Succubus On Top (24 page)
Authors: Richelle Mead
“Yes,” I said breathlessly. “Youâyou've got to give me more.”
“Can do.” His hand reached into the magic pocket. One of the lethal bags appeared, and that ugly feeling snaked down my spine. He held the crystals teasingly out of my reach. “You know, they get better the more you do it. You up for that?”
I stared at the bag longingly, then up at him. “Don't you have more than this? I mean, I want that one . . . but it's not going to be enough. I need a lot of this.”
“Slow down. You don't want to take more than one bag.”
“I know that, but this is good for what, a day or two?”
His eyes glinted. “Big plans already, huh? Most people don't get quite so fired up this fast.”
I chewed on my lower lip, not wanting to raise any alarms. Assessing my self-inventory, I tried to think of something nonsexual the ambrosia would have affected. Alec's earlier visitor gave me the answer.
“It's weird. I know this guy at a modeling agency, and he always gives me the runaround. But I saw him yesterday when I took this . . . and it was like, I don't know. He couldn't get enough of me. He wants me to come back for some major shoots.” I gripped Alec's arm. “I don't get how this could be doing it . . . maybe it's coincidence. I don't know. But I want more. I think I need it to make this gig work out. You've got to help me. Or take me to wherever you get this. I'll pay. I'll do anything.”
His face told me I had said exactly the right thing.
“It's not coincidence,” he told me smugly. “And I'll get you more.”
I exhaled with palpable relief. “Promise? Like a big supply?”
“I promise. Here, take this one.”
“What do I owe you?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on! They can't all be free.” My hold on his hand changed to something softer and more suggestive. “I told you before . . . I'm happy to pay . . . however you want . . .”
He sighed, regarding me wistfully as he briefly ran his fingers over my hand and then pulled away. “I know. You want a big batch of it? That you'll have to pay for. I'll take you to the guy who gets it for me, and you can pay him.”
“What'll it cost? How much am I going to need?”
Something unreadable flashed in his eyes. “You've already got exactly what you need. Can you meet me tomorrow night?”
I hesitated. Carter had said we needed some prep time before I faced the supplier, time in which I had been told to arrange the meeting with him. This was too soon.
“I'm busy,” I told him, trying to put heavy regret into my words. “What about the next night?”
He didn't seem happy about that, just as he hadn't liked the delay in me drinking my first batch. But where his urgency had been underscored with an eager curiosity last time, he now displayed an almost panicked anxiety. I wondered just how demanding his master was. “Sooner would be better. You aren't going to be able to go that long anyway, not if you want it this bad already.”
I stayed firm. “I don't have a choice.”
He agreed after a little more wheedling, and we set a time and place to meet in two days. As I stood up, he warned me, “Call me sooner if you can't hold out, okay? Here's my cell.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“Hey,” he called as I started to walk away. “Good luck with the shoot.”
For a minute, I didn't remember what he was talking about. Then I recalled my alleged modeling gig. I smiled and thanked him, chuckling to myself as I left. In all of the lies I'd just told him, there had been a kernel of truth.
I did have a photo shoot. Tonight was the night Bastien and I were going to take the pictures for Seth.
Chapter 16
I
rang Bastien's doorbell for the third time and then glared peevishly at the house. Where the hell was he? I was a little earlier than our agreed meeting time but not significantly. I gave the door a petulant kick as I imagined Bastien “held up” in the arms of some panting housewife.
rang Bastien's doorbell for the third time and then glared peevishly at the house. Where the hell was he? I was a little earlier than our agreed meeting time but not significantly. I gave the door a petulant kick as I imagined Bastien “held up” in the arms of some panting housewife.
“He's not here,” said a cool voice nearby. I looked over and saw Dana standing there, a small leashed dog by her feet. It looked like the product of a tragic accident at the cotton-ball factory.
“Nice dog,” I said.
“My sister's. I'm taking care of him for a few days. You want to walk with us?”
No, but I had promised myself the other day that I would pick Dana's brain to figure out how I might aid Bastien, and this seemed as good an opportunity as any. Besides, he'd kill me if he knew I'd passed up a chance for “reconnaissance.”
