Derek was like that. He was that brownie-crumb-trigger that was oh-so-dangerous to a sex-deprived woman.
But that was okay. She was strong enough to handle this. She knew she was. So she cleared her throat, leaned forward, and picked up the butter knife. She began rapping the handle on the table, using the rhythm to keep herself focused. "You're the one who brought up the Goblet of Youth yesterday before you passed out in my lobby." She frowned. "What was up with the nap anyway?"
He leaned forward and slipped the knife out of her hand. "I'm not supposed to tell you."
She picked up a fork and starting tapping that handle on the table. "So what? I asked Xavier, and I gotta tell you, he's telling unfavorable stories about you. I'd think you'd want to clear the air. Unless you think stories about your sex-addiction and strip-club habit is something you consider good for your reputation."
He nearly choked on the wine he'd just started to sip. "I don't have a strip club addiction! But I'm also not interested in pissing him off by ratting him out. He scares the shit out of me. I don't want to mess with him." He made a move for her fork, then stopped when she gave him a warning look. "Let's make a deal. You want info. I want info. Neither of us is giving up."
She stopped tapping the fork and cocked her head. "What kind of deal?"
"I can tell you're itching to kill me. You suspect I'm planning to do the same to you. That's the tough stuff to communicate, right? We already got it out in the open, so clearly, we're excellent communicators. Let's leverage that skill and see what we can accomplish. Share info and see how it goes? Otherwise, we can go straight out to the parking lot and see who will win." He leaned back, one hand resting casually on the table, the other arm draped over the back of his chair, as if he didn't care at all which option she chose.
Only the restless drumming of his fingers gave him away.
She grinned at the energy emanating from him. He was way more agitated than he wanted her to know, and she liked that. She was the one in control, and that always felt good. "I do prefer to know all the details before I take action."
"Me too. Deal?"
She pursed her lips. Even if she told him things she wasn't supposed to reveal, she could still exterminate him afterwards. And then at least, she'd have answers, which were important. How far did the threat to Mona extend? Was it just him, or was he just the tip of the iceberg? Interrogate then kill seemed like a good plan. If he wasn't immortal, he wouldn't be able to best her. She felt a surge of disappointment at the thought she could kick his ass, then frowned at herself. It wasn't like she was going to actually date the man. A pansy was good in this situation. She nodded briskly. "Fine. It's a deal."
"Don't sound so thrilled."
"No, it's fine." She picked up her glass. "To the exchange of info."
He took the glass from her hand. "Let's dance."
She jerked her hand away from him even as a tremor of awareness rolled through her body at the thought of him holding her. "What?"
"Dancing. You've heard of it?"
"Don't be a smartass." Derek might not be wielding a sword, but the man was heavily armed with sex and using his entire arsenal, if the steam rising from her lower body was any indication. "There's no one else dancing." She waved an arm around the sparsely populated restaurant, where the tuxedo clad waiters were hovering in the corner, waiting for a beckon from their exquisitely dressed patrons.
Derek jerked his head toward the back of the room. "The corner was made for dancing." His gaze flicked over her dress, and she felt her thighs clench. Oy.
She glanced at the small secluded area in the corner with a gorgeous inlaid wood floor and some floaty curtains. Only someone seated at their table would have the right angle to see past the curtains into the corner. It was private and secluded, perfect for a romantic interlude.
Or a hostile interrogation.
He stood up and held out his hand. "Shall we?"
She took a deep breath. Dancing would be the perfect opportunity to put her dress to work and question him. That's what she was here for, right? Right. Dance with him.
A flutter of excitement rippled through her. There was something about the combination of intense sexual attraction and the knowledge that he might pull a blade at any moment that was quite thrilling. She reached between her thighs, gave her gun a reassuring pat, then stood up. "Let's dance."
Chapter Fifteen
When Derek reached for her hand, Justine let him take it. And when his fingers wrapped around hers, warm and solid, a little part of her melted. No one had held her hand in a very long time, and it felt wonderful.
He led her past tables set with linen tablecloths and expensive crystal wineglasses, heading toward the secluded dance floor. He gave a quick nod to a waiter, who immediately nodded back and then turned up the music.
Damn. The man holding her hand with such intimacy was a man with power. Presence. Confidence. Influence. And she liked it. She was used to being the strong one, and there was something incredibly appealing about a man who was so rock solid that he could hold her up if she ever needed it. Involuntarily, her fingers tightened around his, prompting him to look over at her with an intimate smile that made her belly tighten.
Oh, boy. She might be in over her head.
They slipped between the curtains to the dance floor, and he slid his hands around her waist, his fingers curving around the dagger pressed against her lower back. "I love a woman who carries weapons," he murmured as he coaxed her against him.
She smiled. "That's super sweet of you to say. Most men find weapons a turnoff." She flattened her hands on his chest, slid her fingers under the lapels of his jacket. His eyes darkened as she trailed her fingers up to the back of his neck and pressed herself against him.
As her body nestled against his, contentment settled deep inside her. With a sigh, she closed her eyes for a moment, sinking into the sensation of his hard body against hers. God, it felt so good to have a man hold her.
