by Emma Holly
"Sorry," she said, her expression wry. "Didn't mean to cause a scene."
He couldn't help it, he smiled at her, then felt his heart turn over when she smiled back. Those gray eyes of hers were sweeter than spring rain. "I don't think you need to apologize."
Their gazes held a beat too long, heavy with history. Predictably, Alex's groin began to tighten, and the history became a mutual flare of heat. That was all it took to shove him tight against his slacks: the idea that, just maybe, his chance with her wasn't completely lost.
Zoe turned away before he could. "Come on," she said, waving him along from over her shoulder. "Let's get pizza."
There was no question Magnus had an arrogant streak, but when he'd imagined losing Zoe, it hadn't been to another man. He'd never heard her speak of this Alex, not even once. Unfortunately, her reticence might mean Alex was more important, rather than less.
His face felt stiff from his uncustomary frown as he held the lobby door for the others. Zoe was laughing with the second man, Bryan, doing her sweet Zoe best to put him at ease, as if she hadn't just shot metaphysical laser beams into his lover's eyes. Bight about then, Magnus wouldn't have minded watching both men dematerialize.
He'd wanted to finish this night alone with Zoe, to get a chance to mend his earlier missteps, to pleasure her in a hundred delicious ways, preferably until he heard her scream with orgasm. Now he was stuck in this ridiculous love quadrangle, at least for the space of a meal and maybe more. For all he knew, she'd be offering to host the haunted visitors in her home!
This doleful possibility transformed his frown into a glower. They were walking around the inn to its parking lot, dropping Alex and Bryan off at their car before returning to his. Magnus was trailing behind the trio with heavy steps when the Will-Be, his fickle friend, decided to give him more of what he was dwelling on. Despite his super fairy coordination, a tiny crack in the asphalt caught the toe of his wonderful yellow sneaker and sent him sprawling flat on his face.
The Will-Be wasn't trying to hurt him, just to remind him that his current thoughts were not creating in the direction of his true desires. Despite knowing this very well, he still cursed up a blue streak when he felt the scrape on his cheekbone.
"Magnus!" Zoe cried, rushing back to him.
Far too annoyed with himself to be pleased by that, he cursed a few colors more.
Zoe crouched to help him sit up. "What's the matter with you tonight? The way you're acting, I feel like I ought to be checking you for spirit attachments."
He held her hand harder than he had to. "Aren't I allowed to be in a bad mood?"
"Well, yes, but—Magnus, nothing gets you down." She stroked his hair off his forehead, wincing when she saw the scrape. "Your cheek is bruised. You should go home and put some ice on it before it swells."
Oh, he should go home and let her have her fun eating pizza with her high school flame. Magnus loved pizza. It was, he thought, a creation of profound human genius. Being bothered that he wasn't going to eat it with her tonight was not terribly adult, but in truth he felt like he was five years old, his feelings hurt by an older playmate, and mulishly determined not to cry. It seemed to take all his strength to unlock his jaw.
"Zoe," he said, his hand cupping her warm, soft cheek. "Do you know how much you mean to me?"
She let out a laughing sigh. "Magnus, I'm not sure any woman could figure that out."
It was a comeback he didn't have an answer for, at least not with an audience. When he did nothing but make a speechless fish mouth, Zoe pulled away from his touch.
"Go home," she said. "I'm sure, we'll both feel better in the morning."
Huh, Magnus thought. Good thing one of them was sure.
Zoe's fairies fled the instant Alex came in the door.
She thought she heard one cry Traitor! as it disappeared, but the imprecation was too squeaky to be certain.
Corky, at least, had no objection to her guests. The kitten woke up long enough to lap some milk and practice his nascent pouncing skills on a bottle cap. Zoe's kitchen wasn't big, but it had a homey ambience, with vintage appliances and old-fashioned wood cabinets painted white. Alex looked right at home crouched on the terra cotta floor, where he spun the bottle cap for Corky, his laughter low and masculine when Corky overshot it or fell over on half his tries.
