloth. Kylie listened to him go on about how he watched Jackson grow into a fine young man and what a great husband and father he had been – the typical speech. It all seemed so shallow. Jack was more than just a husband and father and son. He had been Kylie’s best friend, her confidante, her world.

"We always wonder why when we lose someone so young and so senselessly. We struggle to find a reason, to make some sense of such a tragedy."

Kylie looked over at Jack’s mother. Restraint showed on her face – the creased brow and pursed lips, the taut wire of emotion threatening to snap at any moment. Kylie had apologized so many times for what happened and had been reassured by her mother-in-law. Everyone said they didn’t blame Kylie for the accident. It didn’t really matter though, because she would always blame herself.

She fought the urge to get up and walk outside and curl up into a ball in the grass and scream. The way she screamed into her pillow at night because she didn’t know what else to do. Nothing could make this okay.

Next up was Jack’s brother, Mark. He kept his head down and unfolded a sheet of paper he pulled from the breast pocket of his suit. He licked his lips and cleared his throat. His chin quivered, and he looked out at the chapel with red-rimmed eyes.

Thank you all for being here today.