Sinful Magic (8 page)

“I’ll put ice on it later.” She shoved his jacket into his hand; then both of them turned as police swarmed into the room. They insisted on talking to everyone. “Stay here with your bodyguard,” Key said, then walked over with the police to where security had the two thugs contained, giving his statement as he did so.

He glanced back over to see a cop taking Roxy’s statement. Tyler was sticking close to him, so Key took out his phone and made the call he’d promised the kid.

“Yeah,” she answered.

That got a smile from him. “Ailish, it’s me.”

“No info on Liam, but I won two hundred bucks!” “On slots!”

He smiled. “Good, you’re buying dinner. Hey, I have a favor. A friend of mine wants to learn to fight.” He slid behind his table and sat down. “Could you meet us in the signing room?”

“The fertility witch?”

He checked on Roxy again, saw her still talking to a cop, her bodyguard next to her. He answered Ailish, “Nope. Name’s Tyler, just met him today.”

“So mysterious, dragon boy. Okay, we’ll be there in a few.”

“Later.” He hung up and looked at Tyler standing by him. “She’s on her way.”

“Thanks, Mr. DeMicca.”

“Call me Key.” Then he sobered and gave the boy fair warning. “You might not be thanking me after you go one round with her. She won’t go easy on you, but if you really want to learn, Ailish will teach you.”

His own memory of learning to fight came back to him. Phoenix had found Key on the ground getting the shit kicked out of him and then beaten the hell out of the group of boys and sent them packing. Furious, he’d brutally yanked Key off the dirt and asked him if he was too dumb or too scared to fight.

Don’t know how. All he knew how to do was not show pain.

I’ll teach you.

And he hadn’t been nice about it. But Key learned. No one knew that, not a single soul. Phoenix had his faults, hotheaded, hardheaded, always spoke his mind, but he never told anyone about that scene. Ever. He’d call Key pansy-ass artist, comic boy, dragon lover, all day long, but he’d never humiliate him with that story.

Tyler looked him directly in the eye. “I want to learn.”

“Good man,” Key said. They’d find out more about this boy, what his situation was. If he needed real help, they’d get it for him.

He stowed his phone and walked toward Roxy.

But she was gone. Again. Damn it, losing her was getting to be a bad habit.

Roxy was exhausted, and the herb tea she’d sipped hadn’t done anything for the throb in her left cheek and eye. She’d just concluded her last meeting and had a little time to herself. She’d sent her bodyguard, Joel, on a break so he could get something to eat and walk around a bit. She would call him to meet her before she left the café. Her stomach rumbled and she thought about ordering dinner.

She opened her jaw, winced, and decided to wait. The place was full, but she had the booth, and had paid for several rounds of drinks and food for the people she met with. First she’d had discussions with some key merchandising people about current projects, and she’d just concluded a meeting with Perry and Nina Jenkins, who assured her the dramatic rights were available. She really liked them and loved their series of Eternal Assassins. She could visualize it as a movie, beginning with the murder of the first assassin and Aya, Empress of Shadowland, offering the shocked soul a deal for revenge. The soul would have no idea of the true cost.

The overarcing story question will be Is there a way out of the eternal contract? Fighting against a trick of nature, or supernatural beings, appealed to her on so many levels. She loved themes like this, where each choice mattered, where the characters played an important role in the universe.

She picked up her pen, jotting down all the information she’d need for a profit and loss statement to include in her pitch to her dad. Then they’d come up with an offer and contact the agent

Someone sat down across from her.

Looking up, Roxy fought back a groan. It was the man in the Bart Simpson costume. He’d been following her around the signing, repeatedly pitching his “Groundbreaking animated series about a family

”

She’d told him politely that she wasn’t interested the first two times, then more sternly the third time, and after that her bodyguard had chased him off. She thought he’d gotten the message.

Apparently not. That plastic head with the frozen cartoon expression was disturbing. His voice came through a hole in the mouth. “Since you’re not busy now, I’ll finish what I was telling you about my project. It’s X-Men meets the Munsters.”

She’d had enough of this. “I’ve told you no. You need to leave or I’m calling my bodyguard.” She reached for her phone.

