“So you can change the rules as you play for your benefit?” She smiled up at him, the sweetness on her face a cover for the sharpness of her words.
“How is it you know me so well?” Dred didn’t answer her question.
“I read,” she quipped before she could think better of it.
They moved across the floor. “Oh, really? I’ve said that in only one interview I’ve given, but I’m sure a good little witch would not be caught dead with her nose in such a publication.”
Her face flamed. She started scanning her brain for everything she’d read about him in Weekly Warlock. She didn’t remember that particular interview and she’d read them all. No, he couldn’t know. Could he?
She was forced to look up into his face as he bent her back for a dip. “I don’t read that.” It squeaked out of her mouth like a mouse with a brick on its tail.
He pulled her flush against him again so that he could whisper in her ear. “Of course, you don’t. Weekly Warlock isn’t a magazine that a witch such as you would find interesting.”
Oh, that bastard! He knew.
He couldn’t.
Well, he does now, you sloppy bitch! After all, she’d just admitted as much to him. Sometimes she was amazed that she was allowed to leave the house by herself. Really, she was aghast at her own incompetence.
Dred pulled her out of the dip.
“Exactly. What do I care what kind of conditioner is best for a warlock’s hair? I don’t bother to condition mine half of the time.” She was finding that she did care, very much, since her hand was on the back of his neck and his hair seemed to be curling over her fingers of its own volition. It was like silk, damn him.
Why did such an arrogant ass of a man have to be wrapped in so fine a package? Speaking of packages, wow!
It had been one thing to look at in the magazine, but another matter entirely having it there, in the flesh. Not to mention touching her.
Okay, so it wasn’t really touching her. There were several layers of fabric between her and it, but damn if she didn’t know it was there and, oh, my Circe, awake. She was very aware of her own bare state beneath her skirt.
“You don’t?” His hand tangled in her curls and seemed to cup the back of her head. “It’s so soft and . . .”
She thought for a second that he was going to kiss her.
That’s how they did it in every novel she’d ever read. He would tangle his hands in her hair, he’d stare at her mouth, and she’d chew her bottom lip and her breasts would be heaving and he’d . . .
Be interrupted by Tristan Belledare. “May I cut in?”
No, no, no! Middy could have growled in frustration.
She’d picked her irritating gentleman for the evening and it was Mordred Shadowins, not Tristan Belledare. How dare he ask anyway, after the way he’d treated Tally?
“It’s up to the lady.” Dred smiled.
Double damn! Why did he have to pick now to be a gentleman? A little voice piped up like a screaming teapot, telling her that he’d been a gentleman all along. He’d still been kind enough to teleport her back to her broom with a cranberry in his eye. That was downright chivalrous.
It just would have been extremely convenient if Dred could have felt the least bit territorial, if only for a moment.
She didn’t like saying no to something so simple as a dance.
It was rude, but she didn’t like Belledare.
That hissing voice started talking again and reminded her that she didn’t like Shadowins either, but she had made up her mind to have wild, passionate sex with him. So, a dance with someone else she didn’t like couldn’t hurt. Could it?
“Come on, Mids. Are you still mad at me for this thing with Tally?”
She was still very mad at him for the “thing with Tally.”
He’d not only broken her heart, he’d broken Tally’s trust in people in general. Middy turned her face into Dred’s shirt.
“Reporters from Magickal Mayhem are watching. Unless you want your face splashed all over tomorrow’s paper as the witch that was too good to dance with the local hero, I suggest you do it,” Dred whispered in her ear.
Middy found herself being pulled into Tristan’s arms. He was just as warm as Dred and smelled almost as good, but it wasn’t the same. There were no cracked-out butterflies slam dancing in her stomach when he touched her.
“Smile,” Tristan said before he turned them to face the photographer.
She was too startled to refuse and found what seemed to be a hundred lights flashing in her face. Middy was sure she was going to look like she’d been chewing on tinfoil, from the pained smile she’d plastered to her face.
Great. Now she was going to get hate mail from screaming fan girls who all thought that Tristan Belledare was some kind of saint. Then there was Tally, but she expected to be there to explain the situation to her friend when the paper arrived. It had taken Tally a long time to deal with what Tristan had done to her. Middy wasn’t sure if Tally had ever really gotten over him. Now, this was going to be shoved in her face. It would look like the worst kind of betrayal. Tally had been so in love with him and she’d thought Tristan loved her, too. He’d said he did. Then she’d caught him with another witch and when poor Tally had asked him if he’d ever really loved her, he’d said no. It had shattered her friend’s heart into a million little pieces.
“Thanks, Tristan. Now, even Tally is going to hate me tomorrow. What do you want?”
“To warn you,” he said, still smiling for the reporters.
“Keep smiling, Mids.”
“My face already hurts from smiling, you witchinizing bastard. Spill.” She’d hear him out because he’d been friends with her older brothers when she’d been a witchling, but that was all he was getting from her.
“Dred Shadowins is evil,” he whispered in her ear. “It doesn’t matter that he gave you the money for the Masque.
He has it to spare. Don’t let him fool you.”
