Kiss at Your Own Risk

by Stephanie Rowe

  “Cherise—”

  “For heaven’s sake, Trinity,” Reina snapped. “Stop trying to save yourself by helping everyone else in the world. Leave Cherise to her own bad choices. You need to get out of here!”

  Blaine pulled out of their grasp. “I can walk,” he snorted, and promptly careened sidewise into the wall. “Shit.”

  “Stop being a hero,” Trinity said. “Let’s go.”

  “I like being a hero,” he muttered.

  “Of course he does,” Reina said. “He’s a man. They all get off on that.” She eyed Trinity as they half-carried him out to the curb. “So, you going to tell me where you picked him up, and why in Death’s name you’d do something so risky right now?”

  “It’s not risky. He’s a jerk. No way I can like him.” Together, the three women got Blaine out to his bike, and he managed to swing his leg over the seat.

  “Screw that,” Blaine muttered. “I’m awesome.” He tried to grab the handlebars and missed completely.

  Trinity set his hands on the grips. He grasped them and let his head fall forward, as if he were about to take a little nap. “I need him,” she said. “He’s going to kill the Chameleon for me.”

  Reina’s eyebrows shot up. “In exchange for what?”

  “Help with a little project.”

  Reina grabbed her arm. “What kind of help? This guy doesn’t care about you. He—”

  “I’ve got it covered,” Trinity interrupted. “Trust my judgment.”

  Reina let out her breath. “Look at him, Trin. He can’t even sit up, let alone keep you safe—”

  Smoke began to pour from Blaine’s chest, and he lifted his head. Pockets of small flames danced in his eyes. Sparks danced on his shoulders, and Trinity sensed a burning strength within him. “I’m good,” he said, his voice much stronger. “Let’s go.”

  “Oh, hello,” Cherise’s voice drifted out through the open door. “My name is Cherise. Would you like some coffee to help you perk up?”

  Trinity exchanged nervous glances with Reina. Augustus was waking up!

  “Go!” Reina backed up. “I’ll hear the details later.” She poked Blaine. “And you. Keep the bike upright, okay? That’s my best friend you’ve got on there with you.”

  He levered a hard look at Reina. “I’ll keep her safe.”

  Reina’s eyes widened and then she grinned. “Yeah, I bet you will, won’t you?”

  Trinity leapt on behind Blaine and wrapped an arm around his waist. His skin was hot, burning through his clothes, as if he had a fever. She hesitated. “Are you going to set me on fire again?”

  “No.” The bike roared to life, and he didn’t hesitate.

  He just peeled out on the motorcycle, and Trinity had to hug him to keep from sliding backwards. The machine vibrated between her legs, and her hair began to whip, and then he was peeling down the street. The bike wobbled for a split second, and she caught her breath, then it lurched forward, and they were off.

  To where?

  And was it going to be far enough to get away from Augustus?

  That was such bad news. They didn’t have until Sunday anymore. They had hours. Minutes. Seconds. Until Augustus found her again.

  The monster had to die. And fast. But as a shudder went through Blaine and the bike wobbled again, she knew they were in big-time trouble.

  ***

  Angelica was utterly dismayed to see that Napoleon looked exactly the same as he had the last time she’d seen him. How did three centuries of amoral womanizing, black magicking, and self-indulgence not give a man a saggy butt or a potbelly?

  But no, he was still tall (taller, even? He looked near six and a half feet now), well-muscled, and he had all his hair. He was wearing a black suit even more expensive than her grandson’s, his eyes were still that compelling blue, and he still had that perfect amount of five o’clock shadow decorating his jaw.

  At the sight of the man she’d loved so deeply, for so long, something bubbled deep inside her, something she hadn’t felt since that day he’d walked into her gym class, looked right at her, and said he’d come for her, in that deep, resonating voice. It was that indefinable spark that made her feel like a woman, like a cherished female, like a sexual being with more fire inside her than any living being should be able to generate.

  He flashed those perfect white teeth at her. “My dear. It’s so lovely to see you.”