Finally exhausted, Corky plopped down on his tummy and fell asleep.
Alex rose with his lips quirked sexily. "I hate to break this to you, Zoe, but I think your cat is a klutz."
Zoe scooped up the kitten protectively, delighted to find him purring beneath her chin. "He's not a klutz, he's just little."
He was also a good excuse to pull herself together away from Alex's too-familiar grins. Back when they'd dated, those lazy, wolfish smiles had been her undoing. Trying to shake off the old effect, she settled the kitten back in his cardboard box, while Alex and Bryan spread their not-so-gourmet meal across the booth-style table in her breakfast nook.
When she returned, three meat-laden pizzas fought for space with a dozen Mexican beers. The men had taken one bench and left the other for her. Even without the food, they filled up her kitchen in a way women never could. Both Alex and Bryan were six-footers, broad-shouldered and muscular. Polite enough to wait until she was back, they fell on the food like they were starving, though Alex managed to relate the story of why they were in Fairyville between slices.
By that point, the men had decimated a pizza each and were beginning to pick at hers. The amount of food males could consume always amazed her, which was probably a sign she didn't spend enough time with them.
If she had, she might not have been so backward about relationships.
Grimacing to herself, she tipped another swallow of Dos Equis into her mouth. She sat crosswise on her bench, her back to the wall and her bare feet up on the cushion. She was trying to make sense of what she'd been told, and of this new responsible business person Alex seemed to have grown into.
His partner, Bryan, had only spoken up a few times, but he struck her—ironically enough—as a likeable guy's guy, more at home at a baseball game than an art museum. He certainly had enough testosterone to make her girly hormones come to attention, in spite of them having little chance of being gratified by him. His five o'clock shadow was a heavy, blue-black demarcation on his handsomely thuggish face. He had great eyes, dark and snapping, with lashes so straight and long she couldn't help imagining all the places they might flutter over Alex's anatomy.
Or her own, for that matter.
She cleared her throat of its inappropriate tightening and set down her beer. If she was starting to fantasize about both of them, she'd had enough alcohol. "You say this little boy made paper fly?"
"He made it dance a conga line around our office," Alex confirmed.
Zoe pinched her lower lip. "I've heard that children these days are being born more psychic, but that kind of telekinesis really takes control."
"Can you float things?" Bryan asked curiously.
Zoe let out a quiet snort. "Not me. My gift is more about seeing things most people can't. Of course, lots of young kids see ghosts or angels. That isn't rare at all. We simply forget how to do it as we get older."
"I never saw spirits," Bryan said.
"You might have when you were a baby. Remember, if I see an infant chortling and flapping its hands for no apparent reason, I know who it's waving at."
Bryan shook his head in wonderment. "It doesn't scare you to see that stuff? I mean, tonight, somebody tells you a poltergeist is raining rocks, and you just come, no questions asked."
"I didn't notice you screaming in terror."
"Couldn't." His lips fought a grin. "Alex was watching."
"Whatever the reason, staying calm was a good decision. If you're not afraid, there's very little that can hurt you in the spirit world. In fact, I'm not sure there's anything that can. You'll see far worse in a horror movie than any ghost will show you, and people survive watching horror movie
s every day."
"Were you ever afraid? Say when you were little?"
Zoe smiled. "The first time I saw a ghost I was four. It was my Nana Sonia, the day after her funeral, and she wasn't going to scare me. She was a nice, nice lady. Always room in her lap for a grandkid. She wanted me to tell my mother she was all right. When I did, my mother insisted I was lying. I pitched such a fit, she had to send me to my room. Nana Sonia was the one who comforted me. She told me she was proud of me for sticking to my guns."
Zoe had to laugh. "If Mom had known the long-term effect that one bit of praise would have, she'd have put Nana in the ground herself. To answer your question, though, you could say I learned early who to be afraid of—and who not to."
Bryan thought about this. "I guess it would be cool to see the world the way you do, to know there's more to life than the day-to-day ordinary stuff."
