Sinfully Delicious: Six Scintillating Stories of Sweets, Treats, and Happily Ever Afters

by Gauthier, Crystal L.

  Like a film coming into focus, a face materialized above him.

  Bluebell.

  In the black mirror of her wide, panicked eyes, he could see his own, blazing with icy magic.

  He released it, let the magic settle back, a dog coming to heel.

  She exhaled in relief and rewarded him with a tired smile. “Welcome back.”

  He did a quick inventory: he was in her apartment, on the floor. Why—

  A cramp seized him when he tried to move, and riding its wave came the memory of how he’d gotten there – the attack, the poison, coming to Blue.

  She sat back on her heels beside him, watching him, wary. Exhaustion drew her face long, rimmed her eyes red, left them blurry from lack of sleep.

  She’d never looked lovelier.

  “Lie still for a moment. I want to check your wounds.” She leaned forward, grimaced as she removed the gauze, pressing a thumb to his cheek to keep the skin from stretching as the tape peeled free. Crinkling the bandage into a tiny ball, she studied the wound, prodded it with a gentle finger, then moved on to his arm. “I’m sorry you’re on the floor. I couldn’t move you,” she murmured.

  He lifted his head to watch her unwrap the cotton dressing. From what he could see, puss oozed from the cut. The skin around it looked swollen, ugly, and a faint blackness showed beneath the skin, but even so, she smiled, relief lighting her face.

  “Holy hell, I think it worked. This looks much better. Not great, but better. You see these lines?” She pointed to the dark tracks. “They were pitch black last night and all the way to the top of your shoulder. I’d say they’ve shrunk a good two inches.” She reached up a hand, laid the back of it to his forehead, frowned. “But you’re still burning up.” Her black eyes met his, the joy in them diminished by renewed worry. “Can you get to the couch?”

  He nodded but getting off the floor was harder than he anticipated. Dizziness and nausea joined pain, spinning his head and stomach in opposite directions. Blue’s slender arms came about him, bracing him. He tried not to lean too much on her, crush her tiny frame with his weight, but couldn’t help it. Together, they tumbled on to the couch.

  She wriggled free, helped him turn to lie back, lifted his legs up. Too long for the tiny sofa, they hung off the arm.

  “Are you thirsty?” she asked as she tucked blankets around him.

  “Whiskey,” he answered, his voice croaking in its dry throat.

  “Water, I think.” She turned her back on his frown and went into the kitchen area.

  His eyes burned. He closed them, just for a minute.

  Or at least that’s what he thought, but when he opened them again, Blue perched on the edge of the couch at his side, washing his wounded left arm with a cloth she dipped into a bowl of water held between her knees. Another bowl sat on the coffee table, smaller, with a spatula sticking out of it. The promised glass of water glistened beside it, an oasis to the desert that had formed in his mouth.

  He wanted to lick his lips, moisten them. His tongue detached from the roof of his mouth with a loud “sluck.”

  Blue glanced up at the sound. Noting he was awake, she left off cleaning the wound and passed him the glass.

  The water cascaded down his parched throat. He gulped every ounce, spilling some down his chin in his haste. He huffed, swallowing the last drop.

  She took up his arm again. The fever’s haze abated a bit in the water’s wake. He studied her profile as she worked. He’d never noticed the tiny scar cutting her left eyebrow almost in half. How many times had she been on the other side of such careful tending?

  “Can you tell me what happened?” she asked, her voice quiet, coaxing. As though speaking to a distraught child who’d been in a school yard brawl.

  “Someone tried to kill me.”

  The side glance she threw his way was anything but satisfied with his answer. She laid his arm down on his chest, turned her efforts on his face. “I’d say they almost succeeded.”

  Could she feel the heat where her hip rested against his, her thigh his ribs?

  “They did blow up my house.”

  Her ministrations stopped, and her mouth dropped open. “Blew up your house?”

  At his nod, she exhaled long and slow, and set aside the towel and bowl of water. “Knife wounds, poison, explosives – someone really wants you dead.” She took up the bowl with the spatula sticking out of it. After a quick stir, she scooped up a wad of yellowish goo and slathered it on his arm.