  Angelica swallowed, her throat suddenly tight. She couldn’t think of what to say. How to speak.

  Prentiss folded his arms over his chest. “Hey, Gramps.”

  But Napoleon didn’t take his eyes off Angelica, gazing at her as if he couldn’t go another moment without drinking her into his soul. She felt her skin begin to heat up. Anyone have a fan?

  “You look beautiful,” he said quietly. “I’ve missed you.”

  A small squeak made its way out of her throat. He’d missed her? Was he sorry? Did he still love her? “Napoleon—”

  “Cut the shit, old man.” Prentiss moved in front of her, feet spread, shoulders back. His fighting stance. “Don’t mess with my grandma.”

  Angelica blinked as her grandson cut off her view of Napoleon. By all that was sexy and bad news, what was she doing? She wasn’t taking him back! She didn’t care if he’d missed her! Under no circumstances was she giving him the power to turn her back into the sniveling wuss she’d worked so hard to leave behind. No. Chance.

  “I’ve got it, Prentiss.” She touched her grandson’s arm and moved up beside him. A united front.

  She levered a hard stare at her ex-true love, and really looked at him. At the laugh lines around his eyes. At those full lips that had kissed so many other women. At the underperforming hands that had failed to give her the ultimate pleasure those thousands of times she’d entrusted her body to him. At the violet-blue eyes that had looked right at her and rejected her. At the handsome face that had haunted her for so long. “This is my home now,” she said. “You aren’t invited.”

  Prentiss grunted with approval, and respect flashed in Napoleon’s eyes.

  And then the womanizing man-whore opened his big mouth. “I hate to divest you of your self-empowered notions, but this home is actually mine. The magic that holds its walls up responds to me, and nothing can keep me out.”

  Crap. Was that true? She’d never had the grounds inspected. Next time a man walked out on her and left her with a castle, she was so going to bring in an expert surveyor.

  “Why are you here, Gramps?” Prentiss interrupted.

  Napoleon finally looked at him “My boy, you are quite impressive. Details of your successes have reached me across the worlds. I never thought you would wind up controlling the fate of every soul in existence.”

  Prentiss drew his shoulders back, and she saw the pride flash in his eyes. “You’ve heard?”

  “Of course I have. I keep track of you.” Napoleon walked across the mats and held out his arms. “I never stopped thinking of you. I’m proud of you.”

  Prentiss stiffened. “No thanks—”

  Napoleon grabbed his grandson in a huge hug. For a moment, Prentiss resisted, and then Angelica saw a little boy expression of complete vulnerability cross his face, and then he was hugging the man who’d played the role of his father before he’d walked out on them both.

  Tears filled her eyes as she watched Prentiss embrace the icon of self-gratification who’d abandoned him. How dare Napoleon come back in here and mess with them both? But at the same time… she knew how badly Prentiss had missed his father, his grandfather, and his mother.

  Prentiss suddenly pulled back out of the embrace. “Enough.” His voice was hard. “What do you want from us?”

  “Can’t an old man come home to see his loved ones?” Napoleon spread his hands, an acorn-sized ruby ring blinking on his left pinkie finger. No wedding ring. Gee, what a surprise. So glad she’d used hers to make penis rings for some of her men years ago. Sort of a fitting use for it.

  Angelica snorted at h
is innocent expression. “Oh, come on, Nappy.” She got a silent chuckle when she saw Napoleon wince. He’d always detested that nickname, so she’d never used it, not wanting to upset him. Now? She just might feel inspired to sprinkle it liberally into their conversation. It had such a lovely ring to it.

  “You don’t expect us to believe you came home for a family reunion.” She cocked her head and looked pointedly in the direction of his more intelligent head (the one in the nether regions, of course). “Unless your women have finally gotten tired of not having orgasms and you can’t get laid anymore? Hoping to come back home and play the same game?”

  Napoleon’s face went carefully blank.

  “Gram!” Prentiss looked horrified. “I don’t want to hear about orgasms from you. That’s the kind of stuff that can damage a man for life.”