"Sometimes it's cool. Sometimes, like when I've got six ghosts lined up and yammering in my ear at the grocery store, it's a serious pain in the butt."
"It's not easy being green?" he suggested, quoting Kermit the Frog and flashing her a teasing smile.
"Yeah, but it's better being green than hiding who you are."
She could see in Bryan's eyes that he liked her for what she'd said and that he knew she wasn't just referring to her own differences. The rapport between them was surprising but nice. She enjoyed knowing Alex's lover was a man she could have been friends with. In her experience, it was almost always more pleasant to like a person than to hate them—or to be jealous. Considering she still seemed to feel some lingering sort of something for her old boyfriend, jealousy was a danger. So it was better that she liked Bryan. Better all around.
It was Alex who reminded them they weren't here to socialize. "Speaking of gifted children," he said, leaning forward across the table.
His forearms had a thicker fuzz of golden hair than she remembered, his muscles flexing as they took his weight. His fingers played up and down the bottle he was holding, graceful and sensitive. When Zoe had been fifteen, she hadn't appreciated how truly beautiful his hands were. Now, as they caressed the glass, she was mesmerized. The shape of the beer was phallic, a firm, thick, upright cock. The motions of his fingers, however, were more suited to stroking tender, feminine things. Watching his well-tended nails draw those tiny patterns made it hard to breathe, like the air was heated sugar instead of oxygen. Alex seemed unconscious of what he was doing, but what if he weren't? What if he was jealous of that moment she'd shared with Bryan? What if, consciously or not, he meant to turn her erotic fascination back to him?
From the corner of her vision, she saw Bryan looking at Alex, so maybe he thought Alex's behavior was deliberate, too. Her nose flared at a scent she hadn't noticed before, not pizza, not beer, but something hot and musky and masculine. It wasn't the scent she remembered from her and Alex's long-ago make-out sessions—or not only that.
It was, she couldn't help thinking, the mingled arousal of both men.
In the time it took her to think this, her nipples went tight as nails. Lord, she should have taken two minutes to throw on a bra when she put Corky down. The urge to check if the men were looking was hard to resist, but she didn't dare. The best she could do was ignore how wet her panties had become.
"Speaking of gifted children?" she repeated, trying not to sound breathless but aware that the pause had dragged out.
She did lift her gaze then, and, boy, she shouldn't have. Alex's laser-blue eyes were narrowed—maybe knowing or maybe suspicious—but definitely zeroed in on her. Already primed to react, her pussy creamed with a vengeance. If her body kept this up, her silky short shorts were going to have a wet spot.
"Speaking of that," he agreed, his eyes still on hers. "The intern we questioned remembers you being at the hospital the night Oscar was born. She said you were helping an elderly man cross over. I know five years is a long time, but anything you recall might help."
"If you give me the exact date, I'll check my calendar."
Alex gave it to her. Having no bonafide home office, she dug in her "business" drawer until she found the old Day-Minder. As she moved, her fears were confirmed. Her shorts were sticking to her panties at the crotch. Deciding some distance was called for, and careful not to show the men her back view, she leaned against the Spanish-tiled counter to flip through the pages.
"Okay," she said, thankful to have found the date. "April second was the night Mr. Marshall died. I remember sensing a lot of spirit activity around the hospital, but that's not unusual. I've never seen anyone transition without a good escort."
"Can you, um, summon this Marshall guy?" Bryan asked. "Maybe see what he remembers?"
Zoe laughed, liking him more and more. "It's very open-minded of you to ask, but I'm afraid it doesn't work that way for me. The spirit world comes to me because they want to talk to their loved ones, not because I ring them up. You know, though, now that I think back, something odd did happen that night. When I got home, there was a light show going on out by Fairy Falls: orbs of light in different colors dancing around. I could see them glowing all the way from my deck."
"Any idea what that means?" Alex asked.
"Not a clue. Fairy Falls is supposed to be a power vortex, but I've never noticed anything except how pretty and peaceful it is. I chalked up the light show to plain old Fairyville weirdness. I can ask my fairies, though, after you're gone."
