Fireborn (11 page)

“Not as yet.”

“What about Wilson?”

“What about him?”

I frowned at him. “Well, why was he taken out by the red cloaks?”

“We don't know.”

“And wouldn't tell me even if you did?”

He half smiled. Or maybe that should be quarter smiled, because it was little more than a ghost, barely there and yet breathtaking nonetheless.

“Jackson Miller is a private investigator who's been hired to investigate Wilson's murder. I'm not about to give him—via you—that sort of information.” He paused, and that ghost disappeared. “You should keep away from him, Emberly. This case is far more dangerous than you know, and Miller is renowned for not knowing when to retreat.”

“Which sounds a whole lot like someone I once knew.” And it was what had made him such a good cop. But was it also responsible for the darkness I sensed in him today? Had he finally run into a situation that went way beyond his control? A situation far worse than having to shoot his own brother?

“Which is why I'm giving you a warning, Red. I know just how badly things can go.” He half reached out, as if to caress my cheek; then his fingers clenched and he abruptly stood up. “Please
be sensible. Don't stick your nose into the investigation, and don't skip out on your tail again.”

I leaned back in my chair and met his gaze for several heartbeats. “Fine,” I said eventually. “I'll be sensible.”

Relief sparked in his blue eyes, but there was also a touch of disbelief—understandable, I guess, given he saw me as nothing more than a lying adulteress. “One of us will be in contact if we need anything else from you.”

“What if I need to contact you for some reason?”

He hesitated, then reluctantly reached into his pocket and drew out a card. On it was a cell number. Nothing else, not even his name.

“Use that. It's a central number, unconnected to me or the team, but any message you leave will be shunted to me as a matter of priority.”

Which was better than nothing, I supposed. I accepted the card and shoved it into my purse. “Thanks.”

He nodded and left. No good-bye, no nothing. He just turned around and walked away. Like it was easy.

I rubbed my eyes wearily and wondered when the hell this stupid, irrational pining would stop. He might be the love of this life span, but that just meant he was the one destined to burn my heart to ashes. The sooner I accepted it and got over him, the better.

Which is always easier to say than do,
my inner voice whispered.

I sighed, flicked out some cash for our drinks, then made my way home. Rory was getting ready for his evening shift at the fire station.

“Hey,” he said, a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eyes. His night with Rosie had obviously gone well. “What's happening?”

“It seems the gods are still pissed off with me.” I dropped down onto the sofa and gave him a brief update on everything that had happened over the course of the day.

“Christ,” he said, handing me a cup of tea. “You've well and truly jumped out of your staid and boring existence, haven't you?”

“Yeah,” I muttered, and lightly blew on the tea to cool it.

He sat down on the coffee table, his arms crossed on his knees. “I'm gathering you're intending to ignore Sam's warning and meet with Jackson tonight?”

And therein lay the difference between Sam and Rory—Rory knew immediately what I'd do. Sam, even after all that had happened between us, wanted to believe I'd keep my word. But then, what chance had Sam ever had to really understand me? I'd been too fearful of his reaction, too desperate to enjoy my time with him before fate stepped in to once again destroy everything, to tell him what I was. And by the time I'd tried, it was altogether too late.

“Sam's got people watching me, so I'm planning to sneak off at sunset. Is the roof code still the same?”

Rory nodded. He was more attached to his firebird form than I was and tended to risk evening flights at least a couple of times a week—some of them from the rooftop and some out in the country. “Just be careful. And if you and Jackson need some extra muscle, you know where to find me.”

“Thanks.”

He smiled, leaned forward, and kissed my forehead. “Have fun. And don't be surprised if Sam discovers your absence sooner rather than later. Whatever I might think of him otherwise, he's a very good cop.”

“I know.” I shrugged. “But I just can't sit around and do nothing.”

“Well, you
could
. But you've always liked a challenge, and that's what this has turned into.” He paused, then added, a wry edge in his voice, “And with this case, there's both a mystery
and
a man.”

