Gingerly I walk around his dining room, his magic compelling me onwards.
This is going to be embarrassing.
I stop in front of him. When I glance up, he wears a serious expression.
My gaze drops to his jaw. That strong, razor-sharp jaw of his. Carefully, I wrap and arm around his neck and pull his face closer to me. He bends to accommodate me.
Our eyes meet briefly, his glittering as he stares at me.
This feels too raw. Like we aren’t bound by debts. Like I’m something other than his client right now.
He didn’t want to leave me seven years ago.
Softly, I brush a kiss along that defined jaw of his.
I forgive you for breaking my heart, I think as I kiss him.
Angling his face to the side, I press another kiss to his jaw.
I still want you.
Another kiss.
I think I always will.
Des stays still, letting me trail kisses along the edge of his jaw.
Touching him, kissing him draws up goosebumps along my skin. It feels like there’s a storm on the horizon, something big and unstoppable that’s rolling in. Something that will sweep us away. And dear God, I want to be swept away.
The Bargainer’s magic continues to press against my skin. I nip his ear, earning a low noise from Des. My mouth moves down the strong column of his throat, the siren awakening within me. Dragging the collar of his T-shirt down, I touch my tongue to the hollow at the base of his throat.
The magic dissipates.
I blink several times, as if waking from a dream. My mouth still hovers right over his skin. With effort, I straighten, releasing his shirt.
“You’ve always wanted to do that to me?” Des asks gruffly.
Shaking off the last of my daze, I nod. His brows are pinched together, his mouth stern.
“Since I was sixteen.”
Back then I’d wanted to kiss him along his jaw and neck because it seemed romantic, erotic. To a teenage girl who wanted a relationship but was afraid of sex, kissing a man there seemed like a good compromise.
Des covers my hand with his, holding it against his neck, his nostrils flaring with some strong emotion.
“Do it again,” he says.
My eyebrows rise. So it wasn’t all just in my head? Des felt that spark between us too?
I slip my hand from his to tilt his jaw to me. Once more my lips skim his skin.
He’d agonized over our time apart.
He called it a nightmare. And I believe him.
But where does that leave us? What does any of it mean?
My mouth moves down his neck once more.
Des holds himself so still, like the slightest movement will scare me off. And now I wonder for the first time if he’s ever been insecure about my feelings for him. I assumed they were always obvious, but it’s like the two of us have held ourselves back from making that move that will expose our true feelings. I’d always assumed it was because he felt none for me. I’m no longer sure that’s true.
My thumb strokes the skin of his cheek as I kiss him.
And now we’re afraid of each other. That’s what the two of us are. Afraid of hoping when all hope’s ever done is break us. Afraid of getting exactly what we want.
And I might be wrong, Des might actually be uninterested in me despite all the signs. But I’m going to stop denying the possibility. And I’m going to stop denying my own feelings.
So after I finish kissing his throat, my hands reach for the edge of his shirt.
The Bargainer’s hands grip my upper arms, and I can feel his heated, curious gaze on me, but I ignore it.
Don’t overthink this.
I lift his shirt up, breaking away only to help him take it off.
My gaze moves to his sculpted chest. I run my fingers over his shoulder, where his tattoos taper off. His muscles flex beneath my touch.
I smooth my hands over his pecs and down his hard abs. I was wrong earlier when I said that he hadn’t changed. When I was a teenager, he would’ve never let me touch him like this.
I press my lips between his collarbones and begin trailing kisses down his sternum.
I risk a glance up at him.
Des is looking at me … he’s looking at me like I personally put up all the stars in the sky. A second later, he shutters the look.
“Callie …”
Around us, the room’s darkening. How much farther can he be pushed before his wings come out?
Better question: how much farther can I push this until the siren comes out? Already I can feel her demanding to join in. She’ll either speed us the hell up, or she’ll make good on her earlier threat to hold out on Des.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” I breathe.
“I’m afraid that if I do anything, you’ll stop.” I see him swallow. “I don’t want you to stop.”
I pause to give him a shy smile, a genuine one. “I won’t,” I say, punctuating my words by pressing a kiss to his sternum.
He hisses out a breath. “You keep doing that and I’m going to cash in more favors.”
My skin lights up. The wicked grin that spreads across my mouth is all siren. “Tell me,” I say, glamour entering my voice, “have you been thinking about what I told you earlier?”
I play with the top button of Des’s pants, running a hand over his groin.
“About all those dark desires I would’ve gladly fulfilled,” I continue.
“I’ve thought about it,” he admits. He caresses my face, some of the passion in his eyes changing into something … sweeter. “I’m sorry, siren. I had to leave you, I didn’t want to.”
I frown as I unbutton the top of his pants, the siren in me not entirely sure what to make of his words. The rest of me knows he’s being genuine.
He really didn’t want to leave me.
That changes everything.