Bryan's eyes went round. Apparently, Alex hadn't shared the "extra" aspect to her gift. To his credit, Alex's partner didn't say a word. He didn't even roll his eyes.
"Maybe we should go now," Alex said, rising awkwardly from the cluttered table. "Before Mrs. Fairfax locks us out."
"You… could stay here," Zoe offered hesitantly.
"No," both men said in unison.
"That's nice of you," Alex added, "but we don't want to put you out."
The fact that Alex had refused so quickly increased her sureness that they should stay. As long as both men were here, being a couple, she and Alex couldn't get into trouble on their own. Otherwise, trouble was exactly where she was headed. She couldn't have sat across from him for the last hour, struggling not to squirm each time he looked at her, and not know that.
"At least for tonight," she said more firmly. "You've both been drinking, enough that you shouldn't drive back to town. My guest room's clean, and it's got a bath. Plus, I can guarantee you a ghost-free night."
"No ghosts in the medium's house?" Bryan asked with a crooked smile.
"Nope. The angels and I clear 'em out. I like to unplug the switchboard when I come home."
"In that case, we'd be grateful to stay," Alex said. "For tonight."
His eyes were as blue as the jets beneath her gas burners. She couldn't count the times she'd watched them blazing down at her like that, sure in the knowledge that she'd say yes to whatever alternative to going all the way he'd decided he was going to let them try that night. She'd watched them burn even hotter over acts he'd longed to try but hadn't had the nerve to, for fear his control would snap. They'd flown close to the flame in those days, but never as close as either of them wanted.
Seeing that look again, feeling it turn her insides to molten lava, she had to wonder how she'd managed to stay a virgin for more than ten minutes after they'd met.
"I'll… just get fresh sheets," she said, too aroused to hide the huskiness in her voice.
"Thanks," Alex responded, his always gravelly baritone sunk to a level that sent chills rippling down her spine.
He wasn't unaffected by their lingering looks. He was thinking about unfinished business, too.
She was glad for the excuse to leave, blushing furiously as she was. To her surprise, both men turned to watch her when she passed the breakfast nook, their eyes like big, warm hands slipping down her skin. She'd been assuming Bryan was gay instead of bi, but perhaps she'd misjudged.
Oh, boy, she thought. Maybe having them stay here together wasn't the safest choice after all.<
br />
* * *
Chapter Eight
Zoe's guest room wasn't the personality-free box Bryan expected. On either side of the window, two mismatched iron bedsteads sat. They were draped with colorful antique quilts, each stacked with sufficient pillows for three people. A round braided rug lay on the hardwood floor, faded enough to have been washed many times. On the warm patina of the adobe walls an assortment of Native American baskets hung, their simple artistry offset by a rusted "Nu-Grape" sign. In the corner a skirted table held a sewing machine, evidence of what Zoe did in here. That one indication of functionality pointed up the truth even more.
This was a guest room for visitors she liked.
Oddly touched, Bryan propped his shoulder on the edge of the deep window, watching Zoe and Alex dress the beds in new sheets. Amusingly, both were blushing, both pointedly not asking whether they only needed to dress one. Seeing them practically vibrate with lust should have hurt him, should have reminded him of all those times in college when he'd watched Alex get hot and bothered over some girl. Instead, he felt a bit roasty himself.
He was staying tonight, and Zoe would leave. She wasn't going to creep in here at 2 a.m. and steal Alex away, because she wasn't that kind of woman. She knew he and Alex were together—though probably not how temporarily—and she was going to do her damnedest to respect that.
Suspecting this was going to drive her as crazy as it was driving Alex sent his blood thumping to his groin. Zoe was a hottie, as tempting in her way as Alex was. Those legs of hers were spectacular, those boyish hips and that high, tight ass. And—Lord—when she bent over to tuck in the sheets, he saw what Alex couldn't from the other side of the bed. Her silky green shorts were damp, right where the cloth stretched over her pussy.