  Angelica almost laughed at his expression. “For heaven’s sake, you’re Death now. Get over a little sex talk from your grandma.”

  “But—”

  “I have orgasms.” She was aware of Napoleon staring at her, so she added on. “A lot of them, actually. I’m so aware of my body that I can get a man to bring me to multiple orgasm ten times in an hour. And when I’m by myself, I can climax in under three seconds pretty much every time.”

  Prentiss looked like he was going to pass out.

  Napoleon’s eyes had gone as dark as the deepest ocean, and his right hand was clutched in a fist by his hip. His pants had gone a little tight, and he was breathing with a little more weight than he had been.

  She met his gaze. “Clearly, I wasn’t the problem when we were together. It was the man.”

  “Okay, I can’t hear this. I’m out of here.” Prentiss gave her a desperate look as he inched toward the door behind Napoleon. “You okay if I jet?”

  She didn’t take her eyes off the underperforming sex peon she’d once loved, afraid to break the sense of self she’d never felt before. She felt deliciously strong. Sensual. A woman of substance. “Yes, I’m fine.” And she was. Yay, Angelica!

  “Hey,” Napoleon interrupted, his voice cold. “Any sexual success you have now is because of what I taught you. It wasn’t my fault you were too frigid to abandon yourself to the pleasures I could give you.”

  Prentiss whirled toward his grandfather. “Don’t you dare speak to her that way.”

  At Napoleon’s words, Angelica felt that tug at her gut, the one that made her feel smaller, weaker, insecure. She lifted her chin against the sudden shrinking of her heart, against the little voice in her head wondering if he was right, if there really was something wrong with her as a woman. She scowled and set her hands on her hips, ignoring the sudden pounding of her heart. “You don’t get to belittle me anymore,” she said. “I—”

  “I can treat you however I want, my love. You’re mine, and you always have been.” His gaze shifted to include Prentiss. “You’re both mine. Family bonds never die.”

  Prentiss stalked across the room and slammed his fist into Napoleon’s jaw. Nappy went flying back into the wall and landed on the blue mat with a startled look.

  Wow. She was so wanting to do a girly cheerleading chant for her grandson right now.

  Prentiss leaned over his grandfather. “You stopped being my family the day you murdered my parents.” He spat the accusation then strode through the wall without another word.

  Booyah for young men!

  Chapter 12

  Prentiss stalked out, leaving Angelica alone with the man who’d once had the power to make her smile simply by acknowledging her presence. Now? She was in charge of her own smiles, thank you so much. She propped herself against the weapons table as she watched Napoleon struggle to his feet, rubbing his jaw.

  Did her grandson have potential or what? Sometimes there was just no substitute for a caveman-like blow to the jaw. There was something so elemental, so manly, so raw about it. A punch like that over some bastard insulting his woman would give Prentiss a great deal of wiggle room for his other faults, and holy cow, it was some kind of high to be the recipient of that kind of protection. Every girl should have a moment like that—

  Wait a minute. She hadn’t done a lot of hand-to-hand combat training with her boys lately. Seemed like it would benefit both the girls and the men. She immediately whipped out her Blackberry and began to type a reminder to herself.

  “He’s become quite the pugilist. Impressive.”

  She didn’t even bother to look up. Maybe she’d start as soon as this afternoon. Reschedule the exploding asp torture session and bring them all to the Girl Power room for—

  “Hey.” Napoleon yanked her phone out of her hand. “I’m talking to you.”

  She frowned at him. Hello? Did the blind man not see that she was working? “I’m brainstorming.” She snatched the phone back and tried to remember what she’d been working on. Ah, yes, she was going to need to do some role-playing where the guys insulted her girls and then another one punched him out. Oh, how delightful! Then she frowned. Were her girls tough enough for even pretend insults? They were such vulnerable sweet things—

  The phone suddenly melted, dripping through her fingers like microwaved peanut butter. “Napoleon!” She cupped her hands, trying to catch the precious bits of data and phone before it slid through her fingers onto the floor. “Fix this, you copulating underperformer!”