  He inhaled sharp through clenched teeth and pulled his arm out of her grasp.

  She grimaced. “Sorry. Should have warned you about that. I had to guess on the ingredients. Not sure if there’s—”

  “You need to go to work,” he said. The order came out surlier than he intended.

  “And what you need is to get this” she waggled the spatula, “on these cuts. They’re nowhere near a hundred percent.”

  What he needed was to consume a soul. The antidote he’d given her wasn’t a cure-all, just a slowing agent meant to stem the poison’s spread. The brightness of spiritual energy, however, would cleanse the toxins from him, restore his strength. But he couldn’t tell her that, didn’t want to see her pretty features twist with disgust, horror.

  Didn’t want to remind her that she was human and he was…

  He plucked the spatula from her hand. “You need to act like nothing’s happened.”

  She said nothing for a moment, seemed to be chewing what he said, tasting it. “Because if I don’t, people might get suspicious, come around here.” She paused, as though giving him the opportunity to correct her. “And if they do that,” she went on when he stayed silent, “they find you. And you want them to think you’re dead.”

  He rubbed his eyes, bobbed his head. Clever girl.

  “Even your friends? Morana?”

  “The fewer who know, the better.”

  “Do you want me to try to find out anything when I go in today?”

  Perhaps not so clever after all. “No. I want you to keep out of it.”

  Her lips screwed up, brewing an argument, but before it could fizz over, he doused it.

  “If you get caught, it won’t be me standing across from you in the bus station bathroom this time,” he said.

  “Point taken,” she acknowledged with a head bob, “I’ll get dressed and go to work—” she snatched the spatula back, “after I get this on your wounds.”

  They stared at each other, locked in a battle of wills, but his body was against him, no match for her stubbornness. With a groan, he surrendered.

  Chapter Fourteen

  How many customer s had they served so far?

  Blue didn’t know, couldn’t even hazard a guess.

  She’d floated through the morning, half her mind on the work, the other bits drifting like a wicked child to Sokach, lying on her couch. Her brain could not wrap itself around the idea of him helpless. He’d always seemed invincible. Yet, last night, he’d fallen, weak and injured, into her arms.

  In his time of greatest need, he’d come to her.

  Blue watched the timer drop from thirty seconds, to twenty-nine, twenty-eight. The red numbers blurred.

  Just as he’d regained consciousness, when his pupils focused and he saw her, a sea of emotions – relief, joy, pleasure – had washed over his face. Even now, the thought of it stirred something in her belly. Would those stern lips be soft to kiss? What would those hands feel like against her skin as they slid up—

  The timer blared.

  Blue shook her head. This was delirium. She was running on caffeine, sugar, and no sleep – a cocktail known to be detrimental to both willpower and self-preservation. Only a fool would fall for a man like Sokach after surviving the likes of Jimmy. Everything about Sokach, what he was, his world, his people, was a danger to her.

  Someone rapped their knuckles on the metal counter, jerking Blue out of her reverie.

  She turned to find Tonći standing there, an impatient scowl on his fa
ce.

  Was that glowering look because he thought Sokach was dead? Or was he one of the people who had tried to kill him?

  Sokach had made it pretty clear this morning that he didn’t want her meddling. Almost as though he thought her incompetent. Well, she had made a mess of that other night. But hadn’t she redeemed herself by saving his life? Perhaps if she could get a little information to help him…

  “Hey,” she greeted Tonći with a nod and came to the window. “Is Sokach in today?”

  He paused in rolling up his shirt sleeves; his beady eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  “Cuz.” She jutted out a hip and dropped a sassy hand on it. “He left without paying me the other day, that’s why.”

  The sleeve rolling commenced. “He’s gone.”

  She leaned out the window, looked down the street at The Adriatic, caught sight of Morana’s limousine driver getting in and pulling away. “What do you mean he’s gone? When’s he coming back? I want to get my money.”

  “Take it up with Velimir.”

  The disgust that name evoked almost manifested itself in a shudder, but she caught hold of it in time. “Gee, thanks. That’s real helpful. You want anything besides the usual?”

