by Sarra Cannon
“Then why doesn’t he?”
Letting out a long exhalation, Heath shrugged, but realized she couldn’t see it. “Who knows? I’ve had my theories over the years, but that’s all they are.”
“You heading back tomorrow?” Siobhan asked.
“Aye, mean to. Why?”
“Oh, nothing. It’s just, I’ve got a contractor headed out to look at putting a little guesthouse beside the cottage and I sort of need authorization from the landowner.”
“A guesthouse?” Simone asked. “Why would I need that? I’d like to have fewer rooms to rent out, not more.”
“These wouldn’t be for motel guests. They’d be for living. I’ve always wanted to live on the beach. Prime real estate you’ve got here, you know that?”
“You don’t live on the beach. You could leave whenever you want as soon as I get back.”
“Maybe so, but what’s the harm in being prepared in case you and Heath need to leave again at some point?”
“Sounds like she’s volunteering to keep an eye on your motel, love.”
“It’s not her job.”
“And it wasn’t really meant to be yours, either, was it?” Siobhan asked. “You walked into it, and we’re just trying to help you out. Just so you know, Matt only intermittently qualifies.”
“What?”
“Matt. The youngster?”
“Ollie’s son,” Heath provided.
“Oh. What do you mean by intermittently qualifies?”
“Remember how when we were testing the boundaries, I was trapped inside when you two walked out? That didn’t seem quite right to me, and Matt is unquestionably our cousin. We went to the mile marker and played around for a bit. We worked out sort of accidentally that depending on what sort of energy he’s putting off, I could walk through and leave him in.”
“Huh,” Simone said.
“Aye. I wouldn’t leave him trapped in there except in the case of an emergency, though. He’s eighteen and unquestionably male. He doesn’t have the knack for being a caretaker. Brain’s not organized the right way. Not proactive enough.”
“Speaking of energy…” Heath shut off the water and wrung the moisture out of his hair. “A certain someone here has a little extra lately.”
“Who? Oliver? That’s not unusual. His power will probably shift around a lot until he, Harvey, and Tess work out what power belongs to whom.”
“Nope, I don’t mean that kind.” Heath pushed the curtain aside and stepped out onto the mat.
Simone’s gaze dipped down past his torso and waist, stopped at his crotch, and then flitted right back up to his face. Then she fled.
Silly girl.
“Contessa is pregnant.” He stuffed his fingers into his ears to protect the drums from the piercing squeal he’d known would be imminent. He counted to ten and unplugged.
“I love babies!”
“I suspected you’d say that. Pretend you don’t know until she tells you, though. I’m only letting you know so you can attack the grapevine and try to shake some more potential guards off of it. They’re still short here, and I know there’s got to be some stone we haven’t overturned yet. It’s Oliver’s baby.”
“I’ll get right on it.” She disconnected without another word.
Leaving the phone where it lay, he grabbed a towel and padded into the bedroom, scrubbing his face dry.
A knock on the door waylaid him from Simone, who was sitting on the edge of the queen bed gripping the television remote so tight that her knuckles were white.
Her gaze fell yet again below his waist as he turned.
“No need to be coy. You can look if you want.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Don’t want to know what you’re getting?” He rested his hand on the doorknob as another knock came.
“Don’t be so sure I’m getting it at all.”
“I look forward to the day you run out of smart-aleck comebacks.”
“I promise that if I ever run out of comebacks, that’ll be the very same day I’ll be getting it.”
Chuckling, he opened the door.
Thom squeezed in without giving him a second glance.
“How’s your would-be beloved?” Heath asked.
“Haven’t seen her in a couple of hours. I was in Jeff’s room helping him unpack. He’s got a knife collection Freddy Krueger would have nightmares about.”
“I’m surprised he got that past Lora.”
“I think he snuck most of it in inside the cat carrier.” He waved at Simone. “Enjoying your stay in Norseton?”
“I guess so. The people here are nice.”
“They’ve got good leaders,” Heath said. “Contessa and the others do all they can to keep stress out of he community, and it shows. Did you notice there’s only one cable news channel?”
“I did. I thought that was strange.”
“It was Contessa’s idea. Stress went way down when she decided to cull some of the channels. People were getting way too worked up over things beyond their control and the anxiety was leaching into their communal psychic web. All that disquietude sort of bounces around from one person to the next and builds. It’s easier to manage the wellbeing of the citizenry when there’s less toxicity entering the hive mind.”
“Makes sense. Um…” She drummed the fingers of her free hand atop the mattress and turned her gaze pointedly toward the window. “Forgetting something?”
Heath put his hands on his hips and cocked his head. “Such as?”
“Clothes?”
“Oh.” He dropped onto the vanity seat and batted out the tangles from his hair with his fingers. “They’re not strictly necessary right now.”
“I’m sure Thom would argue.”
Thom scoffed. “Nudity isn’t a big deal amongst the Sídhe, remember? We tend to be a bit…”
“Brazen?”