His shoulders snapped back and the head wobbled. “You won’t even give me a chance! You’re all the same, a bunch of stick-up-your-ass cretins who refuse to recognize my talent!” He got up, snatched a full glass of water from the next table and dumped it on her.

Roxy gasped in shock as the water and ice tumbled over her.

Everyone in the café went silent, except for the sound of a cellphone ringing somewhere. Bart Simpson stomped out.

“Hell,” she muttered, feeling hot tears of humiliation, tiredness, frustration, and loneliness fill her throat. She never cried, never gave in to her emotions.

“You have a lemon slice in your hair.”

She looked up to see Kieran looming over her, his wide shoulders blocking out the world. His mouth was half-cocked, one side turned up in a smirk, the other side flat. It felt strangely as if it was just the two of them. “It’s my citrus look. You like?” What else was she going to say?

She could feel his gaze slide over her face, travel along her neck like a warm caress, and catch on the soaked silk shirt molded to her breasts. She felt her nipples tingle and harden.

He lifted his gaze. Putting one hand on the table, he leaned in. “You have a habit of getting wet.”

In spite of the cold water, heat bloomed in her belly and in her schema. She was losing her mind, or maybe it drowned in the water. “First you and now Bart Simpson.”

His grin slid into high voltage as he pulled the slice of lemon from her hair. “The cartoon character? He gets you wet? Kinky.”

“No!” She picked up a cloth napkin and wiped her face. “I mean—” She was flustered. That voice, his grin, just the solid feel of him leaning into her made her forget her own name. “Bart Simpson’s been stalking me!”

His dimples appeared. “Where’s your bodyguard? Off at Moe’s Bar?”

Her mouth twitched. “I gave Joel a break. I didn’t know I’d be accosted by Bart. He had a cutting-edge animated series idea. X-Men meets the Munsters.”

Key dropped his head and laughed.

It was too much. Roxy was drenched, humiliated, tired, sore, but she started to laugh, too. Until finally the hot pain in her face got her attention. She cupped her left cheek in her hand. “Could have used the ice in that glass for my face.”

Key sobered instantly. He reached over, pulled her hand off, and took her chin in his palm. “Hell, woman, why didn’t you put some ice on this?”

The sudden touch stunned her. “Uh

I had work.” Business first. She was responsible, not flighty and reckless.

“The bruising is worse.” He ran one long finger over the tender skin.

She shivered, a little tremor sliding down her body, touching her nipples and

He stood up, slid off his jacket and placed it around her shoulders. “Come on.” Using the edges, he pulled her to her feet.

Chunks of ice clunked on the polished marble floor. She hardly noticed with the feel of his jacket, warm from his body and full of his spicy scent, and Key standing right in front of her. “Thanks.”

He smiled down at her. “Let’s get you in dry clothes and do something about your face.” He let go of the edges and pressed his hand into the small of her back.

Waitstaff rushed in behind her to clean up the mess. Diners watched as they walked out into the atrium with the colored water feature in the center. Every step she took with his hand on her back pulsed in her schema. “You don’t need to come with me.” She held up the phone still clutched in her hand. “I’ll call Joel.” She should have done that earlier, but Kieran had a way of distracting her.

He kept his hand on her, guiding her into the elevator, then gestured to the buttons for her to push her floor and said, “Can’t take a chance with Bart Simpson on the loose. Call your bodyguard from the room.”

She put her phone away and pushed the button, then she leaned against the elevator wall, and pulled his jacket tighter around her. She’d been watching Kieran in the signing, she couldn’t help it. The man was her Awakening, and she was curious. Then she’d seen the kid shoved aside, the man show his gun, and Kieran explode into action. He’d leaped over that table like he could fly. He’d moved so fast, she could barely track him. He’d looked every bit as fierce and frightening as the dragon he drew.

She’d reacted when that man put the knife to the boy’s throat, rushing over there, planning to distract the man. She hadn’t anticipated the thug on the floor getting up and grabbing her, but it had worked.

Even when he’d pressed that knife to her throat, she’d been scared for only an instant. Then Kieran turned around, she’d seen his eyes drain to gray menace, and she’d known he’d free her. She hadn’t expected him to throw a knife that landed two or three inches from her arm. Was his aim that good or had it been luck?

