Hold Me If You Can

by Stephanie Rowe

  His face softened with understanding. “Then you need to tap into your power source, sweetheart, and I’m going to help you. I need it, you need it, and the people counting on us need it.” He moved his hand around to her lower back, his palm searing hot through her shirt. “Do you trust me?”

  “Of course.” She didn’t even hesitate. It didn’t matter that he’d snapped. It made no difference how lethal his expression was. This was Nigel. She would always trust him.

  He smiled. “Then let me kiss you.”

  Her heart began to race. “Um—”

  “You need to tap into your power source, and that’s your sensuality.” He thumbed her lower lip. “Let me kiss you,” he said again. “I’ll keep you safe.”

  Her blood was rushing so hard she could barely hear herself think. Her hands were trembling, and her belly was dancing with anticipation.

  “Nat?”

  She nodded once.

  Nigel smiled. “That’s my girl.”

  Then he kissed her.

  Chapter 12

  Natalie’s entire soul came to life at the first touch of Nigel’s lips.

  With the tension and battle-ready adrenaline racing through him, she would have expected a hard, controlling kiss. A kiss of possession and duty. A kiss of urgent demand.

  That, she’d been prepared for. That was what she’d gotten from the Godfather. That was the kind of kiss her body and soul had betrayed her for.

  But this… this… this was something she wasn’t ready for.

  It was a kiss of tempting tenderness. A brush of his lips against the corner of her mouth. Then the other. The loosening of his grip in her hair until it was a soft caress, a coaxing massage.

  This was the Nigel she knew. The artist who would sit for hours with his paints and contemplate. A man who had retained his sensitive side despite years of torture. She sighed with delight, and she raised her face to his, accepting and encouraging his kiss.

  The kiss was of bright sunlight, of fresh air, of the silken touch of rose petals. It awakened in her a sense of freedom, of lightness, of carefree delight. It was the kind of kiss that a young girl’s dreams were made of. The kind that would turn a raggedy washer girl into a princess.

  Nigel’s arms wrapped around her, burying her in the protective strength of his embrace. She snuggled against him while he continued to kiss her. She felt delicate and cherished, adored and honored, liberated and elevated. It was a kiss she didn’t need to fear. A caress that made her spirit laugh with delight, not stress, under the burden of uncontainable desire.

  Nigel’s shoulders bunched, his muscles strong and protective, while he continued to kiss her. He caressed her lower back, then ran his hands over her bottom, his touch featherlight, as if he could barely believe she was real.

  His lips slid over her throat, and she leaned back, delighting in the surge of relief, of rightness, of peace at the feeling of his warmth surrounding her.

  “You taste magical.” His whisper was low and guttural, and it tapped into something inside that was more than peace, more than safety… into something more decadent and sensual. A heavier, weightier urgency. A yearning for him to kiss deeper, to touch more assertively. To take ownership of the kiss. Of her. It was aching hunger fueled by erotic desire and irreverent recklessness. She buried her fingers in his hair and pulled him closer.

  “Yeah, that’s right.” He backed her against the wall. The plaster was cold against her back as he deepened his kiss, as it turned to a powerful seduction like the one she’d been expecting.

  Excitement roared to life inside her, and she grabbed for his shoulders. She basked in the torn fabric of his shirt. She cherished the ridges in his skin from the scars of battles gone by. He was danger. He was strength. He was unbridled rage. But he was also tender, compelling seduction. And it made her crave more, more, more—

  His hand moved between her legs, caressing the seam of her jeans, touching, teasing—

  Desire pulsed in response, the sensual power within her she’d tried so hard to destroy after the Godfather. But now, under Nigel’s kiss, it was coming alive, fighting back, striving for freedom, thriving with more force than she could contain.

  Natalie began tremble, and then she was kissing Nigel back harder, more fiercely, with passion that drove her so relentlessly she didn’t want to question it. She didn’t want to stop, but she didn’t mind. Somehow, in Nigel’s arms, she still felt safe enough to allow her passion to roar to life. She wanted it to go on forever. She needed to take it further, further, further, as far as it could go. She yearned for that high, that sense of indomitable power, that soul-deep conviction that nothing could ever bring her down.

