by Anise Rae
“Is this going to be something charming? Should I brace myself?”
“What if we’d met for the first time in a bar or in the library? What if we were just regular mages?”
“You and I, Gregor Whitman, will never be regular mages.” She took a bite of bread and cheese, a sense of satiety settling in.
He tucked his lips to the side in a half-smile. “Then what if it was just us. No ties to prophecies, no commands from on high. Just us. Would we be on our second kiss by now? Would you have said yes to that dinner?”
“A second kiss.” Her heart skipped. “What happened to the first?” The one she’d been wondering about.
“That happened when we met for the first time in the library. You were so overcome by my charm that you lifted up on your toes and kissed me.”
She almost lifted a hand to her lips as if their kiss already lingered there. Her blood tingled through her as if the thought of kissing him was effervescent. She tilted her head. “What were we doing in the library if there were no commands from on high to bring us together?”
“I was researching ancient chants and you were….”
“Looking up old spinning methods.”
He pointed at her like she had it exactly right. His smile spread. She was moonstruck beneath its power, like some kind of spell.
“Oddly enough, those topics are shelved right beside each other,” he said. “So there we are. In the library. Completely smitten. We go out to dinner that very night. I’m fascinated by everything about you as we sit across from each other at a secluded table. It’s in some tiny bistro that one of us knew about. Probably you.”
“Me?” She never went out anywhere for pleasure. But she played along. “Only because I stumbled across it the day before.”
“It’s quite a find because the food’s delicious.” As they sat on the dock, he held up a small grape. “I give you a taste of mine.” He placed the grape near her lips.
She smiled, struck by the charm of his game but feeding her was too far. A nervous blush burned her cheeks. She couldn’t bring herself to take the grape with her lips. She reached out, took it with her fingers and put it in her mouth. Their gazes met. His flickered with satisfaction even though she’d not taken it as he’d intended. It held a promise of things to come.
“You tell me of your work”—he continued with the fantasy—"and I’m amazed at your genius and your kind heart and stunned at your soft beauty. I can’t believe how lucky I am to find such a treasure in the library. And you’re overcome by my charm and handsomeness.”
“It’s your smile. It’s a highly effective weapon.”
“In which case, I plan to use it.”
She dropped her gaze. Maybe she shouldn’t have said that. He didn’t need any extra ammo to win her over. She could afford a kiss, perhaps, but not much more than that. She knew better than to assume her heart would be cautious.
“After dinner I walk you home through the park. Somewhere along the trail, there’s a mage playing a slow tune on his trumpet. And beneath the light of the moon, I take you in my arms and we dance.”
She held up her hand, stopping him. “No dancing.” But her heart bounced with an enthusiastic yes. Dancing did things to her power, things she never let anyone see. No matter how much she loved it.
He narrowed his gaze, clearly suspicious at her protest. “I assure you I’m a very capable dancer.” He raised an eyebrow. “Did you know that cadence mages go to a special school?”
She swallowed a sip of water from his canteen. “Is it a dancing school?”
“Every Saturday night was dancing. The school was in the middle of an enormous clearing that was surrounded by woods. It was a boarding school.”
She frowned. “It sounds like SWWM.”
“Hell, no. The Cadence School was a good way to grow up, though I did miss my family a lot. The school was all boys.”
“Did you import girls on the weekends for dancing?” She could imagine him as a boy because his smile held a vibrant energy as if he believed the world would always offer him a good time no matter where he was…like among the anarchy of the Wild West while on the run from outlaws.
“No girls. But they did import a dance instructor.” He grinned again. “She was something. Every boy in the class had a crush on her. Her power flowed everywhere. We all soaked it in. I think she must have been a sorceress.”
“Probably.”
“We did line dances mostly. Stomping and kicking. Manly dancing.”
She laughed. “Manly dancing. Would you demonstrate?”
“If I’m dancing, then you’re dancing, too.”