“That’ll work, but I was going to say proud.”
“Vain.”
“Are you saying I have reason to be?” Heath asked.
She turned and cut him a withering glare, but it slowly evolved into an expression far softer. Far more curious.
“What?”
“Your hair is curly?”
He shrugged.
“What did you do to it?”
“I washed it.”
“You’re telling be that underneath that greasy, stringy mop is that?”
“You like it?” He flicked a few errant curls out of his eyes.
Mumbling to herself, she looked at the window again.
“I think that’s a yes,” Thom said.
“She’ll never admit it.”
She harrumphed.
“I don’t think she’s going to look at you until you put clothes on,” Thom said.
“I just don’t see the point. They’d be coming right back off, anyway.”
She made that noise again, and muttered something about his delusions.
Thom shucked off his leather jacket, leaned against the dresser, and folded his arms over his chest. “While you were out shopping, I made a couple of calls to some of my contacts in East Africa.”
Simone turned her head slightly, just enough to catch Thom in her gaze, probably.
“Looking for Katie?”
“Trying to see if anyone’s seen her lately. Easy to ask around when you have a specific name and power type. People remember keys.”
“Have they seen her?”
“Aye. Got lucky. Good thing, because I’m not nearly as friendly with any of the other groups.”
“I imagine you wouldn’t be given the trail of broken hearts you left across the continent.”
Pretenses aside, Simone hurried over to Thom. “Where is she? What’s she doing? Is she okay?”
“She’s fine. They wouldn’t give up any more information beyond that, and I can’t say I blame them. They know where she is, and probably very specifically.”
Simone turned to Heath. “They’re not afraid of your mother, I take it
.”
“Nah. Technically, all Sídhe are her subjects, but some of the more distant groups are harder to control, and she can’t be everywhere at once to put the clench on them.”
“So, they’ll protect her. My mother, I mean.”
“I think she’s in one of the safest places she can be,” Thom said. “Few would want to see harm come to a key.”
“And I’m sure she’s being put to work.”
“Unquestionably.”
Heath put his hand on Simone’s waist, and she started as if frightened.
She couldn’t go too far with Thom standing beside her. He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face Heath. “You’re afraid of your prince?”
“O-of course not.”
“Then you dislike him? Don’t want his touch?”
“I don’t see where that’s any of your business.” She squirmed ineffectually under his grip, not really trying to get away but putting on the sham of it. Of course she wouldn’t admit she wanted him, but she’d proven she did back in that dressing stall. Her body had responded to his touch, and she’d wanted more. That was evident. She wasn’t going to give herself over to him so easily, though. Not until she could feel like it’d been her idea all along.
Thom bent and whispered into her ear.
Heath sat back, relaxed into the seat and watched Simone’s expressions change. Haughty to shocked; scandalized to angry; defiant to…resigned? All in a span of less than a minute. Thom knew all the right words, and Heath had seen him in action time and time again—Thom gentling some woman with his whispers. The words were never the same. The transitions were always a little different, and of course none of those women had been like Simone. He might never know what Thom told her, but it didn’t matter. Thom would never step out of bounds with Heath or with his princess.
Simone returned to the bed, sat at the edge, and folded her hands onto her lap. She stared at her shoes and swung her legs.
Thom tipped his head toward her and rolled his sleeves up his massive forearms. “You’ll tell me when to sod off?”
“Of course.” Heath had never had to before, and didn’t imagine he’d have to now, either. He stood slowly and took measured steps toward the bed.
Thom followed at his heels. “I believe we’re an hour from dinner.”
“We’ll make do.”
Heath stood in front of Simone, stilling her restless legs by pressing his shins against hers. She stared a bit sideways, obviously not keen on what was right in front of her.
Thom sank onto the bed edge adjacent to her. “Look at your prince. Does he offend you so much that you can’t bear to look at him?”
Her jaw ground side to side a few beats. She didn’t respond, just righted her head and stared not quite straight ahead, but at his navel.
“If he’d been less kind, he’d make you his plaything. You may bear the title of wife, but he doesn’t have to treat you like one. He chooses to because he wants you. Do you understand this?”
She didn’t answer. Just stared.
Thom shifted slightly, but before he could move closer to her, she said, “I hear you.”
“I didn’t ask if you heard. I asked if you understood.”
“Then no.”
Heath looked over her at Thom.
He gave his head a slight shake, the meaning clear. Of course she didn’t understand. Had she been raised in their realm, she would have. She would have witnessed the differences and saw how to some Sídhe men, wives were merely vessels for their seed.
“Helping you to understand will be our most pressing goal, then. Why do you deny his attention?”
“Because I didn’t ask for it.”
So simple. So painfully honest. Would she want him if she had a choice to walk away? No woman he’d ever pursued had rejected him, but none of those women had mattered. Simone mattered, and it mattered to him that if she had to choose, he would be whom she wanted. He hadn’t actually given any thought to what she might want in a man because he already had her. That wasn’t fair. At the very least, he owed her some thought.