Not just any man. A man she could trust to be honest with her. A man who hadn't tried to hide who he was or what he needed from her, unlike Carl, who had pretended to be her best friend until he'd pulled out the sword right in the middle of an intimate conversation. There was no deception or lies with Derek. Just open honesty about his need to kill her. And his complete acceptance of her almost made her want to cry. He didn't even hold it against her that she might have to chop his head off at any moment. That was the kind of man you took home to Mom.
And he smelled so unbelievably good. Like, so good.
She nuzzled into the crook of his neck and inhaled. He smelled like woods, spice, and man. If she died right now, that might be all right with her. Well, not really, but almost. He smelled that good.
"My turn," he said softly, his breath warm against the side of her face.
What? He wanted to bask in her fragrance? Sure. "Okay."
"Are you the Guardian?"
Oh. That kind of turn. Right. She'd forgotten that this wasn't all pleasure. It was business, the kind of life or death business that she couldn’t afford to forget to focus on.
She sighed heavily, and Derek immediately stiffened and let out a small groan. She froze, realizing that his reaction had come from her breathing on his neck. He'd liked it!
How cool was that? Yes, granted, she'd been hoping for that kind of reaction when she'd bought the dress, but the intense rush of having him respond to her sexuality was completely unexpected. As it turned out, there was a certain level of smug, female satisfaction at making a man quiver, even if it was merely part of her job.
She blew on his skin again, grinning when he made a small noise of protest. "Yes. I've been the Guardian for the last couple centuries." As soon as she said it, she tensed, waiting for the Council to leap out from behind the curtains to drag her away to the Chamber of Unspeakable Horrors…but nothing happened.
She relaxed. They weren't watching her right now. She had room to maneuver.
His hands caressed her lo
wer back with searing gentleness, his fingers burning through the thin fabric of her dress. "Your turn."
She pressed her body against the hardness of his chest, completely unable to resist the temptation he presented. "Are you related to Carl LaValle?"
"Yes. He's my ancestor. What happened with him, anyway? God, you feel good." Derek nuzzled his cheek against her hair, and she barely managed to stop herself from making a very embarrassing whimper of encouragement. God, it was so intimate. Not just the touches, but the roughness to his voice, as if he were as affected by what was happening as she was.
Total abstinence had almost convinced her she could survive without physical affection with a man, but one minute of exposure to Derek had proven that to be a complete and utter lie. It would take her the next three centuries to get over the sensation of his body against hers.
Justine cleared her throat and pulled back slightly, trying to focus. "Carl befriended me shortly after I became Guardian. He became my best friend and convinced me to fire Theresa. I told him about Mona and appointed him my successor. Right after he took the Oath and the third drink, he tried to behead me."
Derek's eyes widened. "Really?"
"Yeah." She shrugged. "It wasn't a big deal. I beheaded him first, so that was fine. I got put on probation, but Theresa forgave me and came back. We moved to the Amazon where Mona turned into a piece of fruit and got abducted by monkeys. And yes, there are some very old monkeys in the Amazon now. When we finally got her back, we decided civilization was easier to control than the jungle. And now we're back, we're bad, and we try our best to kill people first and ask questions later." She frowned as she realized he was now staring at her, not looking quite as romantic as he had moments ago. He actually looked somewhat alarmed. "What?"
"You murdered my ancestor?"
Oh, that. She shrugged. "Murder's a bit of a strong word." She couldn't quite keep the defensiveness out of her tone. "It was self-defense. The guy was a deceitful, lying bastard, and you should pretend you aren't related to him if you have any desire to get out of here alive tonight." Her words sobered her, a grim reminder that this man who was making her insides turn over had a very slim chance of surviving the evening now that she'd told him about Mona's chameleon ability. That was top secret info critical to Mona's survival, and yet she'd spilled it.
Why had she done that? To make him into more of a danger, so she would be forced to remember she couldn’t get cozy with him? Yeah, that was probably it. Certainly not that a brief physical moment with Derek had ruined her brain forever.
Derek studied her, his shocked expression morphing into studious thoughtfulness. "It just surprised me. I thought you just talked a good game. You seemed so kind."
Kind? He thought she was kind? That made her throat tighten. No one ever thought she was sweet, not with her job requiring certain things from her. It had made her periodically wonder if somewhere along the path of Guardianship, she'd lost the humanity that had once made her who she was.
"I didn't think you were actually the type to kill," he continued, sucking the momentary warmth right out of her.
She lifted her chin defensively, realizing that his perception of her being kind had been in the past tense. He'd thought it. He didn't anymore. Now he thought she was a murderer. "It's who I am. I assume that's a problem for you?" She knew it would be. How could it not? She'd been stupid to get caught up in the moment with him. Her life wasn't normal enough for dating, or even having a guy think she was halfway sane.
"A problem?" Derek tilted his head and traced the tendon in her neck with his middle finger, drawing an involuntary quiver from her. "I'll have to think about it," he said softly.
She blinked. The fact she dealt in death wasn't an automatic, "See ya later, baby?" Was it really possible there was a man who could actually handle who she was and what she did? Something fluttered in her belly. Was it hope? Dammit. She had no right to hope. Even if Derek could handle her job (and that was a big if), he was still planning to steal from her and send her into the Afterlife. And she had to return the favor, remember?