  “Tell me.” Nigel’s mouth was by her ear, his hand on his breast, flicking her nipple. “Tell me I don’t want to draw.” He bit her nipple, and she gasped at the fire that sparked through her. “Tell me I don’t need art.” His eyes were dark, and the rose on his cheek was pulsing with energy. “Tell me I’m in total control.”

  And then he kissed her with a fire, a passion, and a desperation that undid her. Passion leapt through her, her belly lurched, and she gasped for air.

  “Tell me,” he ordered. “Tell me now!”

  Natalie closed her eyes, and she concentrated on the seduction of his hands across her hip, of his lips on her throat. On the pulse of desire throbbing deep inside her.

  “Come on, baby.” Nigel kissed her again, and he slipped his hand down the front of her jeans. He palmed her belly, and then his finger slipped lower, flicked her swollen nub.

  She gasped as her whole body shuddered, and she laid her hands on Nigel’s face and felt the roughness of his skin. She searched his face, saw the man she knew buried in the depths of his dark eyes. His humanity. His desperation. “You don’t need to draw,” she whispered. Her voice was hesitant, rough. Tentative.

  “Again,” he demanded. He caught her hair, heat simmering in his eyes as his other hand moved lower between her legs. He thumbed her with a precision that made her body writhe with pleasure. “Say it like you believe it.” He squeezed her breast, his hand was hot, almost burning. Her legs nearly buckled and he had to brace her harder against the wall to keep her from falling. “Make me believe you’re a woman with power,” he whispered into her mouth between kisses. “Make me tremble on my knees before you. Own me like you own all those other men who come to you for help.”

  Despite the strong conviction of his voice, she saw the plea in his eyes. The desperation. The fear. Her heart tightened and she held his face again, but this time softly, with tenderness, with passion. “Nigel. You’re a powerful warrior. You own the world. You don’t need art. You don’t need to draw. You’re in complete control of yourself, your weapons, and your destiny. You know it.” She felt the power of her words, of her statement, and it reverberated through her.

  Nigel jerked back, releasing her suddenly, and cold air rushed over her.

  Wariness flashed over his face. “I felt that.”

  “Really?” She grinned. “That’s great!” Could she really do it? Had she done it? Her heart started to race with anticipation. “Do you feel like drawing?”

  But Nigel was staring at her as if her head had spun off and she’d sprouted tentacles instead. “You are one powerful woman.”

  She grinned and sort of felt like doing a little tap dance. “Really?”

  “Hell, yeah.” Smoke began rising from his palms, and a metal blade flashed threateningly from his fingertips, which made her smile even more. She’d been so powerful that she’d triggered self-defense instincts from a great warrior?

  Rock on, baby!

  She cheerfully watched as Nigel tossed the knife aside and flexed his empty hand, happy to see he was sane and in control. Yay!

  “How can I tell if it worked?” he asked.

  “Oh, right. That’s true.” She supposed it was true that a burst of power didn’t necessarily mean her suggestion had been successful. Back to business. Romantic interlude and del
ightful self-love moment over. But even though they’d been a call to duty, those kisses, his touches… it had been amazing. For a moment, she’d forgotten to fear who she was. She’d been immersed in the present, loving life, and completely free of her baggage. Exactly how she’d wanted to be. That moment had been such a gift!

  She wanted to be like that all the time. To always feel like she could sail through life with joy and be able to rise above baggage and worries and fears, and to crush any deedub who tried to upend her life or her business. And that was exactly how Nigel should be feeling if her suggestions had worked. “Do you feel like you own the world?”

  He grinned at her. “I always feel like I own the world.”

  “Oh… I’m a little jealous. I want to own the world too.”

  His smile widened. “You keep that up and you will. I’ll have to chain you down to keep you from making the world do your laundry and kiss your toes on a regular basis.”