“You would prefer to be the initiator, then?” Thom asked. “Would that change how you comport yourself in his presence?”
Heath tuned back into the conversation, curious to hear her responses.
“I…I don’t know. Maybe.”
“So prove it. You would fuck him, would you not?”
“Not only is that irrelevant, but it’s none of your business.”
“It’s perfectly within the purview of my business from where I stand. A prince in line to rule needs a wife who’ll bear him offspring, and having sex is still the most efficient way to go about that.”
“And let me guess—you’re going to make sure that happens.”
He grunted. “If you invite me into your bedroom, I certainly won’t refuse the opportunity to assist in any way I can. Serving my prince gives me pleasure.”
Her eyes went round as her mouth fell open.
Thom leaned closer and whispered hoarsely, “Not like that. Though, would you find it repulsive if I had?”
Heath held his breath, waiting for her response—to know just how fairy her mindset was. To learn if she found their sexual openness repugnant.
Her lips moved wordlessly for a few moments, and her brow furrowed. “Not repulsive, just…surprising.”
“Why surprising?”
“You two strike me as very straight.”
Heath let out the breath. “There is no concept of straightness amongst the fae. There’s no such thing as queerness, because there’s no normative sexuality.”
“And you shouldn’t worry,” Thom said to her. “We’ve never been attracted to each other in that way. I’m not going to steal your man from you.”
Simone’s cheeks bloomed with that lovely plum color again.
Heath suppressed his chuckle, not wanting to add to her evident and considerable anxiety. He could assuage her fears with a touch, but thought perhaps it’d be better for her to actually think through them. He suspected he and Thom just didn’t click that way simply because they’d known each other too long. Heath may have been twenty when Thom was born, but in fairy years, he was a number of years shy of sexual maturity. He was practically Perry’s age—around seventy—before he felt the drive to find a cunt, or anything for that matter, to stick his cock into.
“You have a lot to learn about the Sídhe,” Thom continued. “We see someone we like and want to fuck, we fuck. We’re good at keeping intercourse casual. We save our hearts for our mates.”
“What is the point of you telling me all this?”
“I’m sure you’ve wondered.” He lifted his chin toward Heath, but Simone, still staring at Heath’s navel, couldn’t possibly see him. “You’ve wondered how many women he’s taken to his bed.”
She pulled her lips between her teeth, saying nothing, but the action was telling in itself. She wanted to know, but wouldn’t ask.
“If you ask, he would tell you. It’d be your right to confront every woman he’s ever taken to bed.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because that’s what fairies do. We eliminate perceived threats.”
“How are his exes any threat to me? I’m sure they’re exes for a reason.”
Thom grinned behind her, and for good reason. It was a very rational statement, though the fae weren’t known for their rationality. Heath certainly wasn’t.
“Aye, they are. The reason is that they’re not you.”
She turned her head to look back at him, but this time Heath caught her cheeks and held her still. “Look at me, Simone. I’m right in front of you.”
She rolled that butterscotch gaze up to his face and swallowed again.
“I’m not going to try to ingratiate myself with you with a load of shit, Simone. I’m a straightforward man. I speak plainly most of the time, and if I’m not, you can usually discern why.”
“Touch your prince,” Thom said. “He’s standing
right in front of you, so touch him. Do what’s natural. Stop fighting the urges. Stop trying to subvert your impulses.”
“Touching usually leads to other things,” she said.
“Aye. That’s the point. Are you going to do it, or do I need to help you?”
Her fingers twitched atop her thighs, but beyond those minute movements, she was still.
Thom stood. “Have it your way.”
Chapter 12
Simone really should have figured out by then that Thom didn’t make idle threats. When he said that he’d help, he’d obviously meant it.
He moved to Heath’s side, took her hands, and pulled her to standing. He tugged her around, placing her behind Heath, and pressed her hands to his back.
Heath looked over his shoulder and raised one black eyebrow.
“Is that view less offensive to you?” Thom asked.
Simone rolled her eyes. “I never said there was anything wrong with the front view.” The back view was quite nice, too. Heath’s torso was long and elegantly built, his back sculpted with lean muscle, and his skin smooth and unmarred. He had a beautiful body—a pleasing physique—and she couldn’t quite wrap her brain around the fact it was meant just for her. In some ways, he was too good to be true.
Thom slid her palms down to the dimples at the base of Heath’s spine and skimmed around to his hipbones. The ones that held up those fitted pants he always looked so delectable in.
“That’s not so bad, is it?” Thom whispered.
“No,” she conceded. “You can leave, if you want. I think I’m fine. I promise I won’t further insult your prince.”
“No, I don’t think I will. The moment I walk out that door, you’ll go back to pouting on the bed, and we can’t have that.”
“What exactly is your end goal here?” She felt her way up Heath’s torso, tracing the ridges of his abs on her way to his pecs.
