Sixpence & Whiskey (11 page)

And I mean to, really, I do. But when I get home, I’m too damn tired to haul that heavy-ass tequila up our formidable stairs. “Sorry, José, you get to sleep in the car tonight.” I give the box a pat and drag my ass inside.

Maybe it’s freaking out about Benji going into the basement, or maybe it’s just that I’ve given up on Tyr giving me anything else useful, but as I climb the steps to my room I decide it’s time to let the assassin go. Killing him in cold blood isn’t in me, and holding him is dangerous to both my employees and my customers.

Sticking out my tongue at my face in the dresser mirror, I turn to climb into bed. I love my bed, a huge platform affair, topped with the thickest duvet known to man. Or woman. All in candy-striped pink. I roll into the heavenly softness with a sigh.

To my surprise, despite everything that’s been on my mind I fall asleep almost as soon as my head hits the mountain of pillows. Sinking right into a dream.

A place and time I know too damn well. One I have tried desperately to forget while holding onto it with greedy hands.

I’m out on the ice of Lake Superior, alone.

Everything is swirling and white, so white my eyes ache with it, blurring until I feel half blind, rubbing at them under my glasses. Of course, the lenses are half frozen and foggy, too, which doesn’t help. Shivering, I keep walking. One foot in front of the other. My innate magic is protecting me from the worst of the wind, but it’s fading fast. I’m exhausted.

A nasty fight with an ice sprite took a lot out of me. I’d been hearing about all these missing fishermen for awhile and decided for some mad reason it would be a good idea to check things out in case magic was involved. Turns out it was. Yay for me.

Sprites are like big fairies, except they have a serious dark side.

Where fairies are merely tricksy and a bit cruel, sprites are downright murderous. This one was no different. She laughed when she saw me coming, but she’s not laughing now. I ate her in the end, but the damn thing hit me with one helluva confounding spell on her way out. Sprite magic is nothing to sneeze at—though normally a confounding spell wouldn’t be too dangerous. It’s only like being very, very drunk. Something that this five-years-younger me is quite
familiar with.

It’s a super happy buzz. So happy in fact, that I’m not worried I’m a mile out on the big lake, with a blizzard coming. Or that I can’t access my magic until the spell wears off. Not without taking the chance of killing myself and everything around me.

Yeah, not worried at all. Something deep inside me screams a little louder under the happy and I pick up the pace, giggling helplessly with every step on the cracking ice.

Ahead a shadow looms. In my current state it looks like a big, blue sleeping cat coiled up on the lake.

“Nice kitty,” I laugh, but a tiny spell-free part of me recognizes it for what it is. An ice-fishing house. Some North Shore fisherman out here in this mess, trying to catch some walleye or pike. Thank god for Minnesota men and their mad ways.

But when I push open the door, the icehouse is empty, abandoned. One of the sprite’s victims probably put this up before she got to him. The wind behind me swirls inside with a whistling laugh. There is a cot in one dark corner. One blanket, blessedly thick-looking. Some tackle. There are marks in the ice where a portable heater once stood. I don’t think the sprite took it, so some other fisherman must’ve made off with it. I hope the thieving bastard got his. At least there’s a lone Coleman lantern on the cot.

I pick it up, turning the knob. A weak light greets my aching eyes as I shut the door behind me.

Minutes later, I curl up on the cot, pulling the blanket up to my chin. Listening to the storm pick up outside. Hoping against hope that my innate magic can keep me alive through the night. Knowing that bet is a long shot, but the damn spell prevents me from working up any real fear.

We like to bitch and whine about it, but fear is kind of a necessity for survival. Without it, I can’t get scared enough to do anything, but I can get tired.
So tired…

When I open my eyes, seemingly an instant later, there is a familiar shadow above me, but nothing will come into focus.

“I need you to stay awake, Seph.”

I murmur something unintelligible in response to that deep voice and go right back to sleep.

There is a sharp crack, and my cheek burns. I sit up, swearing, and this time Jack’s face is crystal clear.

“Did you just
slap
me?”

His gaze finds mine, and it is dark, fathomless and full of something I can’t quite place.
Fear?
Surely not, but I’m too damn out of it to think. My mind as frozen as my body.

“I can’t create heat with my magic. You have to cast. Come on, baby.”

I laugh through chattering teeth. “Can’t. Can’t reach the magic. Fucking sprite.”

He curses and kicks off his boots. I watch through slitted eyes as he starts to shuck his clothes, unable to turn away.