“No.” But oh, the temptation pulled at her body to move with him, to be next to him.
“When your power depends on chants and songs, dancing is a proper fit, an easy one. I would have liked to hold you in my arms while we danced to my song.” His voice drooped with such sadness that she had to reach out to him. She put her hand on his and he threaded their fingers together. “How about you sing?” He stood and pulled her up, not giving her a chance to resist.
“I don’t sing.” She stepped back, shaking free of his grip, and crossed her arms over her chest. “And I’m not dancing.”
He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her waist, her crossed arms between them. “It doesn’t matter if you’re out of tune. I won’t be able to hear you.” He swayed with her. “And we’re dancing, Mara Rand. Just us.” He tugged one of her hands free and held it in his. She moved her other hand to his shoulder as if on automatic.
“This is a bad idea,” she whispered.
His possessive touch against her lower back promised more, and heat traveled through her body. He pulled her closer yet and rested his cheek against the side of her hair.
A spark ignited deep inside her as he guided them slowly through the easy steps of their silent dance. Her mage power loosened, but she wasn’t on the verge of losing control. If this was the extent of his dancing, she could relax.
She let herself pretend, just for the moment, that this abandoned dock hidden away from everyone was their own kingdom. She imagined turning her head and laying it against his chest.
He pulled away slightly and looked down at her. “Someday when we can be just us, I’m going to figure out a proper substitute for my song. Meanwhile, we’re still dancing in the park to some mysterious trumpet player’s tune.”
“We are?” The words were breathy.
“Yes. And you let me kiss you.” His gaze fell to her lips.
“Is this our third kiss?” she whispered. “I think I lost count.”
He smiled and pressed his lips against hers, soft and gentle. Heat cascaded through her, traveling to her core, a miracle of a kiss for all that it lasted the barest moment. It ended and then another began, just as brief, before she could take a breath.
“Yes,” he whispered. “We’re on our third kiss.” This time he sealed his lips to hers and teased her lips open with gentle caresses. His tongue darted in and she pressed closer. He took her mouth, claiming it. The cascade of heat turned to a flood, sizzling through the corners of her body.
The moment was plucked from her imagination as exactly what a kiss should be. Or maybe it was more…she’d never thought to imagine a kiss could feel like this. It was doused in heat and ignited need, but an undercurrent of happiness drifted within it. Kissing him let her taste the easygoing man he must have been when he was off-duty, when his life was normal, and his power perfect.
She wrapped her hands around his arms, his muscles hard beneath her. She breathed him in, inundating her senses with his strength, letting herself fall under his spell. Easy and free.
He pulled back but kept his arms wrapped around her. “I could lose myself in you, firefly. If it were just us, I’d spend all day kissing you.” He stroked a gentle finger over her bottom lip and then her cheek and her neck.
But they weren’t just us. And their lives weren’t normal. The Black Skulls were probably looking for
them. The white wheel lurked somewhere unknown. And she had jeans to assemble.
He looked at her like he couldn’t look away. “I booked two rooms at—”
“I’m not staying with you.” She didn’t want to tell him. She kept her voice soft as she broke the news. Regret twined through her as she stepped out of his arms. “I have another place I have to stay. That had to be in my file, too.”
“No, actually. Where are you staying?” His eyes hardened. The sun’s ray touched the edge of the trees enclosing the beginning of the dock and the light dimmed. With it, his blue eyes darkened and while there wasn’t quite thunder in them, she could sense the storm forming between them.
“I have to stay with my friend,” she explained. “She’s my go-between for the mill.”
“I’ll stay with you.” A bold statement. She couldn’t imagine saying the same to him if the situation were reversed. But then he was probably more comfortable with the opposite sex than she was, confident that he had something worth offering.
“That won’t work.”
“I’m your guard. I can’t guard you if I’m not with you.” His logic held a tight snap. Gone was the dancing man swaying to imaginary trumpets. She wanted him back.
