Tarot's Touch Read online

  Table of Contents

  Legal Page

  Title Page

  Book Description

  Dedication

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Epilogue

  New Excerpt

  Publisher Page

  A Totally Bound Publication

  Tarot’s Touch

  ISBN # 978-1-78430-345-7

  ©Copyright L.M. Somerton 2014

  Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright December 2014

  Edited by Sarah Smeaton

  Totally Bound Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorized or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

  Published in 2014 by Totally Bound Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN

  Totally Bound Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.

  Warning:

  This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Totally Burning and a Sexometer of 3.

  Investigating Love

  TAROT’S TOUCH

  L.M. Somerton

  Book three in the Investigating Love series

  Can truth be found in the cards?

  DI Alex Courtney and his lover, DC Conor Trethuan are under enormous pressure as their team investigates an arson case and a murder.

  It soon becomes apparent that the two cases are linked and the race is on to find a vicious killer. A tarot card is placed with the first victim and the detectives are left to interpret the clues it provides. When Conor receives a note from the killer making reference to another card, the whole team is shaken. Their worst fears are realized when a second body is discovered, along with another tarot card.

  Conor suspects he has been followed then a hit and run leaves him injured. Alex wants nothing more than to wrap his lover up in cotton wool and protect him from the world. But is Conor the killer’s target or just a pawn in a much more sinister game? As the clues come together, it seems that the motive for murder might be revenge.

  Dedication

  For all fans of Alex and Conor—this story would not have been written without your encouragement.

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Ladbrokes: Ladbrokes plc

  Guinness World Record: Guinness World Records; Jim Pattison Group

  Wuthering Heights: Emily Brontë

  Heathcliff (Wuthering Heights): Emily Brontë

  Ziploc: The Dow Chemical Co.

  Agatha Christie’s Poirot: Agatha Christie Ltd.; ITV Studios; WGBH Boston

  Post-it: 3M Company

  Muzac: Mood Media Corporation

  Audi A5: Audi AG

  Chapter One

  PC Matt Naylor hunched his broad shoulders against the cold and tried, unsuccessfully, to ignore the trickle of icy water, which had breached the collar of his police-issue waterproof and was making its way down his neck. He now understood what ‘soaked to the skin’ really meant. Water dripped from his long nose, soaked the bottom of his trousers all the way to his knees, and he was fairly convinced that his Y-fronts were making sucking noises as they adhered to the clammy skin of his arse. He looked up into the amber glow of a street lamp and watched the rain against the light. It was coming down thick and heavy. The gutters were running with swollen streams and every indentation in the pavement had turned into a shoe-soaking puddle.

  “Bloody English summers,” Matt complained to no one in particular. Not that there was anyone for him to complain to. He peered at the luminous face of his watch, which told him it was three a.m. He always thought it a dead time—no longer qualifying as night but still too early to be defined as morning.

  “And they call police work a fucking vocation. Still, only three hours to go until the end of this shift.”

  Matt was very tempted to dive into an all-night café for a steaming mug of tea and a bacon buttie or just huddle in a nice, dry doorway. Nobody would know, or care, if he took a break from the appalling conditions, but Matt would know, and he did care. He could admit that he was still doggedly committed to his beat—he put it down to his age, as did his more seasoned colleagues.

  He carried on down the street, every step creating a new splash. He took the long, measured strides of someone used to covering a lot of ground while conserving his energy. He scanned the street continually, staying alert to anything suspicious. Movement in a shop doorway attracted his attention but it was just a fox snuffling into some discarded food. The bedraggled animal glared at him suspiciously then went back to rooting around in its prize. It looked like discarded fish and chip wrappings and Matt had a sudden craving for fresh, hot chips, sprinkled with salt and liberally doused with vinegar. No chance of that dream coming true. Matt pushed aside his melancholy as he left the fox to its meal. Even the young guy that ran the kebab van, fondly named ‘Greasy’s’ by the local college students, had packed up early and headed home. The pubs and clubs had closed. Anyone with an ounce of common sense was long since tucked up in bed. Matt hadn’t even had the momentary entertainment of dealing with a few stray, inebriated clubbers. The weather was a much more effective deterrent to drunken brawling than he would ever be.

  Matt glanced into the mouth of a dingy alley, squinting into the blackness. It separated two buildings, but wasn’t wide enough to take a car. Weeds growing through cracks in the tarmac testified to its lack of use. Someone had taken advantage of the neglected spot and left a heap of rubbish in the middle of the narrow lane. “Bloody fly tippers,” Matt muttered. “Is it really that much of an effort to take stuff to the recycling center?” He went to move on but something made him pause. A little, niggling itch at the edge of his mind. He pulled a flashlight from his belt and broke the inky blackness of the alley with its powerful beam. The pile wasn’t the usual detritus left by tippers. It looked like a ripped tarpaulin, maybe from a nearby shop awning. Matt rolled the beam of light from his torch around dripping fire escapes and overflowing bins before targeting the tarpaulin again. Something pale showed through a rough tear in the fabric. Matt’s stomach contracted and he placed a hand on his baton before taking a few steps closer. The scurry of a rat behind a nearby bin nearly gave him a heart attack and he laughed nervously at his own jumpiness.

