Magic Unchained n-7

by Jessica Andersen

  This time he went ahead and looked at the total, and he chuckled when he signed off. Granted, it wasn’t as fun as back when Jox was handling the purse strings—it’d been entertaining to watch the poor guy twitch when Alexis had killed a rented BMW and left it on the AmEx—but it still felt just illicit enough for him to get a kick out of it.

  It took him fifty-two minutes from in to out, and when he hit the street lugging a bunch of bags, he was feeling pretty damn proud of himself. And, as he headed for the marina, he caught himself whistling and realized that, for that precious moment, he was at peace, headed out to sea with Cara. It might’ve been one of the fantasies he’d had down south of the life he would’ve liked to live if he could’ve done anything he wanted. But for today, it was real.

  Ditching his purchases for the gala in a couple of guest lockers, he headed for the water with the bathing suits, still whistling.

  “Hey!” She waved from a slip halfway down the dock, where she sat perched on the gunwale of a jaunty motorboat with sleek lines and a big-ass engine. When he came level with her, she said, “I went with horsepower over wind power so we’d be certain to make it back in time for the gala.” A grin lit her face. “And because I feel like going really, really fast.”

  “Then let’s get going. Fast.”

  They set about casting off, working smoothly as a team, just as they had back at the museum. And as they did, he made only a token effort to hold back a surge of pure male appreciation for a gorgeous woman dressing up a powerful machine. With her hair slicked back into a tight braid and the gleam off her narrow black sunglasses mimicking the startling white streak in her hair, wearing a new polo shirt emblazoned with the marina’s logo over her own black pants, she could have passed for anything from an employee to a rich owner, and would’ve gotten second and third looks no matter what. More, she moved about the boat with the easy grace of someone who hadn’t just spent a few months aboard a whale-watching boat, but was a natural, to boot.

  She turned around, caught him looking, and went still. He fully expected her expression to flatten out, maybe go annoyed. But then her lips curved and her eyes warmed, and she called, “Less staring and more doing, mister!”

  His heart kicked a funny beat and he snapped a salute. “Aye, Captain.”

  That set the tone for the afternoon, as they roared out to sea and then up the coast with the throttle wide-open and the wind in their faces. They didn’t talk much, didn’t touch each other aside from a friendly shoulder or hip bump in passing as they traded off on driving, or maneuvered around the narrow space belowdecks where she had stored food from the marina’s snack bar, which was predictably overpriced but not half-bad.

  Beyond the galley was a low-ceilinged room with a wide sleeping platform, but they kept the door shut by unspoken consent and stayed mostly on deck, breathing the salty air and leaning into the whip of the wind. And although they both kept a sharp eye on their surroundings and had weapons hidden beneath their clothes or, once they were in their bathing suits, close at hand, the threats all seemed mercifully far away.

  At noon, as they throttled down to putt-putt past a sea lion rookery and did bad impressions of the hugely raucous creatures, Sven was as relaxed as he’d been in the past… gods, he didn’t even know how long, eased by the roll of the waves beneath the boat and the way they could just be together, without chattering or trying to impress each other.

  At two, as they turned back with a shared look of reluctance, he was in a pleasant haze brought on by the warm sun, moist sea air, and her company. And it wasn’t that she was so unobtrusive that he could pretend she wasn’t there, that he was alone as he often preferred. Exactly the opposite, in fact, as he found himself turning toward her to point out the things he saw—here a small pod of dolphins, there a rocky outcropping that should be a postcard and probably was, and beyond it a cormorant just coming up from a dive and hopping up onto a rock to cock his long black wings and hang himself out to dry.

  Gods above, he thought as she laughed up at him, her expression open and animated, and so damn beautiful it made his heart hurt. Why can’t it always be like this?

  Why couldn’t they just be two normal people who’d met in a normal way—at a bar, on the beach, somewhere that didn’t come with the rules and ungodly pressure of Skywatch? If this was the kind of thing she was picturing when she talked about the life she wanted to lead after the war, he could see now how it could be a powerful motivator. He’d never really thought that way, never really looked beyond the war. Now, though… it twisted him up inside to know that if they were seeing her future now, he wouldn’t be in it. Not only because he believed her when she said she was going to walk away and not look back, but because his instincts said so. He was no prescient, but somehow he was certain that whoever the guy was in her future happy day on a boat, it wasn’t him.

  He must have stared at her too long, because she tipped down her sunglasses to look at him. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” When she didn’t look convinced, he crossed to her and took her hand. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t pull it away, not even when he brushed his lips across her knuckles. “Right now, in this moment, it’s nothing.”

  She shook her head and reclaimed her hand, but squeezed his fingers in parting. And for the next couple of hours they were mostly silent, lost in their separate thoughts.

  Still, at five, as they motored back into the marina and did the seesaw routine required to slide the boat back into its original position, crowded one among many, he didn’t want to let go of the day.

  In the past, by now he would have been chafing for some time by himself. Instead, when she would have hopped out of the boat he talked her into one more soda, a few more minutes of them quietly chatting about nothing in particular—the view, the birds, the strangeness of being on the water after spending so long inland, and how quickly it felt like home. He didn’t want to leave, didn’t want the day to be over.

