Hunter Moon

by Joanne Mallory

  Coming to his full height, he patted the bowl. “Tell me about it.” His expression teasing as he raised a brow at her. “I got a bit distracted there for a minute.”

  Heat flooded her system, rushing back to her face as she took the bowl he now held out to her. Tilting her head, she let her hair hide her from him as she placed the bowl back in the crate.

  Ugh, he was funny too. Dammit; fit, fine and funny. Dammit-bloody-dammit.

  Giving herself an inner shake, she sealed the box back up, busying herself with completing the documentation.

  “How did you convince them to let us have it?”

  Signing her signature, she collected the box, sliding it back on the shelf, using it as an excuse to move away from him. “No such luck. They’re just lending, for the Gods and Worship Exhibition in October, then the Museo di Roma will be wanting her back.”

  Feeling like she had herself under slightly tighter control, she gathered up the paperwork. She’d have to have her wits about her when it came to dealing with him; a little flirting was good for the soul, but he was potent stuff.

  “Come on.” Turning back, she grinned, waving him to her. “You’ve got a suit to shake out, and time is ticking.”

  Shutting the door with a foul glare at the now pouring rain, she and her luggage made for the elevator to take them up to her flat. The building was a mix of VIP and employee accommodation provided by the Museum, and after being stuck for three years in the basement flat, she’d finally managed to snag a gorgeous little slice of heaven, three floors up that overlooked the private garden.

  Turning the key, she pushed open the front door, before stepping inside. She left the suitcase in the little hallway and walking through her apartment began turning on the lights.

  She headed for the bedroom, and opened the floor to ceiling fitted Victorian wardrobe doors, and stared in at work suits and neat, sensible, black, work suitable cocktail dresses. And that was the only problem with this place; other than a couple of pairs of jeans, she kept it kitted out for work.

  And that just wouldn’t do. Not tonight.

  Catching her reflection in her dresser mirror, she stopped. Her long dark hair was a windblown mess, but what had been tired brown eyes now held a glint of excitement, at the prospect of having a flirtatious evening, with the charmer that Jason had left her to babysit. She’d find out what his motives were later—and damn well get her own back. But for now, she hadn’t had a little fun in far too long.

  “Time to get my act together.” She had just shy of two hours, and she’d had enough of the dark-grey afternoon for a start. Rushing round she drew curtains and turned on lights, liking the nice peachy glow that warmed everything up.

  Spying the speaker across the room, she pulled magic from her core, and with a point of her finger, sent a buzz towards it, requesting music pour out. She grinned. It had been six years ago when magic had all but tossed her from her bed, and every little aspect of it still filled her with pleasure.

  Drifting towards her en-suite, the music followed her, the flush-ceiling-lights reflected from all the glass and silver, and the mirrors reflected the travertine tiles. This room had been dire when she’d moved in; she would’ve rather washed in a bucket on the roof. But Jason and her brother had helped her to work wonders.

  She played about with soaps and shampoo bottles, lining everything up the way she liked it, before turning on the shower, letting the room fill with steam.

  The hot spray washed away the last of the flight and the unseasonably wet and grey day.

  Wrestling her waist-length hair up onto her head, she lathered it up, softly singing.

  She wondered what had been so important that Jason had needed to rush off to Ireland, and she couldn’t believe for a minute that he was going to cut down on attending all the functions and events. She snorted at the thought. “That would put a serious dent in his extracurriculars.” She smirked to herself at her own joke. She’d be sure to text him that when her phone was back in action.

  She rinsed out the conditioner, before shutting off the shower.

  Jess grabbed a towel and padded back to her bedroom, drying the last errant droplets from her skin as she went. Bending from the waist, she flipped her hair forward and wrapped it up in the towel, eyeing the wardrobe as she did so.

  Lightly biting her lip, she headed for her dresser. Opening the drawer, she looked in at the small amount of supplies she kept here, and selected two violet candles, and a piece of ribbon the same color, to amplify energy.