He catches my hand just as I begin to tug his pants down. “Not like this,” he says quietly.
“Still holding out on me?” I say.
“Still holding out for you,” he corrects. His thumb brushes against my cheekbone.
His words are another blow to those walls of mine. He’s mercilessly ripping them down.
“Now,” he continues, “it’s my turn, cherub, to do something with you that I’ve always wanted to,” he says.
My skin brightens at that.
He picks me up and, still shirtless, carries me through his house. I resume kissing the underside of his jaw, the siren in me eager. So, so eager.
He groans. “Never realized how good that feels. Please … have some mercy.”
My breath fans out against his skin, and I ignore his plea, kissing him more, my blood thrilling at his reaction.
A moment later, his wings appear. They expand, only to curve around the two of us. I reach out and stroke one.
“Jesus …”
I never thought that Des would melt beneath my touch. This, I can get used to.
Moving into his bedroom, he forces his wings back so that he can lay me out on his bed. Stepping away, he closes his eyes.
I push myself up on my forearms, trying to figure out what he’s up to.
A second later, Des’s wings disappear. Only then does he join me on the bed, propping himself up against the headboard and pulling me against him. My head nestles onto one of his sculpted pecs, and my breath hitches. Even the siren in me is caught up in the moment. She’s used to running the show, but now she wants to be seduced—rather than do the seducing—right now.
He stares down at me, a wily spark in his eye. “Comfortable, love?”
Love.
That one’s new.
I smile like an idio
t in spite of myself.
I’m not sure what his next move is going to be until a laptop floats through his doorway, landing neatly on his stomach.
My lips part when I realize what’s going on, my pulse in my throat.
Our movie nights. Back at school, we used to do this all the time.
Opening the laptop up, Des clicks open Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 1.
“We never got to finish the series together, so … I thought we might watch the last two movies.”
This is what he always wanted to do with me?
My throat constricts. I hadn’t realized he’d enjoyed our movie nights as much as I had.
“I’d really like that,” I finally say, because he’s waiting to hear something.
Giving me a small smile, he tucks a hand behind his head and starts the movie. And then we settle in, just like we used to. For once, our closeness, our silence does feel just as comfortable now as it did years ago.
Two odd hours later, tears are silently streaking down my cheeks as the movie ends. They drip down my face and onto the Bargainer’s chest.
I feel his eyes turn to me.
“Are you … crying?” he asks.
Cat’s out of the bag.
I sniffle. “Dobby was such a good friend.”
The Bargainer pauses. Then his stomach begins to shake. A second later I realize he’s laughing.
He tilts my head so that I’m gazing up at him. “Cherub, shit, you’re too adorable.” Carefully he wipes my tears away with his thumb.
Adorable. Another compliment I tuck away. Later, when I’m alone, I’ll pull it back out and savor it.
Des’s gaze falls to my mouth, and his look goes from affectionate to hungry. He hesitates, and I think he’s going to kiss me, but then his eyes move to the computer and he exits out of the movie.
“Are you still good for round two?” he asks.
To be honest, laying here on my human pillow, I am getting sleepy, despite the fact that said human pillow has kept my anatomy awake for quite some time.
“I’m still good,” I lie.
As if I’m going to opt out of this. I’d like to see someone try to pry me away from this man’s sculpted body.
I swear the Bargainer’s eyes miss nothing as he stares at me. Giving his head a shake, he starts up Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2, and I resettle against his chest.
My mind drifts as I began to watch the eighth Harry Potter movie.
Aside from some intense kisses and some minor groping, the Bargainer hasn’t pushed things any further with me. And now, much to my chagrin, I actually kind of want him to. Especially, if I’m being honest with myself, after what he told me tonight about how it felt leaving me.
Like my soul was ripped in two.
He admitted his feelings. Gave them freely to me. I’m still reeling from that. For any fairy, that’s a big deal. Secrets are like currency. The more you have, the more powerful you are.
For a fae king to give up his secrets?
I can only imagine.
I snuggle deeper into his chest, some strange, light emotion taking ahold of me.
I could get used to this.
Chapter 18
April, seven years ago
The Bargainer and I step out of a taxi.
“Is it weird for you—taking a car rather than flying?” I ask.
We’re on another gig of his. Someone whose debts he needs to collect.
“Not as weird as bringing you along,” he says, paying off our driver.
Tonight, the two of us are still on the Isle of Man, though I’ve never been to this particular part of it. I think we’re on the north end of the island. The houses in this particular area are built close together, many of them with peeling paint and mossy roof tiles.
“Are you ever going to show me your wings?” I ask, watching him as he walks away from the taxi, tucking his wallet into the back pocket of his pants. I force my eyes not to linger on him, or on the way his clothes cling to his muscular body.
Oh, to be that faded shirt.
“Trust me, you don’t want to see my wings,” he says, walking past me, up the paved road.