She looked up to see him staring at her from two feet away. Wearing a black shirt and jeans, he filled the elevator, dominated the space with his powerful male presence. He was so

capable. “How did you know you wouldn’t hit me? With your knife, I mean.”

“I don’t miss.” The doors opened; he stepped out and then held the door.

“Ever?” She went into the hallway. For any other man, she’d say he was bragging. But she’d seen Kieran in action today.

He fell into step beside her as they walked down the hall. “Not in a long time. You weren’t in any danger from me.”

But she was. And she was playing with fire by prolonging her contact with him. Questions bubbled up, her desire to know more about him, learn everything she could. Where he came from, how he learned to fight like that, what his skin felt like, what it would feel like to let herself go in a hot, deep, wet kiss with him.

Stop it! She had to control her thoughts. She grabbed her key card from the side pocket of her purse and fumbled to get it into the slot.

Then he moved up behind her, one of his hands taking the card from her fingers, the other reaching for the door handle. The heat of him sank into her from all sides.

“Nervous?” he said against her ear.

She shivered and watched as he lined the card up and slid it in. Slowly. His long fingers pushed the card down a fraction at a time. Holy vibrators, she was in trouble if she thought a key card was sensual. “Hurry up!”

“Impatient to get inside with me?” He rammed the card home and pushed the door open.

Roxy took a step to get some distance, then turned, took off his jacket, and held it out for him. “Thanks, I’m safely to my room now.”

He ignored the jacket, reached for her arm and pulled her behind him where she was safe. Then he walked into the room.

“Damn it, you can’t

”

He paid no attention to her protest. First he checked the bathroom, then the closet, and finally the room. This one had two queen beds. He walked around them both to make sure no one was crouched and waiting for her. Then he turned back and saw her standing there holding the door open. She arched one delicate eyebrow and said, “Done playing superhero?”

He walked up to her. The closer he got, the more her natural honey-almond scent deepened. He knew desire when he scented it. It’d been growing since they got into the elevator. It was tantalizing, seductive, and beginning to get an edge that suggested she was going to be in pain if she didn’t follow her urges.

He wouldn’t leave her in pain. Not when she obviously desired him and he wanted her with a desperation that was growing by the second. He dropped his gaze to her breasts, so lush and full, beneath the flirty little silk shirt. His body began to hum. Then he saw her shiver. Lifting his gaze, he reached out and caressed her wrist. “Close the door, Roxy.”

Her eyes widened. “After you leave.”

He drew his finger up the inside of her elbow. “Now,” he said gently. He wasn’t leaving her hurt, cold, and alone. He sure as hell didn’t want to leave her unsatisfied, although that was ultimately up to her. But he could be persuasive.

She shook her head and then winced. Raising her shoulders, she rolled her head, obviously trying to loosen tight muscles. Then she abruptly let go of the door, dropped his jacket, and grabbed her left shoulder, her face tightening.

Judging by the suddenness of her movement, he assumed it was a muscle spasm. Key reached behind her shoulder and felt the knotted muscle twitch beneath her cold, soggy shirt. Her scent was getting sharper from the pain. Quickly he began undoing the little row of buttons. “Get this off.”

She dropped her arms, and he slid the shirt off.

Letting the garment fall to the ground, he caught her shoulders and turned her. Moving her damp hair aside, he pressed his fingers against the muscles where her neck curved into her shoulder.

“There,” she said, her voice tight.

He began massaging, working in circles, warming the muscles and tendons so they’d relax. With his other hand, he slid the strap of her gold-colored bra over her arm, working the entire area. She’d probably wrenched the muscle when the guy in the signing had grabbed her or slapped her, and then the cold water and stress finally set off a spasm. Hot anger sizzled inside him. He knew it wasn’t logical to think he could have prevented what had happened, but her pain pushed his buttons.

The woman made him feel too much.

She was turning him inside out. He’d had a quick glimpse of her abundant breasts spilling over the cups of her bra. And now even as he was trying to ease her pain, he was thinking about how her skin felt satiny-soft beneath his fingers. She was the color of a seashell, creamy with a hint of pink. He even noticed the way her damp hair was curling.