  “Really? Wouldn’t that be cool to make the deedubs kiss my toes?” She paused to picture that. “No teeth, though.”

  Nigel laughed softly, and she laughed with him. They shared a moment of relief and hope between them, and it felt so good. “I guess we won’t know for sure, not until there’s a time when you would normally need to draw. If you overcome it, then it worked. If you can’t—” She sighed, some of her excitement fading at the mere idea that she’d failed. “Then it didn’t.” She folded her arms, annoyed at how quickly she could retreat into a feeling of powerlessness. “But I did feel something happen, though, so it’s at least possible. There was power there, and that was good.”

  “Yeah, I agree. You made progress. Nice job.”

  She grinned. “Thanks.”

  “But I need more than ‘maybe the suggestion worked’ to ensure we get out of the Den. Your suggestion has to be infallible and unbeatable, even in the face of direct attack.”

  “Oh. Well.” She sighed. “I don’t know about that.” That seemed to be rather high standards for a woman who hadn’t even influenced a human two hours ago.

  “Yeah, no way to know until the fire’s roaring.” He nodded and rubbed the back of her neck in a reassuring gesture. “Which is why you’re coming with me. If we have to do it again, we’ll do it again, but for now, we’ve got to go.” His phone rang, and he looked down. “Christian’s ready.” He shut his phone and unlocked the door. “Let’s hit the road.”

  Um… yeah… she wasn’t feeling that everything was in order for invading hell. “But what if it didn’t work? What if my suggestion doesn’t hold? And we, um…”

  “Get our asses kicked?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “Better to at least try. Death is always an option.” He held the door open for her, and his eyes were grim and ready. “Welcome to my world.”

  But that wasn’t the part of his world she wanted to join! Why couldn’t he give her a golden ticket to feeling like she owned the world, huh? So much better than being in the part of his life that treaded on the edge of death on a regular basis.

  Been there.

  Done that.

  And quite frankly, she’d vote for not doing it again.

  Which, she supposed, meant she had to get it right when influencing Nigel, and let him do his thing successfully.

  On the plus side, that might mean more kisses and caresses…

  Oh, wait, that was a minus, right?

  No, plus.

  No…

  “You coming?” Nigel was holding the door open, and his eyes were dark and ready for war. “Or are you daydreaming?”

  “Both.” She ducked under his arm before he could ask her what she’d been daydreaming about. Telling a warrior that she was reliving his kisses was probably not the best thing to do, you know, right before they had to walk into battle.

  And she was a battle girl, right? She always knew what to do in the middle of war.

  Always.

  Ahem.

  ***

  After leaving Maggie and Ella in charge of the store, Nigel and Natalie were halfway out the front door of Scrumptious on their way to invade the Den when a six-horse chariot coasted to a stop in front of them. The scent of rotten bananas floated through Natalie’s nostrils before she even saw the hunchbacked, far-too-successful assassin poke his swarthy and grizzled face out the window.

  It was the man who’d murdered more immortal beings that most adults could even fathom existing, let alone actually snuff the life out of.

  When Augustus saw her, his face lit up, and he waved at her with enthusiasm more fitting of a five-year-old extrovert than a suicidal loner who had fewer friends than a cannibalistic rattlesnake. “Natalie Fleming! I’ve come for you!”

  Natalie stopped. “You have?” It was never a good thing when Augustus came for you. What had she done to bring him down on her? Clients paid him unfathomable amounts of money for his murdering talents, and if he was after her, she’d pissed off someone really, really impressive.

  “Uh, uh. You don’t get to have her.” Nigel pulled Natalie behind him in a completely endearing statement of protection and possession that she really wasn’t going to argue with.

  “You are sadly mistaken, my good man. You cannot keep her from me.” The world’s most well-decorated assassin climbed out of his hot pink chariot and eased to his feet in front of them.

  Well, he landed on his truncated feet. They looked like they’d been cut off in the middle, leaving him with little flesh-colored clubfeet.