I fell into step beside Dana and the fluff ball, congratulating myself for the hundredth time on being smart enough to choose cats over dogs. Tutuâyes, that was his nameâpranced along daintily, small tongue hanging out. His beady black eyes peered everywhere as he trotted merrily, but otherwise seemed oblivious to the wet sidewalk dirtying his tiny white feet.
“How's your rally going?” I asked after we'd exhausted dog topics.
“Excellent. I'm surprised you haven't heard about it in the news. We're getting a lot of press.”
“Haven't paid that much attention to the news.”
She told me the date and time. “Think you can make it?”
“I think I'm working that day,” I said automatically.
Dana gave me a knowing look. “Tabitha, I get the impression you're not entirely settled on that issue.”
You think? I looked away, again fighting the mental battle of speaking my mind versus causing trouble for Bastien. I finally opted for something that sounded vaguely like the truth.
“I just think . . . there're a lot of different ways to look at it, that's all.”
“It's okay to be unsure, you know.”
That was astonishing, coming from her. “Is it?”
“Of course. That's why groups like the CPFV exist. To help you see the truth of an issue.”
I repressed a snort. I'd thought for a moment she might startle me with a display of open-mindedness. I let the silence collect again.
“So,” she began after a moment, “what do you believe then?”
“Er, on what? Homosexuality? Or homosexual marriage?”
“Either.”
My opinion was simply that people wanted who they wanted, end of story. There was no regulating love or saying it was wrong. But Dana's views on that were religiously based, and I of all people knew better than to argue the right or wrong of faith.
“I'm just not sure people choose who they're attracted to,” I explained, not exactly attacking her question head-on. “So, I guess, it seems weird to me to talk about âhelping' or âchanging' people who can't really do anything about their natures, regardless of whether that nature is right or wrong.”
“So you think homosexuality is inborn?” That sweet voice couldn't entirely hide her scornful surprise.
“For some people. I think there are those who engage in . . . uh, same-sex activities for the fun of it, but for others, it's biological.”
I had a feeling Dana wouldn't describe same-sex activities as fun, but I still felt better at having voiced my opinions.
“You express yourself very well,” she admitted. “Even if I don't necessarily agree with you.”
I laughed out loud, and she looked at me strangely. “No, I didn't think you would.”
We grew quiet again, and I remembered I was supposed to be sounding her out on what she found romantic for Bastien.
“I wish I could choose who I was attracted to,” I said out of the blue, bringing up personal matters in a manner that was out of character for both Tabitha Hunter and Georgina Kincaid.
Dana seemed appropriately startled. “Things aren't going so well with your boyfriend? What was his name? Sven?”
“Seth,” I corrected, feeling only a little bad at dragging him into the cover story. Things with Seth were actually beautiful at the moment, but for the sake of appearances, I kept lying. “He's okay, I guess, and I like him . . . but he's not very, you know, romantic.”
“Ah,” she said neutrally.
“Am I crazy? Is that too much to ask? Maybe I should focus on other things.”
“What do you consider romantic?”
“I don't know. Little touches and flourishes here and there. Gestures to show how important you are, how much the other person cares about you.” Irises, smiley-face pancakes. “What do you think it is?”
She shrugged. We were rounding the corner back to Bastien's now. “I've come to see romance as not quite so important anymore,” she admitted. “Neither Bill nor I have time for it.”
“Oh.”
“That's not a bad thing. I'd say, more important than superficial flourishes is being able to connect with someone. To talk openly with them and share yourself. To know they're feeling what you're feeling.”
“Oh,” I said again, surprised. Her comments almost made sense. In some ways, they were a variation of Seth's views on honesty in a relationship. Biting my lip, I plunged on. “And what about . . . you know, attraction and sex appeal?”
She gave me a sidelong glance. “What about it?”
I shrugged. “I don't always feel it around him.” Liar, liar, pants on fire. “Do I have the wrong ideas about it? What do you think is sexy?”
Her answer took a long time in coming. “I don't know.”
Bastien stood by his front door as we approached. He waved a hand in greeting. “Hello, ladies.” He looked pleasantly astonished to see us togetherâand getting along.