“Fool me into what, Tristan?” She fought the urge to add: “The same way you fooled Tally?” But she didn’t want to give the reporters any more ammunition than they already had about Tally’s humiliation. It had already been splashed over the headlines enough when it had happened.
Middy still remembered the pain in Tally’s eyes that it had been front-page news. It made her sick.
“I just don’t want to see you get hurt.” The way he touched her changed, his fingers lingering on her cheek, his breath was still soft against her ear. It was more intimate. A caress and Middy didn’t like it. “What about Tally?” She hoped that would be a sharp slap of reality. If she didn’t know better, she’d say that Tristan was trying to make her think that he had feelings for her. Tristan was handsome, but even if she’d been interested, he was the bastard who’d betrayed her friend. That wasn’t a line Middy would ever cross.
“Don’t trust her either. Your life is in danger.”
She laughed and it was genuine. “Tristan, are you drunk?”
“Leave with me, leave right now,” he pleaded earnestly.
“No. You haven’t even told me how I’m in danger. I’m not some silly girl who is going to be enamored of your charms and just leave with you because you feed me a romantic line about how you’re going to save me. I’d think you’d be more original.”
He moved her even closer to him. “Mids, I won’t deny I’d love to get you naked. In fact, I’m pretty sure you’re not wearing panties and I can’t tell you how hot that is, but I’m serious.”
Her face flamed. “How would you know if I’m wearing drawers or not?”
“My hand is almost on your ass, love. But that’s beside the point. The point is that you are in danger and you’re being really contrary about letting me save you.”
“You have to keep that hero image fresh, don’t you? Do you have reporters waiting outside to catch shots of you spiriting me off into the night away from Dred Shadowins? For my own safety, of course.” She sneered.
&nb
sp; “Middy, he’s involved in smuggling cursed objects. The rumors about what happened in Shale Creek are true.”
They couldn’t be. Dred might be a bastard but . . . But what, exactly? But she didn’t want to believe that his hands were capable of such atrocity because she wanted them on her body?
She didn’t trust Tristan either. From what she’d seen, he’d never done anything that didn’t benefit him somehow.
She’d always thought there was more to Shale Creek than what he’d let on. So why was he telling her this? What exactly did he hope to get out of it?
“I don’t trust you.”
“Don’t trust me, fine. Don’t trust Shadowins either.”
“Who says that I do?”
His hand slipped lower on her hip. “Definitely no panties. Is that for Dred, then? Have you already slept with him?”
This line of questioning was really starting to piss her off.
“Tristan”—she smiled sweetly— “I can honestly say that I haven’t done any sleeping in Dred Shadowins’s bed.”
It was the truth. Of course, she’d twisted it to sound like a lie.
“Middy, since this may be my last chance to say it, I have to tell you. It’s always been you. Even when I was with Tally.” He leaned closer to her, and dipped his head to whisper against her lips, “I would be good to you, I’d take care of you . . . .” he trailed off.
By the Morrigan’s corset, he was going to kiss her! Not what she’d been hoping for. She tried to turn her head to the side, but there was no avoiding it. He had her locked in an iron grip and it was more of an invasion than a kiss.
He had her locked against him so she couldn’t struggle and she was vaguely aware of the furious snapping of camera shutters and the blinding waves of flashes as they all fought to be the first to snap a picture of Tristan Belledare and his witch of the week. Which was definitely not her.
Suddenly, he was unceremoniously plucked from her like a nasty little specimen of lice. Seemingly flicked away with the same disgust.
Dred to the rescue!
Middy would have to ponder that bit of incongruity later. The cameras were still flashing with a sick intensity and caught the entire exchange.
“What the hell, Shadowins?” Tristan said with a smirk.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to assume the role of the offended party, here.” His cold, perfect smile was brutal.
“Are you going to challenge me to a duel or something?” Tristan asked lightly.
“Not quite. I am within my rights to do so under magickal law though,” Dred offered with the same casual de-meanor, but he pulled Middy close to his body.
“It’s not like you’re engaged,” Tristan snorted.
“Actually,” Dred began and the corner of his mouth turned up in a wicked smile. “Midnight just agreed to become my magickally wedded witch.”
Middy wasn’t sure how she kept her mouth from dangling open like a broken door with one rusted-out hinge, but Tristan wasn’t so lucky. She imagined the pictures in tomorrow’s paper would be less than flattering.
She didn’t know what the hell Dred was playing at, but she decided for the moment to just go with the flow. She could have slapped him, hexed him, made a big show, but his announcement could benefit her and the charity later.
After all, he’d claimed her as his fiancée in public, in front of witnesses, the silly warlock. She’d have him over a barrel when he tried to get out of it and then she could guarantee his support of the Gargoyle Masque for years to come.
Plus, Tally would get a great kick out of Tristan’s startled face on the front page of Magickal Mayhem tomorrow.
The reporters rushed them in the middle of the dance floor and security had to push them back outside. They were all madly hooked on Dred Shadowins’s announcement and the look of total devastation on the hero’s face.
CHAPTER SIX
Down and Dirty
“The car’s magickally sealed, we can talk inside,” Dred whispered in her ear as he pushed her to a waiting limousine.