  Augustus had pissed off a talented black witch a few weeks ago, who’d dumped an impressive leprosy type spell on him that had taken him a while to overcome. It looked like he was finally feeling beautiful enough to go public, a feeling of self-confidence that might be debatable. After all, his skin was still a rather odd shade of green, his nose was reminiscent of deformed mold, and the crust forming where an ear used to be… well… it was just a little disturbing.

  But even half-falling apart, as Augustus drew himself into a vertical position, there was power pulsing from him that made Natalie forget about his appearance and remember only the number of bodies he’d left behind.

  Nigel let a blade slide out of his palm and gripped it with a silent threat as the crusty old man tipped his fedora and bowed low. “Miss Natalie, I have been dreaming of you for much time. We have a date, remember?”

  Nigel growled and pulled her closer. “There will be no date.”

  “A date?” A vague memory of Augustus inviting her to something drifted into her mind. It had happened while she’d been under the influence of the deedub poison, and her memory of that time of her life was a little fuzzy. Intentionally, she was sure. “Listen, I’m a little busy—”

  “Of course we have a date,” Augustus said, scratching the crust where his left ear was supposed to be, apparently oblivious to the rising tension emanating from Nigel. “It’s time for tea. We discussed this several weeks ago. But I was too busy trying to kill your friend, and you were too busy dying. But we’ve both moved on, so the time is right!”

  Well, on the plus side, he wasn’t there to kill her, which was always a bonus. She glanced at Nigel, whose skin was taut. His face was cold and hard, and he looked far more deadly than she’d ever seen. “Um, it’s not a good time for tea right now—”

  “Nonsense. I am ready, therefore it is a good time.” Augustus placed his hat on his nearly bald head and tipped it back. “My therapist says you are the only bright light in my life, and I must tap into that, or I will kill myself. Then the world will be deprived of the most premiere assassin, and I am far too altruistic to let the world suffer like that just because I cannot find joy in my day, in my night, or in my heart.” He set his hands on his hips. “It is time for you to become my new therapist, Ms. Fleming. I need your help!” He grabbed for her shoulders, and Nigel stepped between them, his blade at the old man’s throat.

  “Now is not the time,” Nigel said, his voice like barbed steel. “I’ve got dibs on her time, and I’ve got an a
genda.” Nigel’s hand tightened on the blade and his skin began to glitter, as if more weapons were beginning to form beneath his skin. Just like before.

  Only this time, it was to protect her. Nigel was on edge because her safety was being threatened. Because another man was trying to stake a claim to her. Hello? How adorable was that? A mightily powerful warrior brought to his knees by danger to her?

  It was beautiful. He made her feel beautiful—

  Then she noticed a sharp metal tip poking out of his shoulder. Um, yeah, that wouldn’t be so adorable if he exploded again… Oh, crap! Did that mean he wasn’t in control? That her suggestion was a total failure? “Dammit! I’m so sorry, Nigel!”

  He didn’t look over, concentrating instead on the lethal assassin he was staring down.

  She supposed it was possible he was calling them on purpose to be intimidating. But still, unmitigated launching of blades couldn’t be good. “Nigel? Calm down.” She touched his shoulder and was startled by how cold his skin felt. She could feel the sharp pricks of blades beneath his skin.

  Nigel jumped at her touch, and then he grabbed her hand with his free one and clasped her hand tightly. Using her to ground himself? His palm was hot, and there were embers sloughing off it. She sensed his unrest and realized that all that metal wasn’t his choice. His fear for her safety (or possessiveness in the face of another man’s attention?) was triggering a reaction he couldn’t control, just like before.

  “Nigel,” she said quietly. “I’m okay. It’s okay.” She moved closer, giving him reassurance through her touch. “I’m not in danger.”

  Nigel didn’t look at her, but he took her hand and pressed it to his chest. “Yes,” she whispered, touched by his need for contact with her. “It’s me. I’m here.”

  He took a shuddering breath, and she felt the blades retreat back into his body.

  “Don’t let go of me,” he muttered, as he tightened his grip on the dagger he had at Augustus’s throat, which was the only blade he would need.