  “Two of the eclairs and another coffee. Heavy cream, heavy sugar.”

  Only one person at The Adriatic appreciated sugar to that extent – Morana. Which meant that she was in the office today. No day of mourning. Interesting.

  “I’m baaack,” Ricky sang, climbing into the truck.

  He slid by her as she put the last éclair in the bag, went to sit on the counter’s edge.

  Blue joined him at the window, pushed the bag and cardboard carrier of coffees toward Tonći.

  “Hey man, nice tat,” Ricky said, tossing a nod at Tonći.

  Following his gaze, Blue spied the long, lazy lightning bolt design on the inside of Tonći’s exposed forearm.

  Tonći’s chin lifted in acknowledgement, the movement chock full of pride. Bold.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The afternoon su n was already dropping in the sky when Sokach cracked open an eye. While the shadows grew longer, he lay in the still quiet, staring up at the cracked plaster of the ceiling. His mind wanted him to get up, get moving, but his body was not quite onboard with that plan. Still, Blue had done well with the medicine, and strength, fed by clean blood, was inching its way back into his muscles.

  Tomorrow probably, he’d be strong enough to shimmer, go to his cache hidden away in a hillside cavern in the old country, feed on one of the souls he’d stashed there, along with weapons and money. No one knew about it. Not even Morana. For centuries, he’d put aside a portion of every reward or gift she lavished on him. He had lived through the lean times and would never be caught unprepared for them again.

  The second hand of the clock above the kitchen sink ticked, chugging forward on its journey of minutes.

  Blue had not returned yet, probably wouldn’t for a few hours.

  His breath quickened and the knot that had been in his belly for weeks twisted tighter.

  What if she didn’t come back? What if something—

  He forced out an exhale, long and slow, reeling his thoughts back in before Fear took the bait and ran with the line. The assassin. Better to focus on that. Sokach struggled upright with a moan, downed the glass of water Blue had left him on the coffee table. What had the man said before imploding himself?

  The words rolled from one side of his brain to the other, bounced against the bony side and tumbled back again. Throughout the pinball game, his thoughts kept returning to one thing – Dragić was the name of a ghost.

  What did that cryptic message mean?

  He reached for a pencil and pad of paper on the coffee table, wrote down “ghost” and “Dragić” and stared at the words.

  Was this just another red herring, something to send him on a hunt with no prey?

  What did he know of Dragić?

  That Dragić knew him.

  Better than you can imagine.

  How? Was Dragić watching him? Was he so powerful that he could hide himself?

  He looked down at the paper still in his hands, at the mindless doodle he’d drawn beneath Dragić’s name while his thoughts sniffed about for a clue.

  Why was that symbol so familiar?

  With a growl, he whipped the pencil across the room. When it came to Dragić, questions were like rabbits; they just kept multiplying.

  Sokach woke wit h a start at the sound of keys banging against the door, the bolt scraping as the lock turned. Half sitting, half sprawled on the couch, he shifted to upright as Blue walked into the space.

  Her face lit into a smile, sending a thunderbolt through his heart.

  “You’re awake. I’ll take that as a good sign,” she said, dropping a plastic bag off on the kitchen counter before coming over to him. She sat on the coffee table and took his arm, unwrapped the bandage, studied the wound. “How’s this feeling? It doesn’t look much different than this morning.”

  The caress of her palm, the gentle prod of her fingers, was fire on his skin. “It’s on its way.”

  Rising and leaning forward, she put a hand to his forehead, checking his fever. He inhaled her scent – butter and sugar, a hint of salt. She was so close. He could just slide a hand into her hair, pull her face to his, kiss those lovely lips. Heat flooded up from his chest, drying out his mouth.

  “Not quite as hot, but I think you still have a fever.”

  Her gaze dropped to his. Her lips parted. And for a breath, he thought she might fulfill that fantasy. He wanted that, wanted it so much his fists clenched with the need.

  She stood up, breaking the connection. “Are you hungry? I picked up some food.” Her casual tone at odds with the rosy hue coloring her cheeks and neck.