  She stood in front of the south facing mirror and placed the tapered candles in plain ceramic holders. Lightly wrapping her hands around the wicks, she closed her eyes and felt the flame rise from within her. Felt the magic trickle through her veins and settle in her palms, sparking the candles alight.

  The dual flames burnt high for just a brief flash of time, bathing her skin in the ancient energy that danced all around. Whispering thanks she lifted the candles and placed them on the floor, either side of the tall wardrobe doors, before taking the violet ribbon, wrapping it around the two crystal doorknobs, and tying a loose knot.

  Lifting her palms, magic hazed, trickling a blue spark across the engraved wood.

  Whispering beneath her breath, she chanted the spell times three.

  “From here to there,

  No distance will be,

  As I open these doors,

  So Mote It Be.”

  The candles sparked and flickered at her feet, as the energy pounded between her palms and the doors, before the flames finally hissed out.

  Clenching her hands to fists, she waited a heartbeat before opening her palms, releasing the remnant power, offering it up to the ether, before untying the ribbon.

  Holding the crystal doorknobs, she slowly pulled the doors wide, to find herself looking into her wardrobe that was back home, in the bay. Rolling her eyes, she grinned. “Goddess, yes.”

  She ran a fleeting hand across the coat hangers and selected her favorite dress. A simple black shift that fitted like a dream, with a halter neckline that did wonders for her. The back and wrist-length sleeves were black and completely sheer, and she loved it.

  Rummaging through far too many shoeboxes, she came up with her cherished suede pumps with a wicked heel and a dainty ankle strap.

  Sitting back on the carpet, she crossed her legs, still smiling to herself as she closed the doors.

  Pressing her palms flat against the wood, she closed her eyes, and waited for her energy to focus and still, before clearly stating, “Reverse.”

  A chill wind blew across her bare skin, and she felt the shift as everything returned to normal.

  Well, mostly normal; the shoe box sat next to her, and her dress lay across her bare legs.

  “Time to get motivating, woman.”

  Pushing to her feet, she caught her reflection in the mirror; lavender flecks still shimmered in her eyes and the hazey magic was slowly fading.

  She smiled to herself as she laid the clothes on her bed, before attacking the towel on her head, shaking out her wet hair.

  Forty minutes. She had forty minutes! She applied a little makeup, a little lotion and a little perfume, all in-between bouts of giving her hair a cool blow dry, and smoothing on lacy shorts and thigh highs. Tucking the lace and silks back into her lingerie drawer, she acknowledged the madness of owning what seemed like the entire Agent Provocateur collection. But she loved it. Did anyone ever get to see? No. But that wasn’t the point. She liked it, and that was good enough for her.

  Nearly strangling herself trying to do up the zip on her dress without catching her skin or her hair, Jess wondered if these designers thought women were contortionists?

  Gathering her hair over her shoulder, she deftly wrapped it into a side chignon, securing it with bobby pins, before finally sitting on the edge of the bed, to slip on and fasten the buckles of her favorite Alexander McQueens.

  She grabbed her little black clutch, throwing in a lipstick and her bank c
ards.

  Picking her phone up off the side, she headed for the window, pulling back the curtain to see if the car had arrived, before checking her phone. It was still flashing a ‘No Carrier’ message. Tossing it on the coffee table as she passed, she picked up her door keys and went down for the car.

  Chapter Two

  The elegant black Mercedes sat at the curb, its tinted windows shining as the rain streaked down them. The crisply dressed chauffeur approached with his black umbrella, sheltering her from the weather as he accompanied her to the car.

  She loved this bit. All the strangers and shop-talk bored her senseless, but if the whole evening was nothing more than her being chauffeur-driven in circles and dropped off back here she’d be ecstatic. The getting ready and being escorted to a fine automobile—she loved the show of it all.

  But then, tonight was different. Behind the dark glossy window sat a man. A man who’d stunned her senses, and that didn’t happen very often. Unless she took a trip down memory lane to her uni years, it hadn’t happened at all.