And even if by some miracle, she didn't have to kill him, her Oath required her to have no loyalties except to her successor and to Mona, which is why Carl had kept their relationship platonic. She would never have considered breaking her Oath for a little slap and tickle, and Carl had realized it instantly and played the platonic bff angle.
There could be no bedtime snuggles with Derek, regardless of how the night unfolded. She knew that, but damn him for being temptation overload. Despite the fact she knew he was off limits, she was having serious trouble not thinking of rumpled sheets, sweaty bodies, and wandering lips, which gave her yet another reason to kill Derek: if he coaxed her to violate her Guardian Oath, she would be in very, very big trouble.
She took a deep breath, forcing herself to think of her mom in an eternity of hell, her Oath, and the little espresso machine that counted on her for protection. She had more important things to do than get lost in how Derek made her feel. She was a warrior. On a mission. Ready to do what she needed to do.
Right? Damn right. But just as she was recalibrating from her attraction to Derek, the traitorous tempter bent his head and trailed his lips over the side of her neck.
Damn him. It felt so freaking good.
She hadn't felt a man's kiss in so long. It was pure…what? Sin wasn't the right word. It was more like feeling like she had finally found the place her soul had been yearning for, the place where it could finally find peace. Why did it feel so right to be in Derek's arms? Why did it feel like she belonged there?
It didn't make sense, but she couldn’t resist him. With a sigh of helpless capitulation, she tilted her head and let him kiss lower. His lips trailed tiny kisses over her collarbone. Across her chest. Oh, wow. The neckline of her dress was very daring. How low was he going to go? More.
She closed her eyes, her body trembling in anticipation as she waited for his next kiss. Her body wanted him. Her soul wanted him, his touch, his kiss.
He murmured a question, barely lifting his lips from her skin. "Do you still have the Goblet?"
The Goblet. Mona. His question jerked her back from the precipice of heaven. This was about Mona. She swallowed, opening her eyes to stare at the brass sconce on the wall behind him, trying to bring herself back from his spell.
He paused. "Justine?"
She decided to answer him. She'd told him so much already that revealing more wouldn't change his already short life expectancy. But if she gave him information, then he'd have to answer more of her questions, which would help her uncover the extent of the threat to Mona before taking him out. Mona's safety was paramount, and right now, she needed information more than she needed Derek uninformed. "Yes. Her name is Mona. Are you after her?"
He slipped the spaghetti strap off her shoulder, his breath hot against her skin as he kissed where it had had been. "Yes. I need to kill you and then steal her."
Oh, God. That might be the sexiest thing she'd ever heard. "I love a man who isn't afraid to tell the truth, even if it might interfere with his getting laid." That was no lie. Honesty was a gift that she didn't get much, especially since she and Theresa had to live a fake life to the rest of the world. Honesty felt so good, so raw, so liberating. She caught her breath as he trailed his index finger over her collarbone, his touch light and hot. "Why do you need me dead? And why do you want Mona?"
"That's more than one question, but I'll give you a break because you taste like heaven." He paused for a moment to suck on her throat.
Oh, God. She tasted like heaven? Maybe seduction was his weapon. His plan was to make her so weak she couldn't fight when the time came. That was patently unfair. She was trained for swordplay, not seduction. She had to turn it back on him. Regain control. "So, answer the questions, then."
He kissed her neck again. "According to Carl's journal, killing you and stealing Mona is the only way to break the Curse on my family. No offense, but if I have to do it,
I'm willing to trade your life for that of generations of LaValle men."
She heard the conviction in his voice, and knew he absolutely meant it. This wasn't a game to him, an uninspired pursuit. People would do anything for those they loved, and no amount of flirty seduction would change that. He needed to kill her for the greater good of his family. Damn. He was really going to try to kill her.
How long did she have until he took action? She didn't have enough information yet.
She had to take control, right now.
There was one way to do it.
She took a deep breath, set her hands on either side of his face, and kissed him.
Not just a kiss.
Hard. Deep. Passionate.
The kind of kiss meant to bring a man to his knees.
Chapter Sixteen
The moment Justine's lips touched his, something inside her melted, something that she'd kept hard and cold for two hundred years. It was the part of her that allowed her to do her job and live her life without hesitation. It was the part of her that made her tough. It was the hardness inside her that had destroyed the humanity that had once been a part of her, a vulnerability that she'd thought was gone forever. And yet, in one brief dance with Derek, all the soft parts of her had come back to life, and it felt like he'd given her the gift of a second chance to live.
He growled low, his breath mingling with hers as he took over the kiss, plunging to take possession of her soul, wresting control right back from her. Suddenly, it was no longer about tapping into her vulnerable side. It was about coming alive, it was about the searing fire he'd unleashed inside her. His arms locked behind her as he angled his head, his tongue hot and wet and...oh, God. She was going to explode right there on the dance floor, in front of everyone.
He didn't break the kiss, his words falling into her mouth with his breath and his essence. "Why'd you curse us? It really sucks."
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