  “It’s not over, not really,” she pointed out when he said it aloud. “But it is time to shift gears, get suited up, and head for the gala.” Her fingers worked at the beads of condensation on her can of Diet Coke, suggesting that she was tensing up and getting excited for the op, just as she had been that morning.

  He couldn’t blame her—the cloak-and-dagger stuff was pretty cool, and he was usually just as excited to get rolling. He wasn’t, though.… If anything, he wanted to full-throttle it back out of the bay and not look back.

  I’ve got a bad feeling about this, he thought but didn’t say. The equinox was only a few days away and they needed the screaming skull. So instead, silently vowing to make damn sure she made it out in one piece no matter what, he said only, “Promise me you’ll be careful?”

  Her eyes sparked, but she must have seen something in his face, because after a brief hesitation, she nodded. “Okay, I’ll promise… if you do the same.”

  How long had it been since anyone had told him that before he headed off into action? Shit, he didn’t know, just like he didn’t know why it hit him so hard now, punching a tight fist beneath his heart. Or, rather, he knew, but it was better if he pretended he didn’t. Not because Carlos was worried about his magic and focus, or even because of the other winikin, but because she had been right to call him on his bullshit. He didn’t get to have her unless he was ready and willing to be there for her a hundred percent… and that was the one thing he knew he couldn’t give her.

  Damn it all.

  He could give her this, though. “Yeah. I promise.”

  Her expression firmed, going more serious than it had been only moments before, as if she had caught some of his mood. “Okay, then. Let’s do this.”

  They headed for the marina’s clubhouse, where she had gotten day passes as part of the rental, and they separated to their respective locker rooms to get gala’d up.

  He emerged sometime later and settled down to wait in the pretty cobbled courtyard that the marina maintained for its guests. Pulling
out his phone, he cleared a few texts and skimmed through the e-mails, finding nothing critical. He was just starting to type a reply to the forward an old wreck-diving buddy had sent him—bad joke, even worse picture—when movement from the ladies’ locker room caught his attention.

  He looked up and saw Cara. He froze.

  And he stared.

  The snow-white gown shimmered with the movement of beads and unidentifiable glittery things that picked up the light and dipped and clung to her curves. One of her shoulders was covered, the other bare, and the subtle contrast between the gleaming white and the cream of her skin made him want to touch and taste, as did the severe perfection of her twisted-up hair with its zigzag stripe, and how it was softened by a couple of curled sections that fell free to cover the earpiece she wore to match the one he had on. The skirt had seemed longer when the saleslady had held it up, but he wasn’t complaining about the way it hit Cara midthigh, showing off legs that seemed far longer than her diminutive size would suggest; nor was he complaining about the narrow silver shoes with their crisscrossed chains and funky zippered fastening, which punked things up and took the look from “wow” to “wow, it’s Cara.”

  No, he wasn’t complaining at all. In fact, he wasn’t saying anything, because he didn’t have the words.

  She glided over, heels tapping unerringly on the cobblestones without a wobble, as if some feminine magic were at work. She carried the gleaming white shoulder bag he’d insisted on despite the saleslady’s objections that it was too big for evening wear. When she got up close to him, he caught her light, flowery scent and saw that she’d put on makeup, had somehow been carrying it with her even though they’d had no hint of the gala. Magic again. As she drew near, her eyes warmed and a smile grew. “Thank you.”

  The drool, it seemed, was a sufficient compliment.

  He wanted to give her more, though. Going for the inner pocket of his tux, he pulled out the long, narrow box that held the necklace that had caught his eye… and suddenly felt awkward as hell standing there, holding it while her eyes got big.

  Too late, he heard the mental warning sirens and recognized the inner what the hell are you doing? He was supposed to be proving to her that they could work together without the personal stuff getting in the way. Not dressing them up in clothes out of their shared vision and handing over bling. He concentrated on breathing, trying to get his tongue unstuck from his epiglottis. This didn’t have to be a big deal. It was just funny money, he told himself, and it wasn’t like he could put the box away and pretend it hadn’t happened. So he would give it to her and try not to make this into more than it needed to be.

  He wasn’t quite sure how he was going to pull that off, though.

  “I don’t know what this is or what it’s supposed to mean,” he said, holding out the box. “I just know I needed to get it. How about we call it a peace offering, or a symbol of our new working relationship, or some such shit. Anyway…” Taking a deep breath, he flipped open the lid. “It reminded me of you.”

  The single strand of sparkling black gems drew the eye down to the central stone, which was a clear, pure white that shimmered and glowed when the light hit it. It was sleek, sophisticated, and dramatic as hell.

  “Oh,” she breathed, reaching for it and then pulling her hand back as if afraid to touch, instead putting her hand over her mouth.

  Some of the nerves smoothed out inside him. Okay, good. This was good. He could do this precisely because it was Cara, and because she deserved to have someone do something for her now and then, rather than the other way around. More, he had a feeling from the way she inhaled and squared her shoulders that she was being careful not to read too much into the gesture.