  She held her breath as the door was opened. Trying to be as ladylike as possible as she turned and lowered herself onto the fine leather, lifting her legs in to the cozy warmth.

  Readying a smile she turned, to find the seat next to her empty. Jess huffed as disappointment dropped through her. It looked like tonight was going to be a total washout after all.

  “Ma’am, Mr Hunter has asked me to inform you that he’ll meet you at the Tower.”

  Lightly clearing her throat, she offered what she hoped was a nonchalant tone. “Oh, fine.”

  She knew she’d failed miserably as the polite chauffeur’s lips twitched in the mirror.

  Buggering-dammit.

  She scrunched her face-up nastily at her own reflection in the window, and turned back to the chauffeur. “Was there a problem?”

  “I don’t believe so, Ma’am.”

  Almost grinning at him, she leant back in her seat. Bloody men. She watched the rain hit the panoramic roof, as the grey clouds above London hid the sun and streamed over her head. The scent of the rain eased in through the air-con, and she could just detect a hint of the Thames before it came into view, and the glorious Tower Bridge rising above it.

  Allowing herself to be escorted from the car by the highly amused chauffeur, he left her safely inside the dry entrance, to ascend the Victorian staircase that curled ever upwards, the wet air racing up the stairs after her.

  The din from the Gala above reached her, and she took a steadying breath as she came to the viewing deck. Circular tables were laid with white linen and polished cutlery, and the windows and glass walkway let in views of the whole of London. Gods, she loved this city.

  Removing her ticket from her clutch to give to the approaching maître d’, the tingle reached her just before a warm hand clasped her elbow. Keeping her eyes forward, she let a little smile tip her lips.

  “Sebastian. You’re late.”

  Reaching out, he slid the ticket from her fingers, handing them to the maître d’, who turned to guide them to their table. “I’d like to apologize for not arriving with you.”

  Taking the seat that was offered, she smiled politely and turned to face him as he sat. His dark grey suit fitted perfectly, and the light blue tie sat beautifully against his softer blue silk shirt. He looked delicious.

  Raising her brows at his flawless manners, she grinned at him. “No biggy. You were only a couple of minutes behind.”

  Despite his polished appearance, she could feel frenetic energy pouring from him. He’d tamed his hair, but she could tell he itched to run his fingers through it. She stifled a smirk; she wouldn’t mind running her fingers through it either. He’d looked good earlier, in a rough jeans and boots sort of way, but the suit fitted him perfectly. He was bigger, just all over bigger, than she’d thought, and she liked the constant buzz of excitement she got from just looking at him.

  Shaking his head, Set chuckled. The husky sound made her smile.

  “Well, anyway, I’m sorry.” Easing back in his seat, he made room for the waiter, who leant over to pour their wine. “So, what’s the deal with these shindigs? And why do I feel like we’ve drawn the short straw, and Jason is off somewhere having more fun than we’re about to?”

  His voice was like his laugh, deep and soft, and every guest that passed by dragged his scent across to her, his aftershave somehow reminding her of the sea. The tan on his skin declared that, unlike her, he hadn’t spent most of the summer in draughty archives. In fact, he was proving more delightful by the second.

  Casting her eye across their currently empty table she read the name plates. “Oh, Jason has left us without a paddle, that’s for sure.” Nodding at them, she picked up her wine glass, taking a healthy sip of the citrusy white. “This motley crew are all private employees: two buyers, a dealer, and a collector. They’ll be boring as hell. The idea of tonight was so that we could introduce ourselves to the new head of department for the Native American section at the Smithsonian.”

  As he picked up his own glass, his hand looked too big for the fine crystal. He was starting to relax, his energy field settling down, not bouncing jerkily against hers. She watched as his shoulders lost some of their tension and he released a pent up breath, before giving her a knowing look.

  “And I take it they’re not here?”

  She shook her head. “Nope. The waiter was removing their place-settings from the front table as I came in.”