  He nodded while his breath came back. “Food would be good.”

  But when he saw her pull two frozen boxed dinners from the grocery bag, he regretted the quick agreement. He should’ve asked what she’d meant by “food.”

  He’d have to make her a real meal, show her what good food really was. A sea bass dish—

  What the hell was wrong with him? He gave himself a mental slap in the face. Make her dinner? That was an absurd idea. All of this, this longing and daydreaming, was ridiculous. It was never going to happen. It could never happen.

  He needed to leave and soon. It was a mistake to come. The closer he was to her, the longer he spent with her, the more intense the desire for her grew. She was as dangerous to him as the assassin’s poison.

  Blue slit one box open and popped the plastic dish into the microwave to heat. “So it seems like your buddies know about…your death…and they don’t appear to be too broken up about it,” she said over her shoulder as she pulled two glasses down from a cupboard.

  “What do you mean?”

  She walked a full glass of water over to him.

  Its coolness washed the sand off his tongue. He could drink a gallon and still be thirsty. His mouth felt like he’d been sucking on a dirty sock for days.

  “I asked that Tonći character where you were—”

  Caught off guard in mid-sip, he inhaled, then choked. Water shot into his nose, burning as it went. He spewed the rest out, sending Blue jumping out of its way. “You what?” he growled when he cleared the ocean from his lungs.

  “Relax. I made up a story about you forgetting to pay me.” She waved a hand, brushing off those details as minor. “All he said was – you were gone.”

  He handed her the glass, then wiped his face dry and settled back into the couch.

  She stayed standing in front of him, tapping the cup’s bottom to the palm of her free hand, her brow creased with thought. “He didn’t seem too upset about it. Not even a little sad or respectful. Isn’t that strange?”

  Sokach gave her a one-shoulder shrug. “Tonći never particularly liked me.”

  The microwave dinged, and Blue went to stir the food, but as she turned away, Soka
ch was almost certain he heard her mumble, “I can kinda empathize.”

  “There was just something about the way he talked,” she continued as she wrestled with the outer package of the second dinner. “A little too…pleased.”

  “With me gone, he’ll move up a notch in the ranks.”

  “Some people would call that motive.”

  The plastic dish busted free, clattered on the counter like a brick.

  “Tonći’s ambitious, but he’s missing the nerve to do anything about it. Nothing risky, at least,” he said, dismissing where her mind was going.

  She swapped the dinners in the microwave. Using thumbs and forefingers, she carried the heated dish into the living room and set it down on the coffee table in front of him with a curse.

  He eyed the grisly contents beneath the sweating plastic lid with suspicion. “What is it?”

  She thrust out a fork. “Food. Feel free to fake some gratitude.”

  Sitting up, he took the fork, then peeled back the cover on the food, grimaced. It appeared to be beef, mashed potatoes, and carrots. Maybe. The dog-food scent said otherwise.

  Not as picky as his nose and taste buds, his stomach growled, demanding to be fed.

  Holding his breath, he shoveled a forkful into his mouth, chewed. The gruel wasn’t half bad.

  “See? Angry Dude Food – they know what they’re doing,” Blue crooned as he picked up the dish and devoured another bite. Then another. Soon, he was scraping the edge of the bowl, trying to get every last bit of gravy up.

  She perched on the edge of the arm chair to his left. “I suppose you’re right. Tonći always struck me as a schoolyard bully. Big on talk until someone broke his nose.”

  Sokach snorted at that. “Besides, I know who tried to kill me. Or at least, who put out the hit,” he clarified as shock shot her eyebrows up.

  “Really?”

  He pushed the grey pile of mashed potatoes around the oval dish. He ought to keep quiet, keep her out of this as much as possible. He’d already involved her too much.

  The microwaved chimed, but she didn’t get up, just pinned him with an expectant look.

  He relented with a sigh. “Some bastard named Dragić, who no one’s ever seen, has been cutting in on Morana’s territory, and he knows if he gets me out of the picture, she’s vulnerable. And if she’s unprotected...” He left the obvious unsaid.