“Not going to ask what I’m doing here?” The rasping words make me smile. I’m still far too mellow from the confounding spell. And the sight of Jack undressing doesn’t hurt my mood any.

“Of course you’re here,” I say with a sleepy smile. “You’re always
here
.”

“In an icehouse—is that where you’ve consigned my memory?” He sounds amused. “Fitting, I must say.”

“In here, you dope.” I tap my temple with one hand. Jack pauses in the act of removing his shirt, but doesn’t comment. He leaves his jeans on, but otherwise bare he slips next to me on the tiny cot.

I gasp at the shock of warmth, shuddering as his arms wrap around me, pulling me into that lean, ripped body. Jack runs hot, hotter than any shifter I’ve ever met. It hurts because I am so damn cold. The feeling is a bit like shaking out a limb that has gone to sleep; all pins and needles and stabbing pain, but after a minute I’m able to relax into him. Tucking my head beneath his chin, listening to his heartbeat. I know I’m hallucinating, but it feels so damn real. So good.

As death dreams go, I’ll take it.

I sigh and snuggle in. “This feels way too familiar, and nice.”

He makes a noise, somewhere between a grunt and a groan as my thigh slips between his. “There’s nothing nice about me.”

“Bullshit, you were very nice, once upon a time.” 

“You’re better off forgetting all that.”

“A girl never forgets her first love.”

There is a hiss of indrawn breath and Jack mutters something under his breath. I raise my head. “What was that?”

“You’re so damn naïve, Seph.”

“No. Normal people call that honest.”

“Well, if we’re being ‘honest,’” his lips curve in a bitter smile, “you don’t love me, not anymore. I saw to that.”

I want to tell him that betrayal doesn’t erase love. That it may shatter it into itty-bitty pieces, but that doesn’t mean it up and vanishes. But for once, I keep my damn mouth shut. Even in a dream, there are things best left unsaid.

In fact—what the hell am I doing talking about this stuff?

Deciding I’m not taking proper advantage of this dream, I slide my hands up Jack’s chest, letting my nails graze rich, warm skin. “If you really want to heat me up, I can think of a more effective method. You know, since this isn’t real and all.”

Those beautiful eyes freeze on mine. “Don’t fucking tempt me, princess.”

But when I move against him, his body responds instantly. His cock hardens against my thigh. I press my lips against his throat to feel his pulse racing. With a curse, Jack flips me over so fast my clearing head goes all woozy again. He’s pinned my hips to the cot, his own gaze steady as a rock.

“For a dream, you’re awfully uncooperative,” I pout.

“I’m not a goddamn…
Never mind.
We’re not gonna fuck, Seph. Not like this. Even I can’t be that
much of an asshole. You don’t know what you’re saying right now.”

“I know what I want, I always have.” My eyes sting at the rejection. Even when he’s just in my own head, Jack is aces at hurting me. “And you’re still an asshole.”

“Yes, I am, baby. But this asshole wants you just as bad as you want me. You’re making it really hard to be good.”

I laugh. “Liar. You don’t know what being good is. Though,” I raise my hips deliberately, rubbing against him, “you’ve gotten the really hard thing right.”

His hands tighten on my skin, his eyes boring into mine. Outside the wind is screaming, but in here the silence stretches and stretches. The moment he snaps is tangible. Jack drops his head into the crook of my neck, his weight heavy against me. Hot breath plumes against my skin for several long moments. Then he gives a low groan, making me shiver as the sound sinks into my skin.

It’s the sound of defeat.

Something savage inside me is viciously pleased at that sound.

“
I’m
such
a fucking bastard,” he mutters against my skin. Jack raises his head, his expression dark. “But we’re doing this my way, princess. There’s not going to be any sex. Just me—making you absolutely crazy.”

Then his hands are on my jeans, yanking them down. His fingertips tease the edge of my panties, his thumb drawing circles on the inside of my thigh. I don’t bother to halt the moan that escapes my lips when he rips the fabric aside seconds later, replacing it with his fingers.

I can hear the storm raging outside, feel the fragile icehouse shaking, but I’m not in the least cold anymore. I’m burning up.

“Tell me you want this, Seph. Say the words.” His fingers move against me and I do more than say them. I scream them.

And then his mouth is between my legs, and I’m arching up, trying for something beautiful just out of reach. Something that Jack gives me in spades with his touch and his tongue. Over and over again.

I don’t know how long it is before the last orgasm fades away, but my head is completely clear, and light is seeping through the edges of the ice house door. The storm is over and Jack is gone. Like he was never there. Like I imagined him. Like all those other times before. Those stolen kisses I told myself were all in my head.