  Casting his gaze across the truly spectacular view, he looked at her before glancing down at his feet, and murmured, “Well, there are worse places to have dinner.”

  Following his gaze, his tan brogues looked almost superimposed as the glass floor dropped away to the road below where the traffic flowed one way, the Thames the other.

  “You’re not afraid of heights, then?” She raised her brows questioningly, meeting his gaze square on, and felt the chemistry crackle between them. His brown eyes held hers for a fraction longer than necessary, and she enjoyed the lustful current that tripped through her.

  “Not afraid of anything much. What about you?”

  Leaning back, she crossed her legs beneath the table, and shrugged. “Not really. I’m not keen on earwigs, if that helps?”

  His nose wrinkled at the thought, and he closed his mouth on whatever he’d been going to say, smoothing out his expression as two of their table-mates arrived.

  Jess gave her hellos and introduced Sebastian, giving him a knowing look as Matilda launched into her thoughts on the latest government arts cuts, before her backside had even hit the chair.

  As the main course was cleared his eyes had all but glazed over. Jess felt pretty much the same. Matilda’s phone trilled inside her bag, and as she frantically rummaged for it, Jess slid a long look his way, before addressing the table. “Excuse us, won’t you? I’m just going to give Sebastian a look at some of the amazing moldings before the final course is served.” He rose with her as she spoke, giving the table in general a polite smile.

  Weaving their way between the tables until they reached what would soon be the dance floor, she leant on the window railing and looked across London, heaving a sigh. “It’s going to be a long night. We’ve still got pudding and coffees to go.”

  “Tell me about it. There was no whisky on the menu either.”

  “Now that really is a crime.” She laughed as he shook his head. The last of the cloud was passing over, and the blue sky framed him. It was as if time had thrown him forward, he had an air of the old-fashioned aristocrat about him.

  “Of course, if the people we’re here to meet aren’t actually here…” His voice trailed away as he looked innocently at her, his dark eyes full of mischief and fun.

  Planting a serious expression on her face, she nodded. “I’m sure the museum has some historical emergency that needs our attention…”

  He leant towards her, warmth radiating from him, as his lips barely brushed her ear. Shivers raced up her spine,
and she held wholly still as he whispered, “Forget coffee. I know a great whisky bar, right close to here.”

  She inwardly groaned at how his fabulous scent filled her senses, how his heated breath caused goose bumps… She was seriously going to have to get a grip on her suddenly active libido.

  But then, willpower never had been her strong point. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Laughing, he surprised her by grabbing her hand, pulling her towards the door, and offering an excuse to the passing waiter. He took the inside on the spiraling staircase, his warm, rough palm, firmly engulfing her hand as he steadied her descent.

  As they stepped from the Tower, Jess looked skyward. A summer wind had blown away the last of the rain, leaving a warm, damp night.

  “So,” he prompted her, “you were talking about earwigs.”

  He kept hold of her hand, as he steered her right, and they walked towards the Thames.

  “Sure. Hate ’em. Not frightened. Just think they’re a bit gross. Is it Sebastian or Seb?”

  He nodded, briefly looking down at her. “Seb mostly.”

  Stealing furtive glances at him as they walked, she studied him. She wasn’t small, and with a little help from four inch heels, she never found height an issue. But he still had a few inches on her, and his hand had virtually swallowed hers. What did he eat, for gods’ sake?

  “What about you? Is it Jess or Jessica?”

  “Depends. I’m Jess, unless you count my brother. Then it’s full on Jessica. Or Steve at the Museum, he calls me ‘Miss Jess’, and I feel like I’m living in the Deep South.”

  He gave a short burst of laugher, turning smiling brown eyes on her. “Yeah, I noticed that today. Not bad for a guy from the East End of London.”

  She laughed. “I know, right. Probably left over from his past life.”

  He gave her a quizzical look that she merely shrugged off; she’d never seen any reason to pretend to be anything she wasn’t. She wasn’t about to run around sky-clad, shouting pagan chants either, but they were going to be working together, and he may as well get used to her.