A Whisper of Sin (6 page)

“Don't show me,” Alex said, slapping her hands over her eyes. “I can't bear it. Essie's one of my best friends!”

Miaoling waved off the objection. “She knows. Doesn't care—it keeps Tom Sr. from interrupting her hobbies. She's making lanterns this year.”

“
Popo
,” Ria said, choking, “how did you—”

“What do you think Mr. Wong and I talk about?” She turned her gaze to Ria's parents. “Want to know about the apartment Tom bought his mistress?”

Alex looked like she was about to keel over. “Mistress?” It was a thin sound.

A sense of fair play induced Ria to attempt to defend Tom. After all, she was now involved with Emmett. “Grandmother, no one has mistresses anymore. Tom was probably just waiting for the right time to tell me he'd fallen for someone else.” Yes, he should've been man enough to stop the charade of their non-engagement soon as he met his girlfriend, but Ria wasn't going to beat him up about that. Chances were, he'd needed time to work up the strength to stand firm against familial pressure.

“I talked to her.”

Jet whooped at Miaoling's words, while Amber shushed him and said, “How, Nana?”

“I'm a weak old lady, always need so much help.” Miaoling's eyes gleamed. “Nice girl, too nice for Tom. She's so sad for him because he has to marry some plain, fat girl—”

“That snake!” Alex's hand clenched on a sharp knife as Ria's sympathy for Tom died a quick and permanent death.

“—but nothing's going to change between them after the wedding. Tom's set it all up so he can visit her on his way home every night. He's even promised to take her to Paris after he explains how things are to his wife.”

Simon looked at Ria, a tic in his jaw. “If you even think about marrying Tom, I'll hogtie you and send you to live with my parents in Idaho.”

“Yes, Dad.” Grinning, Ria walked around to hug her parents. But she waited until she was alone with her grandmother to ask, “Was that in case I didn't get up the guts to pull myself out?”

“No, it was just backup.” Miaoling's wrinkled hand was a touch of love against her cheek. “I always knew you'd find your voice. Don't ever let anyone take it away from you.”

P
leased and frustrated in equal measures by his earlier encounter with Ria, Emmett forced himself to focus as he ran his early-evening class through some hand-to-hand combat moves. There were only four in this group—he preferred to spend more one-on-one time with the older, higher-level students.

“Jazz,” he said, when the sole girl in the group smiled slowly at one of the boys before blowing him a flirtatious kiss—the poor kid lost his rhythm completely.

Emmett's cat found her little tricks amusing, but he put on a stern face, knowing if he didn't, she'd keep on doing exactly as she wanted. Female leopards were a handful—throw teenage hormones into the mix, and no wonder half the pack had sent him sympathy cards when Lucas put him in charge of this lot. The other half had offered to take him drinking.

“Yes, sir?” An innocent look.

“Unless you plan to beat your opponents with nothing but a smile and a hip wiggle,” he said, “I suggest you work on your hand to eye coordination. It's off.”

“It is not.” Her back went ramrod straight. “I can move smoother than anyone else in this class.”

He met her militant gaze. “Ten laps.
Now
.”

Swallowing at his unusually harsh tone, the ebony-skinned girl took off to do the required laps. Emmett turned back to the three boys who remained. “Gentlemen, you have something to say?”

One of them, a slender kid named Aaron, stepped forward. “She's right—she is better than all of us at the hand to eye stuff.”

“Not today—she's too busy playing head games.” Sending them back to their training, he waited for Jazz to return.

“Grab a drink and a seat,” he said when she did, red-faced from having done the laps at full changeling speed as required. After making sure the boys had enough to carry on with, he walked over to hunker down in front of her. “Why do you think I made you do that?”

A shrug. “I was mouthing off.”

“Yeah.” And because he knew something of young female pride, he reached out to tug on one of her braids. “You
are
top of the class.”

A small smile peeked out.

“But, kitten,” he said, meeting her gaze, “that won't get you far if you can't hold your temper. You can still be Jazz, still be a smart-ass, too, if you want”—that got him another small smile—“but you need to learn to work within a hierarchy.” Because that was how changeling packs stayed strong, though they were often far fewer in number than either of the two other races. And if his mother was correct in her predictions, that internal strength would become even more important in the years to come. These kids were all highly independent predatory changelings—his job was to start teaching them to work as a unit.

“I think I understand,” Jazz said after a thoughtful pause. “It's how the sentinels and soldiers work to protect the alpha—they know they can always rely on each other.”

“Exactly.” Rising, he tugged her to her feet, “Go on, finish your training routine, and then we'll do some one-on-one combat.”

A sharp grin. “I'm going to kick the boys' butts tonight.”

Chuckling as he watched her slide easily into the graceful rhythm of combat, he wondered what Ria would think of the measures DarkRiver was taking to protect its future. Would she understand, or would she be repelled by the threat of violence, by the aggressiveness that was an inherent part of a predatory changeling's nature? Not that he had any intention of discussing those things with her—not as long as he could avoid it. She'd clearly been brought up in a sheltered environment—why ask her to worry about things she didn't have to? Protection was his job. His plans for Ria Wembley were all about pleasure . . . of the most decadent, delicious kind.

His entire body thrummed in anticipation.

R
ia stayed home for two days after the explosive events in the gym, seeing Emmett only to say hi.

He scowled at her when she looked out the window on the second day. She had a good feeling she knew what he was thinking—that she was running scared after coming apart in his arms—but tempting as it was to head out and put him straight, she stayed in.

Of course, that temptation wasn't the sole one where Emmett was concerned—her body wasn't letting her get much sleep. Now that it had had a taste of real pleasure, it wanted more. The sleepless nights left her frustrated in more ways than one, and she intended to punish the damn cat for it.