  “Let me,” he said, not realizing until after the words were out there that he had said the same thing when he’d gone down on her in the cave. But he’d meant it then and he meant it now. She gave and gave to everyone else, and deserved to have someone give back to her for a change. And if he was playing with fire, he could handle himself. Had been for a long time now.

  Her eyes were steady on his for a moment; then she turned away and presented him with her back, which was bare down to nearly her waist. Her spine was straight and proud, the curve of her neck elegant, the soft skin behind her ear terrifyingly vulnerable. He wanted badly to touch her, thought from the rhythm of her breathing that she wanted it too.

  “I’m not wearing my gun,” she said, but although she had probably been going for a conversational tone, it came out breathy and suggestive. Or maybe that was because his brain immediately supplied the detail that she also wasn’t wearing a bra.

  He cleared his throat. “Stay close to me. We’re better off shielding up and getting the hell out if there’s any trouble.”

  “Okay.” The word was soft, as if she were agreeing to more than just the plan. Or maybe that was wishful thinking.

  He fumbled a little with the box and the way it held the necklace in place, then lifted the glittering strand free and draped it around her front, absurdly conscious of the way his own breathing hitched as she bent her head forward so her coiled hair would stay free of the clasp. The moment suddenly seemed very intimate, as if this were something he should be doing in a bedroom, not a cobbled courtyard, with a couple of people pretending not to watch from one of the café tables nearby.

  Her skin was soft and warm, her bone structure impossibly delicate. It took him far too long to slide the clasp’s little tongue into its little receiver, in an act that he told himself not to read too much into—not that he wasn’t already stiff and uncomfortable inside the tux trousers, and sorely tempted to reach down there and readjust.

  By the time the mechanism clicked into place, he was breathing hard and sweating. He backed away fast, holding out his hands in a gesture of nope, didn’t touch anything, more to reassure himself than her. “Okay, you’re good.”

  She took a deep breath and turned back to him, eyes bright with emotion. “Thank you,” she said simply. Easing up on her tiptoes, she got a gentle grip on one of his lapels and tugged him down so she could kiss his cheek.

  The gesture was as simple as her words—a pure thank-you that didn’t ask anything more of him, didn’t seek or give promises. And for the first time in his life, he wished there were questions and promises, wished there were something more. But there was only gratitude in her eyes when she settled back and took a moment to smooth his lapel back down, stroking the place over his heart, and there was nothing more than polite inquiry when she chirped, “Ready?”

  No. “Yep.” What was she thinking right now? When they were younger, he’d almost always been able to read her thoughts from her face, except when they were wagering. That was one of the things that had made her so damn tough to beat at the patolli: her ability to bluff. Was she bluffing now, or had she really managed to set aside her feelings and frustrations and put him back in the friend zone?

  Never mind that—what was he thinking? He couldn’t give her what she needed, yet he wanted her to want him. “Selfish” didn’t even begin to cover it.

  Unaware of his inner morass, she said brightly, “Well, then, the gala awaits us.” She took his arm as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

  Was she already playing the role of his ditzy arm candy, or did she really not feel the heat crackling in the air around them? His skin was tight, his magic revving a sharp spark in his blood and a deep ache in his wrist, beneath his marks. Frustration snapped at his heels, thinning the control he’d kept on himself all day as he’d watched her bask in the simple one-piece bathing suit the saleslady had chosen for her, or sat beside her as she drove the boat with reckless enthusiasm, winding up the motor past redline now and then, and laughing at the slap of the wind in their faces, the feeling of freedom. He’d wanted her then and told himself to keep his hands to himself. He wanted her now even more… and the sight of her wearing the sparkling black collar he’d chosen for her sliced right through that self-control and had him rea
ching for her before he was even aware of having made the decision. He caught the back of her neck and felt the necklace brush the side of his hand as he drew her close.

  And then he took her mouth in a kiss that had his pulse going from zero to a buck twenty in no time flat.

  Their first two kisses had been her idea, and things in the cave had happened partly because of the magic… but this kiss was his. He slanted his lips across hers and took, levered her mouth open and claimed. And when her surprised gasp trailed off on a moan of surrender, he didn’t back off and give her a moment to catch up; he moved in and took more.

  Then she murmured and crowded closer, blossoming open into the kiss, and he stopped being aware of anything beyond the woman in his arms and the heat they made together. Some warrior part of him was still monitoring the world, ever vigilant, but the rest of him was lost in the kiss. They twined together, seeking and tasting. The texture of her dress reminded him not to rip and tear, not even to wrinkle, as they had a job yet to do. But that constraint only added to the sharp excitement as he ran his hands gently down her body and then back up again, grazing the sides of her hips, ribs, and breasts and wringing a moan from her.

  The sound startled him. He tore his lips free and pressed his brow to hers. He was breathing hard, laboring to suck in enough oxygen to keep him on his feet, but that battle was nothing compared to the one inside his skull. “You should slap me for that,” he said, his voice raspy. “Hell, punch me. Shoot me, even. I frigging deserve it.”

  She pulled away but didn’t go far. Instead, still in his arms, she blinked up at him, then pressed her lips together as if tasting him. “Why? Because you kissed me?”