“I'm not interested in Sam—”

“Did I specify which man I was talking about?” he interrupted mildly.

“No.” I tore my gaze away from the amusement in his. Damn him to hell for knowing me too well.

“As I said, just be careful. I'd hate to see him hurt you again.”

“He won't.” It was said with determination. After all, a phoenix's heart was supposed to break only once each lifetime, and I'd already had my turn.

“Good.” He squeezed my knee, then rose and continued getting ready for work.

By the time I'd finished my drink, he'd left. I stripped off my clothes and had a shower, but as I was heading into my bedroom, my phone beeped. I walked into the living room and dug it out of my purse, noting in the process the glint in the window opposite. The old guy was watching again.

I shook my head at his persistence and looked at the text. It was from Jackson, and all it said was
Rubbish
.

Make of that what you will, Sam,
I thought with a smile. I tucked the phone back into its pocket inside the purse, then went back into my bedroom, selecting a simple A-line dress for now and a more figure-hugging silk for later in the evening.

Once my shoes had gone into the backpack, I slung it over my shoulder and headed out. But I went up the fire escape to the roof, not down in the elevator to the lobby.

The evening air had grown cool, and the setting sun was beginning to render the sky with vivid splashes of color. I walked across to the cooling towers and waited for the splashes to grow, the breeze in my hair and excitement in my veins. I might not take firebird form very often, but it always made my blood sing when I did.

As the sunset began to reach its zenith, I unzipped the back of my dress so that the pack touched skin. It wouldn't be enveloped in the magic that allowed me to shift from one form to another if it wasn't. Then I closed my eyes and called forth the firebird.

She came in a rush that was fierce and
frightening, a storm of energy that swept me from flesh to fire and then bird in quick succession, leaving me breathless and more than a little dizzy.

Damn
,
I obviously need to do this more often
.

It was a thought that quickly disappeared as I raised glowing red-gold wings and leapt for the sunset-painted skies. It was a glorious sensation, and the urge to simply fly and enjoy not only the freedom but the power of the evening was a hard one to resist.

But Sam was down there somewhere and, as Rory had noted, he wasn't stupid. He knew I was a phoenix, and it wouldn't take him long to connect the appearance of a firebird to me.

So I swung around and headed into the city. Jackson and I were supposed to meet at the Crown Towers, but given I didn't have easy access to their rooftop, I flew around until I found a building within walking distance that had an external fire escape. I shifted form as I flew down, landing half-crouched but on two feet. After doing up my dress, I made my way down the metal stairs and walked to the Crown.

The woman at the rather opulent reception desk gave me a warm smile. “How may I help you?”

“I have a booking under the name of Tip.”

“Just a moment.” She tapped some keys, then gave me a key card. “Mr. Tip has already checked in. Room number is 15-8. Elevators are just along the corridor to your right.”

“Thanks,” I said, and headed up to our floor. I walked along the bright corridor until I found room
15-8, then swiped the card through the slot. The door swished open, revealing a large living area bathed in the remnants of the fading sunset. Jackson was standing near the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. His auburn hair was damp, curling lightly around his ears and at the nape of his neck, and he wasn't wearing anything more than a towel wrapped around his waist.

He turned around as I entered, revealing a body every bit as lean and hard as it had felt under his shirt. But it wasn't so much his magnificent physique that had my heart slamming against the walls of my chest, but rather the raw hunger in his eyes. It radiated out from him in an all-consuming wave, and it momentarily snatched my breath and threatened to buckle my knees.

The fire Fae had finished waiting.

The door swished shut behind me. I slung my backpack onto the nearest sofa and walked across to the windows.

“Amazing view.” My gaze was on the city vista laid out before us, but every other sense was attuned to the man standing so close.

“Isn't it?” His voice was little more than a deep rumble of sound. But I knew his gaze was on me rather than the view, and the heat of it had pinpricks of sweat skittering across my skin.