  Bending a knee, he stooped, lifted a corner of the tarp then directed his torch underneath it. Sightless open eyes stared back at him. Matt gave a very unmanly yelp and fell backward onto his arse, vaguely registering the water that immediately soaked through his trousers. He sc
rambled away from the tarpaulin, scraping his palms on the rough concrete. His heart pounded and every hair on his body seemed to be standing on end. He clambered hastily to his feet and backed up against the nearest wall, taking jerky glances all around, half expecting someone or something to jump out at him. He fumbled for his radio with shaking hands then took a couple of calming deep breaths before calling in the incident. He tried not to sound too panicked. It wouldn’t do his reputation at the station any good at all if it got around that he had freaked out at the site of a dead body.

  “Dispatch this is forty-two, I have a DB, possible murder vic, alley off the High Street between the pound shop and Ladbrokes. I’ll need the SOCO and CID. Over.”

  His radio hissed and crackled. “Acknowledged, forty-two. Secure the scene. Back-up will be with you shortly.”

  “Thanks, Dispatch. Who’s on call?”

  A brief, crackly pause followed, and Matt could picture the duty sergeant checking his clipboard for rostered on-call staff.

  “That would be Inspector Courtney, forty-two. I’ll give him your regards when I haul him out of bed.”

  Matt rolled his eyes—anyone would think it was his fault that the town center was littered with dead bodies.

  “Helpful as always, Dispatch,” Matt said dryly.

  “We are here to serve,” came the deadpan response. “Over and out.”

  Knowing that the full might and organizational resources of Avon and Somerset Police had now been nudged into action, Matt felt calmer. He’d managed not to sound like an idiot on the radio, even though this was his first corpse. Regardless of the fact that he’d only had a glimpse of the body, he had to admit he felt shaken and in a way, he was glad. It would have been a hell of a lot weirder to have no reaction at all.

  “Secure the scene he says. Secure it from whom? And what the heck with? It’s not as if I have reels of crime scene tape stuffed in my pockets.” He looked around but there was no sign of another living being. Even the rat had thought better of his foraging ground and disappeared. The alley opened into the High Street at one end and at the other turned into the lane that ran the full length of the road. Matt knew that the lane gave access to staff car parks and bin cupboards belonging to the shops. The entire area would have to be searched, but there was little he could do on his own. He wasn’t about to go poking around and disturbing any evidence that might be present, that was a sure-fire way of getting himself allocated to traffic duty for a few months.

  Time crawled on but it was still early. It was highly unlikely that anyone would enter the crime scene from the rear of the alley, so Matt walked back to the High Street and found a sheltered spot where he could keep a look out in both directions. The rain seemed to be easing a little and Matt fancied that the darkness was shifting to gray. Dawn was on its way. It wasn’t long before the flash of blue lights lightened the gloom even more and eased the tension in Matt’s shoulders.

  * * * *

  “I’m going to flush that fucking pager down the toilet.” Conor Trethuan grabbed one of his pillows and hid beneath it. An insistent, high-pitched beep was disturbing the peace.

  “That would be destruction of police property and I would have to arrest you. Of course that does have some advantages…” Alex Courtney reached up and flicked the handcuffs hanging from the cast iron headboard behind him. He chuckled at the pitiful moan that issued from beneath the pillow next to him, then reached over to turn on the lamp. A golden glow lit the room. His pager was doing a merry, vibrating dance across the bedside table. Alex deactivated the alarm then shuffled into a more upright position. He pummeled a pillow into a comfortable shape then leaned back with a grunt. “It should be illegal to be awake at this time of the day.”

  Conor emerged from his hiding place, dark hair falling across sleepy eyes, to throw an arm across Alex’s broad chest.

  “Please tell me you don’t have to go out.”

  “Don’t know yet, but you can carry on pleading, I like it.” Alex grabbed the pager and squinted at the display.

  “I think you should be the one begging for a change.” Conor slid his hand down across Alex’s stomach.

  Alex hissed and his abs tensed beneath Conor’s teasing touch. His lover leered at him before disappearing beneath the covers. Alex gasped as Conor laid a soft trail of kisses toward his groin. His dick gave up any hope of more sleep and decided to get perky. When Conor took a firm grip and rubbed his thumb over the head, it tried for the Guinness World Record for ‘quickest erection achieved’. Alex made a brave attempt to focus on the pager he held in a now shaky hand.

  “It’s the… Fuck, Conor! Station.”