But this time I know better. Because this time Jack left something behind.

18

With
a gasp, I yank myself from the dream, shaking with cold and desire.

It takes me a minute to realize I’m not alone. Like I pulled him from the dream with me, Jack is crossing the room, a dark shadow in the night, my flimsy white curtains waving behind him, his eyes bright.

My freezing bedroom. Where lines of ice are drawing up the creaking windows, forming swirls and patterns against the night. It’s bitterly cold, but my body is on fire. Just like that damn night all those years ago.

“What were you dreaming about, princess?” His voice is commanding and deep, rolling over my chilled skin to make me swallow hard. The lust from my dream hovers in the air, binding us both to the past.

“N-nothing much.” I grab for the covers at the foot of the bed, but he snatches them back, throwing them to the floor. He takes me in, from the UMD T-shirt I cut the midriff out of years ago, to the boy shorts that my ass turns into something other than
boy
anything. I can see the hollow in his jaw flexing in and out

“A
nothing much
that made you call out my name?”

“I didn’t.” My hand goes to my mouth, horrified.

“You
did
.”

In the time it takes my heart to skip several beats, he’s got a knee on my bed, making the mattress dip, his eyes glued to the exposed curve of my side, and the tattoo that stretches from just below my right breast down along my rib cage and over my tummy. I finally took the bandage off earlier tonight.

“The tree of life,” he murmurs, looking contemplative. “It’s beautiful.” Gently, he runs his thumb along my hipbone, just under the new ink, seemingly unaware of what is hidden among the tangled roots of the tatt. His name.

At his touch, my ass comes off the bed, even though I swear I told it to stay put. It’s not
my
fault that stupid dream memory has my body going off the rails.

“Oh baby, you’re close, aren’t you?” The words are a whispered caress, barely audible, but they make my toes curl.

“N-no.”

“I don’t remember you having a stuttering problem. Or being such a liar.” He moves, his fingers sliding down my hip, until his palm is a warm weight on the top of my thigh. His fingers are an inch from my panties. The dark hunger in his gaze makes me bite back a whimper.

God, stop.
Stop, Jack.
That’s what I should tell him, but what comes out is, “What the hell do you remember about me, Jack Frost?”

His gaze is hooded, his fingertips teasing the inside of my thigh now. “Too much. And not enough. But right now?
You coming apart in my hands.
Over and over. That’s what you were dreaming about, wasn’t it? The icehouse?”

I close my eyes and he lets out a long breath.

“I knew it. How the hell did you figure it out? How did you know that was real?”

I laugh softly, keeping my eyes shut tight. “You forgot something.”

“I didn’t leave anything behind. Not once. I’m sure of it.”

“Your hands, Jack. Where you held me down that night. You marked me.”

I open my eyes to see him blinking in consternation. He stares down at his hand spread over my bare skin. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t.” I swallow a laugh. “Not that time. But why, Jack?
Why were you there at all?
”

He doesn’t answer my question, if he even knows the answer, which I am beginning to doubt. Jack looks as lost as I feel, emotions tumbling around and around like socks in a dryer. I am acutely aware of the weight of his palm, the coiled strength of that hard body only inches away. I take a slow, shaky breath and Jack’s gaze sharpens, pinning me to the bed.

“We could repeat that night, Seph. And more.” His voice drops to that roughened rasp that drags all the oxygen from my lungs. “
Right fucking now
. Just say the word.”

I can’t move, staring up at his face as my pulse leaps again. Despite everything I know about him, the temptation is huge.

Overwhelming, just like it was in that goddamn icehouse. Back then, I convinced myself it was all a hallucination—until it was over. This time, I can’t fool myself. I know he’s real. I also know what will happen if I let him in again. Jack used love once to get both sex and power. Sex now could be his way to get something else. Something that might destroy me.

Either way, I won’t survive tangling with this man a second time.

A big, lean hand wraps around my hip, strong fingers digging into the curve of my ass, lifting me. His head is already lowering, just like in my goddamn dream. There is no faking the look on his face. I absolutely believe Jack wants me. I just don’t trust
why.

A lock of thick chestnut hair brushes my thigh, and I nearly scream at the need that rips through me.

“Jack,
don’t
.” But my head longs to fall back and let him do what he will.

“I want to taste you again,” he breathes, hot against my fluttering stomach, the low words full of promise. “You’ve no idea how much. I need this, too.”

Maybe he does. Unfortunately that pesky
why
won’t leave me alone.