I swallowed heavily. God, I was a bundle of raw nerves and heady excitement—anyone would think I was a virgin on her first date.

“Would you like something to drink?” he asked.

I nodded. “A glass of red wine would be lovely.”

I watched his reflection walk across to the minibar and tried to think of something—anything—other than the desire to rip the towel away from his waist and caress the body underneath.

“What time does Radcliffe usually get here?” I asked eventually.

“I'm told most nights it's somewhere between ten and midnight,” he said, walking back.

He stopped and handed me a glass. The wine inside was dark red, its aroma rich and berry filled, with hints of chocolate and wood spices. I took a sip, but barely even tasted it. My senses were too attuned to the man now standing behind me.

“What about his guards? If he's so security conscious, I doubt he'd walk into the room of a stranger—however much he might want to fuck her—without first letting his guards do a sweep.”

“I have prepared a hiding spot,” he murmured. “But let's not talk about that right now.”

The sound of my dress's zipper sliding down seemed abnormally loud in the brief silence. Expectation tumbled through me and my breathing quickened. I took a sip of wine and ignored the urge to just turn around and take what we both so obviously wanted. Sometimes, a slow seduction was infinitely better than the act itself—although I very much suspected that would
not
be the case here.

His breath brushed the back of my neck, and my nipples went tight. I gulped down some more wine, but it didn't do a lot for the sudden dryness
in my throat or the tension thrumming through my body. For several minutes, nothing else happened. There was just his breath on my neck, the heat of him rolling across my spine, and the growing tremble of expectation.

“What happened to your back?” he asked eventually.

“I had a slight disagreement with a car fire,” I said, half shrugging. “It won.”

“Slight disagreement is something of an understatement.” His fingers moved lightly over the ruined flesh. I could barely feel it, but even so, delight shivered through me. “But I would have thought a fire spirit would be able to control fire.”

“I can, but there were too many witnesses to even attempt it.”

“Damn shame.” He slid his arms around my waist, his lips branding my neck as one hand slid downward and skimmed the front of my panties. A moan escaped. He chuckled softly but explored no further, his caress sliding back up, not down. He hooked his thumbs under my bra and pushed it up over my breasts; then he cupped them, pressing them together as his clever fingers began to tease and pinch my nipples.

I leaned back against him and slid my free hand behind me, tugging the towel from his waist. I tossed it to one side, then caressed his shaft. He was big, gloriously so.

“I don't think I should be the only one naked here,” he murmured, then plucked my wineglass from my hand and placed it on the nearby table.
He slid my dress from my shoulders, and my bra and panties quickly followed. I was naked and standing in front of a window for all the world to see, and I couldn't have given a damn.

He pressed close again, his cock sliding between my legs, thrusting gently, teasing but not fully entering. My nostrils flared, and I drew in the heat of him. It slid through me as sweetly as his caresses, fueling the hunger, feeding the fires. His hands slid down my body, his touch so hot it felt like he was branding me. This time, though, he didn't retreat. His fingertips found my clit, his touch firm as he kissed my shoulders, my neck, my ear. My breathing sharpened, became moans of pleasure I couldn't control as the pressure built and built from within. But just as I was reaching boiling point, he pulled away, gliding his hands back up to my breasts, pinching and teasing and caressing until the tremors eased.

Then he started all over again. And then again, until I was so tightly wound it hurt.

Time, I thought raggedly, for a little revenge.

I spun around, dropped to my knees in front of him, and took him into my mouth. He shuddered, his fingers tangling in my hair as his body tensed and a groan escaped. Slowly, I moved my lips down his shaft, gradually taking in more of him, teasing him with my tongue, playing with him as he'd played with me, bringing him to the brink and then pulling away, time and again, until the heat of his desire was so fierce my inner fires were becoming drunk on the taste of it.

And suddenly tasting him wasn't enough. I wanted to claim
all
of him.