  A dismissive grunt came from beneath the covers.

  Alex dropped the pager and squeezed his eyes shut as Conor cupped his balls and squeezed gently.

  “I have to call in. Pass me the phone… Oh God!” His voice went from tenor to soprano as Conor stroked the sensitive spot behind his balls.

  “Busy!” Conor’s muffled voice sounded gleefully mischievous.

  Alex tried to coordinate his muscles and reached across the duvet-covered lump of his boyfriend for the handset, which sat on the bedside table on Conor’s side of the bed. Just as he got his fingers around the receiver, Conor licked his balls. The phone crashed to the floor in a tangle of plastic and wires. Alex abandoned it to its fate and grabbed the headboard rails instead. He swore as Conor applied his lips to the end of his cock and compressed the sensitive tip. Alex couldn’t see what Conor was doing, but he could feel every lick, every careful scrape of teeth. The visuals that came into his head were inspiring. He held onto the rails as if his life depended on a tight grip, muscles tensed. Slow suction had him gasping in pleasure. He resisted the urge to seek Conor’s head and grab his hair. Alex liked nothing more than to hold Conor in place while he filled his mouth, but not being able to see what his lover was up to added an interesting dimension to the sensations Conor was creating. He coped with the lack of control for all of two minutes before throwing back the covers.

  “I have to ring in… Christ!” Alex watched as Conor tormented his dick. He could have cried when Conor stopped what he was doing. His green eyes sparkled as he looked up from beneath thick, dark lashes.

  “You already said that.” Conor licked his swollen lips slowly. “You could always order me to stop…Sir.”

  Conor knew exactly what to say in order to press Alex’s buttons and calling him ‘Sir’ worked one hundred percent of the time. Alex glared, “Brat! You’re asking for a spanking.”

  Conor nibbled at his lower lip and looked adorably innocent, even though Alex knew Conor was fully aware of the impression he was creating.

  They both knew there was no way Conor would be allowed to stop. Alex didn’t have to say anything because Conor just gave a knowing smile and ducked his head. Alex let go of the rails and grabbed some hair. He trembled as the full length of his rigid cock disappeared into Conor’s mouth.

  Conor took him deep into his throat and swallowed. Alex forgot all about pagers and phones and being on call. He pushed back into his pillows and let Conor work his magic. Something incoherent spilled from his mouth. He gripped Conor’s hair tighter and anchored him in place, not forcing him but exerting enough pressure that Conor would know he was being held. Alex arched his back, thrusting deep into Conor’s willing mouth. Conor stilled, submitting to Alex’s dominance without protest.

  “That’s right, sweetheart. You’re mine—your mouth, your arse, your cock. All mine. Alex punctuated his words with thrusts. Tingling heat signaled his imminent release and he came hard, shouting Conor’s name.

  Conor swallowed with a satisfied smile then licked him clean. He planted a soft kiss on the end of Alex’s cock as if rewarding it for a job well done. Alex grinned, feeling warm and contented inside and out.

  “Thank you love, that was…stimulating.”

  Conor flopped onto his stomach, shoved his pillows against the headboard then rolled into a sitting position. He pul
led the rumpled quilt up so that they were both covered to the waist and leaned against Alex’s shoulder. “You’re very welcome. Now, you’d better call work or they’ll be sending a panda car full of uniforms down here to dig you out.” He groped down the side of the bed, rescued the abandoned phone then handed it over to Alex.

  “Butter fingers. This might not even work. Look at the state of it!”

  Alex snapped the back of the phone into place and gave it a shake. “It’s fine.”

  Conor chuckled. “Shaking it around is really going to help.”

  Alex took in Conor’s tousled hair and perfect features. He wondered how Conor could look so bloody good at three-thirty in the morning. He raised one eyebrow a fraction, making a mental note to address his boyfriend’s cheek at some point, and dialed the station.

  “Dispatch, this is Courtney. You paged me?” Alex realized he sounded curt but decided that his tone was entirely forgivable considering the hour. He listened to the dispatcher’s brief summary of the situation and held back a sigh. The half-formed plan in his mind to give Conor a thorough spanking then fuck him senseless was foiled. In his mind, he ran through a list of people he might be able to bribe or cajole into taking the case so that he could stay in bed but had to admit defeat. His job was too important to neglect just because he had a gorgeous boyfriend in need of a paddling.

  “Fine. Yes, I know where that is. I’m on my way. Allocate to me—I’ll be there in about twenty-five minutes.”

  As soon as he’d disconnected, the sigh escaped.

  Alex looked down at Conor, who was burrowing his way back under the duvet with some determination.

  “I’ll have to deal with you later. For now, I have a much less appealing body to take a look at. A local beat officer has found a corpse just off the High Street. Could be a vagrant, could be something else.” He swung his legs out of bed, stood up and stretched.