“I promise you I’ll be safe. And we can meet tomorrow night. My guesting duties will be satisfied by then.”
He frowned, disapproval waving off him. “And you’re a guest where?”
Gregor killed the motorcycle’s engine across the street from house number 32. Around them, houses stood grand and bold, mixed with businesses, a few stables and one parking lot.
He studied the house. Tall, wide columns framed the old mansion’s carved double door. The house gleamed in emerald paint, shiny and clean, despite being surrounded by dust. A plaque above the front door read The Green House. A woman in a negligee lounged on the front porch swing. She wiggled her fingers at them. He didn’t wave back, but Mara did. He caught the move from the corner of his eye.
She got off the back of the motorcycle. He grabbed her hand. “This is the wrong address,” he said. He’d known a few soldiers over the years who’d visited these types of women. Most of them never matured into men he’d introduce his mother to.
Mara squeezed his hand like she was consoling him and then shook free. “This is it. I know it’s unconventional.”
“Unconventional?” Shock lifted his tone. “That woman you just waved to is a prostitute.” Mara did not belong with them. And right or wrong, he didn’t want her around them.
She poked her finger into his chest. “The madame and her women are friends of mine.” Her voice was gentle.
He pulled in a long breath. Of course they were her friends…beleaguered sorceresses who, instead of spinning for a living, sold their bodies. He’d seen the depths of Mara’s loyalty. The odds of prying her away from a friend were nil.
“Without Fancy, my mill wouldn’t be nearly as successful,” she said. “She helped me find all kinds of contacts in this city. I started out selling my clothes and fabric in this town. I’ll be fine here. Now, what are you going to do with the motorcycle?”
“I’m going to drive back to the dock and drown it in the river.” He would not be distracted from the issue at hand. He got off the bike, towering over her. “Mara, a bordello is no place for a lady.” He fumed as he spoke, but he tried to keep it out of his voice.
She grabbed her heavy pack, balancing it on the edge of her seat.
He put his hand on one of the straps. “Prophet is raiding them.”
She pulled the strap away. “Trust me, none of the Black Skulls will get in here. Fancy has power like I’ve never seen. Not to mention her bouncer. No one gets in without Valeska’s consent.”
He got off the bike. “If you’re going in there, I’m coming with you.”
“No.” Instead of poking him, this time she put a hand on his chest. He pressed his over it, holding her to him.
“Tell them I’m your boyfriend.” He liked the sound of that anyway. “Surely they wouldn’t expect you to leave me stranded while you stay in a whorehouse.”
“They wouldn’t expect me to have a boyfriend. They’d never believe that.”
“Why not?”
“Gregor, look at me.” She wiggled the frames of her specs at him.
His chest hurt that she thought so little of herself. “I see you, Mara. I look at you every chance I get, and I marvel at how beautiful you are. Your lips, your eyes. Yes, your eyes. This way or glowing with power. And all I want to do is touch every inch of you.” He caught her tiny inhale, but he didn’t stop. “If those women think you aren’t worthy of a man because of your specs, they are no friends of yours. I’m not leaving your side.” He lowered his voice, leaning into her. “The High Councilor is dangling you as her bait. Prophet nearly emptied my gun into a sorceress from one of these places.”
“I know. But I have to do this.” Her tone wasn’t as hard as the day he’d stolen her wheels, but the underlying firmness was the exact match.
Goddess, he was going to lose this argument. He stuck his hands in his pants’ pocket. His lucky charm was in there. Once again, it wasn’t working.
She looked up at him. “Thompson Mill wants nothing to do with mages. The owner is a Non, but he has a soft spot for Fancy. This is how I get my denim. I’ve worked for years to earn a reputation that shows I can handle myself inside that house and in this city. Fancy’s a tough businesswoman. She respects other tough women. I can’t bring a man in there with me.”