She wasn’t sure if she was thankful or disappointed that they weren’t going to teleport again. Middy had liked being pressed up against him and smelling his cologne and . . .
“Are you listening?”
No, not really. Just watching your mouth move, that strong jawline, those sensual lips, and thinking about using you like a gigolo.
“Huh? No, sorry. I was a little distracted.”
If she’d been thinking correctly, she would have sat next to him instead of across from him. Why? Because he was the only place that there was to look and she’d been jilling-off to him for so long that she was wet just looking at him.
She felt like a Pavlovian dog, setting her girly bits to slob-bering when the bell rang. Middy wondered if she was going to soak through her dress and leave a spot on the leather. Or worse, she was going to have to sit with her legs clamped together. If she relaxed her knees, he’d be able to see up to her muffin.
Damn Tally for making her go sans panties. She was going to choke that witch twice when she got home.
“I’m going to tell you something that you can’t tell anyone else. I need your witch’s word. On your magick.”
She didn’t think that Dred Shadowins knew anything that was worth her witch’s word. He made it sound like he was about to drop a state secret on her or something. There was a weighted intensity about him that hadn’t been there before, a seriousness.
“I swear on my magick that I won’t tell anyone else.” Middy felt the binding of her vow slide through her.
He seemed to relax a little bit. “Obviously, I need you to pose as my fiancée.”
“I gathered that much from your oh-so-sudden announcement. You’re lucky I didn’t hex your balls off for that.”
“You weren’t enjoying Tristan’s slug of a tongue in your mouth anyway. I thought you’d be happy for the save.”
“You shoved me in front of the paparazzi like a sacrificial lamb.”
“Sorry about that and I’m equally sorry to say that for the run of this charade, that’s not going to change.” He shrugged.
“A little warning would have been nice.”
“Hence our discussion here, in a magickally sealed con-veyance instead of teleporting. You were amazingly cool under pressure, by the way,” he said as he pulled his eye patch off.
“Thank you, but can we get to the whys and wherefores?
And it better be for a good reason, or I’m not doing it.”
He took a breath as if to fortify himself. “I’m a spy.” Dred watched her carefully and when she didn’t respond, he continued. “I need a fiancée to move about through certain social circles to find out who is smuggling dark objects. These warlocks are doing horrible things and if I don’t stop them, we could end up at war with the gargoyles again.”
“You’re planting stink pickles.”
“Pardon me?” Dred looked offended.
“Shit. This is shit and you’re full of it.” Middy rolled her eyes.
“I swear on my magick that I am a spy for High Chancellor Godrickle.”
Middy didn’t know if she should scoff some more or be very afraid because he was delusional. Dred was obviously insane; there was no other way to explain it. Perhaps from the guilt he felt over Shale Creek?
It was then that another vehicle slammed into the rear of the limo and the force sent Middy hurtling through the space between them and she found herself straddling the deliciously hot and unfortunately insane warlock across from her.
It really couldn’t have been more horrible and perfect all at once if she’d planned it. She was mortified because his hand just happened to catch her bare ass. She was surprised she had enough blood left in the upper regions of her body to color her cheeks.
But she didn’t think that he was wearing anything underneath those breeches either. He must have liked what he’d found because his cock was hard and if not for that thin material between them, it would have be
en inside of her.
That would have been just her luck, too, to go flying through the air and land impaled on the most notorious dick in the magickal world—to lose her virginity to a fender-bender.
“All right back there, Sir?” The chauffeur’s voice echoed through the speaker, though it did nothing to cut the tension.
“I think we’re just fine,” he said, his gray eyes now like mercury, liquid with lust.
“It will be a moment while I exchange information with the mortal, Sir.”
“We’ve got everything in hand.” Dred splayed his hands wider on the flesh that had been unceremoniously shoved into them to punctuate his meaning.
Middy didn’t know what to do.
It felt so naughty to feel her bare skin against his clothes and to know that he was just as hot for her. He shifted and the friction sent a jolt of pleasure through her. She wanted to rock her hips against him and demand he continue.
On the other hand, she wanted to run screaming from the limo because he thought that he was a spy. His elevator clearly stopped a few floors from the top. Right now, all she could think about was what was stopped at the juncture of his thighs.
Of all the things that she would have expected him to do, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her tighter against him was last on the list. He didn’t taunt her or use her desire like a weapon; he seemed just as driven as she was.
Dred didn’t look away from her, didn’t close his eyes. He knew exactly what he was doing and watched her face with expectation as he moved against her. She wanted to look away, to bury her face in his shoulder, or even close her eyes, but his gaze held her.
Middy dared to push back and damn if she didn’t just want to yell, “Take me now.” How did a witch ask a warlock to plow her like a cornfield? Especially if that warlock was crazier than a shithouse rat? She wondered, as she rolled her hips, if this was the conundrum that warlocks faced.
There were some crazy witches out there who plucked bristles from brooms and hexed bodily functions. . . .
Anything that felt this good had to be worth it though.
She didn’t think she wanted to be on top when it happened.
How to Marry a Warlock in 10 Days Page 5