“Why wouldn’t I?” I ask as I follow him, pulling out a pistachio flavored macaroon from the bag I carry. We made a pit stop at Douglas Café right before this.
“Something you should know about fae,” he says over his shoulder, “the only time our wings come out is when we want to fight or fuck.”
Considering how often and in depth my textbooks’ descriptions of fairy wings were, those bitches must be losing their shit all the time.
But not Des, apparently. I’ve never seen his wings. Not a once. The good news: so far he hasn’t wanted to kill me. The bad news: he hasn’t wanted to rock my world either.
Damn.
I catch up to him. “You’re an unusually well-behaved fairy,” I say, taking a bite of the macaroon.
Sweet baby Jesus, these pastries are good.
He raises an eyebrow, his eyes drifting to my mouth as I polish off the cookie. “Not always. Get a few drinks in me, and I’m a nightmare.”
“A few drinks, huh?” I say, dusting off the crumbs that have trickled down my chest.
Is that really all it takes? He and I have drunk together …
He must see my interest. “Cherub, catching me drunk is never going to happen.”
Our conversation is cut short when we approach a modest looking house, the paint on this one especially faded.
Des knocks on the door.
“See, so well behaved for a fairy,” I say next to him.
He gives me a long suffering look but doesn’t respond.
When no one answers the door, Des bangs again.
And again, no one responds.
“Fucking idiot,” he mutters, backing up.
“I don’t think anyone’s in—”
Des raises a booted foot and kicks the door clean off its hinges, the force causing the metal to shriek.
My eyes are wide with shock as it crashes inward.
Des looks like Death come to collect a new soul when he straightens, dusting bits of wood off of himself. “Stay here, cherub.”
My heart is in my throat, but I do as he asks.
The Bargainer strides inside, the evening shadows clinging to him like wisps of smoke.
He disappears around the hallway.
Each second of silence is agonizing. I eat another macaroon to distract myself, but it tastes like sawdust. Suddenly, I feel like a fool, holding my bag of macaroons, waiting for this thuggish fae king to do who knows what to the poor soul that lives here.
I shouldn’t be here. Good girls don’t do this. And bad girls … well, I’m not one of those am I?
You’ve killed a man. You’re worse than a bad girl.
A shriek sounds from somewhere inside the house, startling me enough to drop my bag of cookies.
“Please, don’t hurt me!” the man inside the house pleads.
When Des comes back to what’s left of the front door, he’s dragging a man by the scruff of his neck. The shadows clinging to his body have deepened. I look pointedly at his back.
Still no wings.
“Just for being difficult, you’re getting charged interest,” the Bargainer says, dragging him down the front steps and onto the man’s lawn.
“Please, please, I’ll pay, just give me a week.”
“I don’t want your repayment in a week, I want it now.” He throws the man onto the grass.
Over his shoulder, the Bargainer says to me, “Pick up your bag, cherub. It’s rude to litter.”
“Says the man who just destroyed a door,” I mutter as I grab the bag,
my gaze fixed on what’s happening in front of me.
The Bargainer throws me a smile. “That’s not littering, that’s B&E.” He pauses, and I hear a series of odd groans behind me. “And now it’s just E.”
Without looking, I know he’s fixed the door.
“Show off,” I say, the beginnings of a smile forming on my lips.
For the second time this evening, the Bargainer’s eyes drift to my mouth.
Beyond him, his client shakes on the ground, his gaze meeting mine. “Please, help me,” he begs.
All humor drains from Des’s face as he turns back around.
The Bargainer steps in front of me, and I swear the night darkens. “You shouldn’t have done that.” Thunder rumbles in the distance.
Des stalks over to the trembling man, who’s now crab-crawling away from him. The Bargainer puts a boot on his chest.
“Give me the name,” Des demands.
“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Des sizes the man up for several seconds, then nods. “Alright, Stan. Get up.”
Don’t get up, Stan, you fool.
But Stan the Fool does get up, a disbelieving spark of hope in his eyes. Like the Bargainer ever releases a man from his debts.
“C’mon,” Des jerks his head towards a beat up car parked in front of the house, “get in.”
Now Stan hesitates, confused.
The Bargainer is already walking towards it. “Keys,” he demands.
When Stan doesn’t hand them over, they float out of his pocket of their own accord. Des catches them in midair.
He raps on the hood of the vehicle. “In. Now.”
“What are you doing?” Stan demands. I can see the whites of his eyes.
“We’re going to visit the Otherworld.” Des unlocks the driver’s side door. “And once we get there, I’m going to feed you to the scariest motherfuckers I know.”
That’s enough to break the mighty Stan. The man begins to whimper even as he gets into the back of the car, and his fear is the most pitiful sound in all the world. I grimace at him. It’s as though he hadn’t known this day would come when he bought a favor from the Bargainer.
Rhapsodic (The Bargainer Book 1) Page 20