“I thought she was your friend. Surely a friend would value your safety.”
“I won’t even make it through the door if Valeska thinks I can’t hold my own. Weak freaks are problems waiting to burst from their bottles like genies. Or so she’s told me more than once.”
“That’s not what friends do. That’s not what they say.”
She eyed him and bit her lip. “Tomorrow night. I’ll meet you on the porch and we can go be just us again. It will be like a date.” She rifled through her pack and pulled out a folded-up blanket. “Take this. There’s an epidemic of sense sickness here, especially in the east end where all the better hotels are. Sleep with it around you. It’s got a shield spell woven into it and if that fails, there’s another spell in there that absorbs trash vibes. It’s my invention, and my patent hasn’t come through yet. So don’t go giving it away.” She pushed it against his chest.
He tossed it on the bike and put a tight hand on her wrist. “Visit here if you have to, but you don’t need to spend the night. Stay with me.” He drifted his hand up her arm and shoulder and into her soft hair. His instincts demanded he keep her close at all costs. It was a battle to keep them at bay.
“I’ll be safe here.”
He frowned hard. “I’m going to have to camp out here to keep an eye on you.”
She poked her finger into his chest. “If you camp out here, then it’s a warning to Valeska that I’m nothing but trouble. If you don’t leave, I might not get my thread woven into fabric.”
“Fine.” One hundred percent lie. He’d camp out. They’d never see him. “But I hope you know this isn’t friendship between you and this woman. It’s manipulation.” He wanted nothing more than to sweep her back onto the bike and slip her between the sheets of his hotel bed. Then he could bar the doors and windows with every security spell he knew. “Do you have my calling card?” He ground out the words…frustrated, worried, pissed.
She patted her pocket.
He reached out and lifted the nosepiece of her specs and stuck them on top of her head. He pulled her to him, fast and hard, one arm low at the top of her ass and the other around her shoulders. He leaned into her, and she arched into his arms.
Need flared to life inside him. And from the way she sucked in a sudden breath, that need washed through her too. He claimed her mouth and her body sank into his hold, melting under their flame. Their tongues danced. A slow, hot burn flamed to life between them.
He savored the taste of her
lips and she moaned softly. Kissing Mara made him feel like he was the king of everything. But he forced himself to pull back. He looked down at her. Her lips were swollen, her eyes half open, and her cheeks were flushed. He slipped her specs back on her nose. “Tomorrow night.” He issued the words like they were an order. She damn well better play it safe until then. “And it’s not like a date. It is a date.”
17
“Roasting hot in there, Mara, darling. Power’s off. You oughta stay out here and keep me company.” Rosemary sat on The Green House’s porch swing. The silky strap of her negligee nearly fell off as she patted the seat. “We could have a little fun. I’ll do you for free right here.”
“Here?” Mara took it in stride, familiar with the lack of boundaries in this house.
“Bet your guy would stick around if he caught a glimpse of the action. That was a helluva kiss, girl. He’s cute, and he’s got shoulders like a horse. You could hold on tight to those while you go for a ride.” She blew Gregor a kiss. “He new to the Black Skulls? Don’t tell Fancy. She’s not keen on them.”
Mara could still taste him on her lips, warm silk with a tang of smoky sweetness. She pressed them together, holding on to the feel of his kiss. She wanted to remember that one. “He’s not a Black Skull. He’s just borrowing the bike.”
“Borrowing a bike from the Skulls?” another woman asked.
Mara turned as Sage stepped out the door and shut it behind her. Her long dark hair was twisted into a high knot on her head. Her cowboy boots were scuffed and her denim shorts ragged. Her black tank top exposed her tattoo, a long trail of thin vines and tiny red flowers cascading down her right arm. Though she was just as pretty as any other woman who lived here, she wasn’t a prostitute. Sage was the bartender. “No one borrows anything from the outlaws.”
Mara tipped her head. “He’s pretty persuasive.”