“You can’t have it.” My words come out shaky as the warm, sandpaper rasp of his jaw makes my insides do the shimmy. Because
oh god, do I want to let him have it.

His lips brush my skin, and I almost come on the spot, my fingers balling up the sheet beneath me. Somehow I choke out the words, “Jack, I said
no
.”

Without another word, he rolls off the bed and onto his feet. I can see the dark shadow of that broad back; he’s shaking. But then again, so am I. It takes a minute, but when he turns around, Jack’s back in control.

Or close to it. Snow is falling lightly from my bedroom ceiling.

Ignoring the aching in my heart and the throbbing between my legs, I get to my feet, stumbling for the hot-pink robe on the back of my bedroom door by the light of my old alarm clock. Striving for calm, for a way out of this madness. As always, the way is paved with snark.

“Wanna tell me why you’re in my bedroom making it snow at 2:11 in the morning?”

He looks up and curses. The snow freezes in mid-air, flakes winking out one by one. Jack shoves a hand through his hair, giving me a dark look.

“It’s about the assassin you’re keeping prisoner in the basement of your bar.”

“Oh,
that
.” I wave a hand and pull on my robe, or try to. It takes me a bit to realize I am trying to put it on inside out and backward. And possibly upside down. Jack rips it from my hands and shakes it out with a snap before holding it out for me to put on. His jaw is clenched so tightly it looks painful.

I shove my arms through the mass of pink fluff.

“Thank you,” I mumble.

“Believe me, it’s better for both of us if you’re covered up right now.”  His voice could strip paint as he steps back, watching me tie the robe closed and draw the collar up to my throat.

I still feel naked. The look in his eyes doesn’t help.

“You’ve got to let Tyr go, Seph.”

I’m not about to tell him I’ve already come to this conclusion. “But I don’t
want
to let him go, Jack. He tried to kill me.”

“Not very hard.” He seems pissed about Tyr’s inefficiency as an assassin. This makes me bristle. For obvious reasons.

“Only because Sy stopped him.”

His snort says it all. “My point exactly. One of the realm taken down by a
human
? It’s ludicrous.”

“You’re very rude sometimes, you know that, Jack?”

He folds his arms, leaning against my dresser. “Seph, you can’t continue to hold him. It’s dangerous.”

“Huh. Somehow I figure it’s more dangerous to have him wandering around trying to
kill
me.” We stare at each other across the bluish winter shadows playing through the half-open curtains. My toes curl into the shaggy alpaca rug under my bare feet, my body still keenly aware of the bed a few steps away and his earlier offer. I can imagine us tangled there together all too easily.

“That won’t happen again.” There’s a muscle ticking in his jaw. It takes me a minute to sort out what he’s talking about. Oh yeah. Tyr.

“How do you know?”

“I just do. But the longer he’s here, the likelier it is others will come to free him …or finish what he started. You want one of them to blow that damn bar of yours sky high?”

I shrug, feeling mulish. “Don’t knock the power of publicity. T&T could use some this time of year—”

“This isn’t a fucking
joke
, princess!”

“You being concerned about me?” I give him a long measured look that makes his lips tighten. “Yeah, I kind of think it is. What’s your angle, Jack?”

“There doesn’t always have to be an angle.”

I laugh out loud at that. “With you? Oh yes, there fucking does.”

Before my laughter fades away, he’s in my face, in my space. Hands wrapped around my arms, so close I can feel that incredible heat of his though my robe. I back up until my ass hits the wall. There’s nowhere else to go. I’ve completely forgotten my magic. Hell, I barely remember how to breathe. Unable to focus on anything, but the infuriating, desirable man in front of me.

“Angle or not, you know I’m right. Let him go, Seph. Tomorrow.”

“I’ll think about it.”
Bullshit.
I can’t think about anything right now except me and Jack on that goddamn bed. From the look in his eyes, he’s right there with me.

“Think about whatever you want, Seph,” his gaze is scorching, “but do what I say.”

“Thinking is all you’re getting from me for tonight, Jack.”

“Is it?” His hands tighten on my fluffy pink sleeves, not painfully, but I can feel his strength even through the thick fabric.

“Yeah, it
is
.” I say, wishing the words didn’t sound so breathy, or that I could tear my eyes away from his lips.

“I think not.”

Then his mouth is on mine, searing and sweet, and all I want is more.

Before I can embarrass myself by reaching for him, he’s gone. Leaving my lips branded and my legs shaking for the third time in less than a week. But Jack left a message in the ice fading from my windows.

Tomorrow.