But first, she had to do something.

On the third day after he'd crushed her up against the basement door and kissed her senseless, she walked out dressed in a deep peach skirt suit teamed with a white silk shell. Emmett looked her up and down, then did it again . . . slow. Her cheeks felt like they matched her suit by the time he finished.

“I like it.” A slow, feline purr.

She thrust a list at him. “Interview locations.”

He raised an eyebrow as he scanned the list, but all he said was, “Hold on. I'll get cover for your home then we can go.”

“Still no luck with tracking Vincent down?”

Sliding the phone into his pocket after rearranging his people, he shook his head. “Creep's laying low. He thinks we'll give up.”

That, she knew, was simply not a possibility. “You haven't been sitting still.” He'd only swung by her house in the mornings and at night. The other times, they'd had a rotation of both male and female DarkRiver soldiers.

“We have a bead on his base of operations.” A smile that was openly feral. “We'll get him.”

She nodded, but had the distinct feeling he wasn't telling her everything.
And why should he
, part of her pointed out. She was just someone he was protecting. Maybe he lusted after her, too, but Jet was right, the cats stuck together. She didn't know any DarkRiver people who'd entered into long-term relationships with humans—sexual, business, or otherwise. “Emmett,” she began, intending to ask that question, then realizing he might see it as expectation.

“Yeah?”

“Nothing.” She shook her head. “I think the first appointment is about a ten-minute walk away.”

For a second, it looked like Emmett was going to pursue her aborted statement, but to her relief, he followed her lead and they headed off—with Ria sandwiched between the safety of the shop walls and Emmett's big frame. His constant alertness made her feel safe on the innermost level.

“What kinds of jobs are you applying for?” he asked a block from the first location on her list.

“Administrative,” she said, then made a face. “I'd really love to run my own office—you know, be in charge of all the organizing for the boss, but that's going to be far in the future. First, I need experience—so I'll end up someone's lackey.”

Emmett laughed at her tone. “I don't think you'll be a lackey for long.”

“No, I won't,” she said, and took several deep breaths. “Right, here it is. Wish me luck.”

“I'll wish you luck inside.” He pulled open the outer door.

“Emmett, I can't go into an interview with a bodyguard.”

His eyes turned flint-hard. “Vincent knew when you'd be coming home from your course. Chances are high that he's worked out you'd now be applying for jobs.”

She grit her teeth. “This is an established firm. I hardly think I'm going to be in danger from the sixty-year-old manager.”

“You're not going behind a closed door with anyone.”

Ria argued until she was close to the screaming point but he wouldn't budge. Predictably, her interviews didn't go well. The first manager was so affronted at the idea of being considered a threat that he booted her out without an interview. The next two were female and couldn't stop staring at Emmett long enough to listen to Ria. When one finally did throw her a crumb of attention, it was to give her a condescending smile and say that maybe she wasn't cut out for office work.

A babysitter didn't exactly inspire confidence.

Ria was close to tears by the fourth interview, but not from anxiety. From sheer rage. “Thank you for destroying my chances of employment,” she said as they got off the skytrain near Chinatown, having circled the city for her appointments.

“Ria,” he began.

She slapped up a hand, palm out. “I
am
cut out for office work. I do my mother's books. Not only that, I do the entire family's books. I make sure my father goes to his appointments and Amber sees the obstetrician on time, that Grandmother takes her medications and Jet doesn't forget to write New Year cards to our aunts in Albuquerque. I am
damn well
cut out for office work!”

“I never said you weren't.”

The soothing tone in his voice made Ria want to bite him. “No, you simply stood there like I couldn't be counted on to take care of myself if someone tried to hurt me. That day, at the gym, it was all bullshit!”

His scowl was thunderous. “Take that back.”

“I'm not talking about
that
, you idiot. I'm talking about the self-defense stuff. It was just to pacify me. You don't even trust me to scream.” That had been the first lesson he'd taught her—scream as loud as you can and run. “You know what, I think that makes the other stuff bullshit, too.”

“Hold on a fucking minute.”

SIX

I
gnoring him, she walked through the automatic doors of the medium-sized office building that was the location of her next appointment and strode up to the counter. “Hi,” she said to the well-groomed woman on the other side, her skin a lush, flawless mahogany. “I have an appointment with Lucas Hunter.”

The woman's eyes flicked behind Ria's shoulder, and something like surprise passed through them, but her voice, when she turned to Ria, was wholly professional. “Name?”

“Ria Wembley.”

A warm smile. “You're fifteen minutes early, Ms. Wembley. If you'll wait here, I'll let you know when Lucas has finished with the current applicant.”

“Thanks.” She was walking toward the seating area when she belatedly realized she didn't know the name of this company. The ad had simply said that a small but growing construction firm was seeking administrative staff. Since that ad had been vetted by the college where she'd taken her course, she hadn't worried too much about the lack. But her ignorance probably wouldn't look too good . . . if this Hunter person even bothered to see her after learning about Emmett.

Turning on her heel, she skirted around Emmett to speak to the receptionist again. “I'm sorry. I noticed that your doors don't have the company name on them.”

The woman's gaze flicked to Emmett again. Ria fumed. But the beautiful brunette didn't seem to be checking him out. “Actually,” she said after a small pause, “the name's still in discussions . . . er, the partners haven't decided on the order.”

“Oh.” That was odd, but not odd enough to make her run. Beggars, as they said, couldn't be choosers. Nodding, she walked to the comfortable arrangement of armchairs to the left of the reception counter, choosing a seat bathed in sunshine.

Emmett sprawled beside her. “What we shared was not bullshit. And I didn't know you even knew how to swear.”

The joke just irritated her. “If you can lie about one thing, why not another?”