  “Don’t dismiss me, my dear.” His voice was cool, and she looked up sharply.

  He strolled over to the tea set and picked up the pot of hot water. “Your aura is awfully white for someone who’s been engaging in black magic for three hundred years.”

  She tensed, not liking his smug tone. Did he know something that he could use against her? “Yeah, well, I’m part angel.” She hurried over to the stack of towels and dumped the melted goo pile onto the top. She so should have synched it last night. A whole day’s worth of experiments were in that electronic device.

  He set a tea bag in the Girls Kick Ass mug and then poured hot water into it. “You learned your black magic manipulation from me.” He sounded thoughtful, like he was processing something.

  “Actually, what you taught me was to distrust any man who dabbles in magic or women.” The goop began to ooze off the side of the towel. She quickly picked up the edges like a kerchief and tied the corners together. Okay, so it shouldn’t be that hard to fix a melted Blackberry, right? She would have notes… in her phone. Damn.

  He dropped a sugar cube into his tea, and droplets splashed onto the lace cloth that one of her boys had hand woven two days before he’d frozen to death in the Tunnel of Frigidity. She cherished that doily, and she bet Nappy had soiled it on purpose. A complete bastion of rude and nitpicky insults.

  He tossed in another cube. More splashes. “You created a smut monster to take all the backlash from your experiments, didn’t you? You’re so clean, it must carry every bit of filth you’ve ever generated.”

  “Of course not. I use only white magic. I’m a good girl.” She grabbed a towel and hurried over to the table to wipe off the lace. Yeah, big-time lie. Just ask Charles Morgan, the manipulative real estate mogul who’d taken advantage of her vulnerability after Napoleon had walked out. After she’d realized exactly what a devious snake Charlie was, she’d gifted him with her dirty laundry for the rest of eternity. Smutty, as she affectionately called him, was well hidden from all society. Well-hidden as in unkillable and eternally shifting form, of course.

  Napoleon leaned so close his lips brushed her ear. “Where’s your smut monster, my love?”

  She jumped at his question, accidentally banging the towel into the teapot. She lunged for the silver receptacle, barely catching it before it tipped over. Was her sudden klutziness because of his question, or the endearment? She righted the pot and set it carefully back in place before turning to face him. “I am not your love.”

  He didn’t crack a smile. “You are, and you always will be. I’m here to take you back.”

  She quickly turned away, pretending to mop up the r
est of the spilled hot water. Yeah, that would so not be a good thing if that was really why he was playing the prodigal son thing. As tough as she was, she wasn’t entirely convinced that she could resist a full-scale assault on her independence. “You don’t get to have me.”

  “Ah, but I do.”

  At the smug finality in his voice, she peeked over at him. He was wearing an extremely satisfied expression that made her grip tighten on the towel. The well-endowed warthog thought he had something all figured out, that was clear.

  He met her gaze. “And you want to know why I get to have you?”

  “No. Not particularly.” Abandoning the tea set, she grabbed the towel with her phone goo and hurried for the door. By all that was broad-shouldered and arrogant, how was she going to get rid of him? Absolutely nothing good could come of further interaction with him. “I’m really past the days of caring about your interest in me.” Wow. How haughty had that sounded? Damn, she was good.

  He twirled the tea bag around in his cup as if he had all the time in the world. “I’ve been brought into town as an expert consultant.”

  “Congratulations.” She reached the door and toed it open. “You know the way out—”

  “There’s a shape-shifting monster running around town killing otherworld beings.”

  Angelica paused at the door, not quite able to walk out. “And this matters to me why?” So not party time if that particular creature happened to be her own dear Smutty. She hadn’t checked on him in years. Just passed him fallout through their connections and let him be. Most people kept their smut monsters chained up, but she felt that the fact he was contaminated was enough punishment. Seriously, it wasn’t like she was heartless or anything. She’d given him an extra zing to make sure he was unkillable and then she’d let him go have fun.

  Napoleon took a long sip of his tea, his gaze never leaving her face. “The troublemaker I’ve been brought in to deal with killed someone important, and now he needs to die.”