Dana thanked me for the company and returned to her own home after refusing Bastien's automatic invitation to come inside and stay a while. Once she was gone and we were in the car headed to my photo shoot, I gave him the scoop on our talk.
“She doesn't know what's sexy?” he exclaimed. “She's practically begging for me to ravage her. Hmph. And Bill's not romantic. Well, no surprise there. You think she was lying about saying it wasn't important? Sort of a defense mechanism?”
“I don't know. Possibly. But even if she does miss romance, I think too many over-the-top gestures would throw up a flag. She isn't stupid. Profound conversation might be the way to go.”
“Then the cooking thing is a good idea. Lots of talking there.”
“I guess.” I didn't tell him that I had doubts about the efficacy of that method. Honestly, I wasn't sure what he could do anymore.
We'd decided to pull out all the stops for my pictures. He drove us downtown to the Hotel Andra, one of the nicest local spreads, despite its plain exterior. Through some charm I didn't know about, he'd even managed to book us the hotel's one-of-a-kind Monarch Suite on practically no notice. It had more room than we could possibly need, but its true selling pointâfor meâwas an utterly sumptuous, utterly sexy bed. Enclosed in its own romantically lit alcove, it had a deep, royal purple spread and a headboard of gleaming, black wood. The whole effect was dark and sensuous. We shape-shifted out of Mitch and Tabitha upon clearing the door.
“This bed alone,” declared Bastien, “will sell these pictures. Well, that and your naked flesh. But really, it's a tough call.”
He raided the mini-bar and made us improvised Grand Marnier martinis, which I gulped down with surprising eagerness. Suddenly, facing these pictures seemed a lot more daunting than I'd originally believed.
“Nothing to it,” he said, sensing my nervousness. “Put on something sexy and sprawl on the bed.”
I hadn't brought anything in particular to wear, for once willingly opting for shape-shifting. I started with a basic black nightgown. Super short, super low-cut. It seemed like a safe bet. Bastien positioned me on the bed, lying back in a sort of languid pose. He mussed my hair and requested a lazy pout.
“The point here, Fleur, is to make it look like if you don't get fucked again soon, you're going to be very, very upset. Men go for that.”
My apprehension melted away as Bastien took over, directing my postures and expressions, snapping away with his digital camera. We ran the gamut. Some shots I did completely naked, hiding nothing. For others, we found the suggestion of nudity could almost be more provocative. The way the slipped strap of a chemise could nearly reveal a breast. The way a sheer bra and panty set could cover and yet not cover.
Nor did we give all of them the just-got-fucked look. In some, I was very elegant, unbelievably perfect in every possible way, not a strand of hair out of place. In others, however, we played up the messy, wild lookâ“unplanned,” as Seth would say. We also didn't limit ourselves to the bed, as gorgeous as it was. I posed by windows, by a sofa, by the bathtub, in the bathtub. Both of us, as was requisite for our jobs, had pretty good imaginations for what was sexy and alluring. Nonetheless, we had brought along a few lingerie catalogs and adult magazines for inspiration. We would take breaks to plan, both of us frowning and giving each new pose serious thought.
All in all, it was an exhausting endeavor, but Bastien's energy never flagged as he guided me through it all with a professional ease. And honestly, after a certain point, I didn't need his coaching. I knew I was sexy, and it was easy to play that up, especially knowing that Seth would view all of this.
When the incubus had filled up the memory card, we finally called it quits. Sprawling on the bed beside me, he called room service and ordered us some professional martinis, since we'd run out of Grand Marnier. They arrived, and we luxuriated in a well-deserved rest, sipping our drinks.
“Thanks Bas,” I told him, touching his arm. “You're a good friend.”
“Easy to be one when the subject matter is so nice to look at. You're going to have a bitch of a time getting these printed, though. Take them to a store, and you won't get them back.”
I'd already thought of that. “Hugh has a snazzy, state-ofthe-art printer. I'll do it there.” I considered. “Although, he might keep a few too.”
“I wouldn't blame him.” Bastien set his drink down and rolled over to regard me affectionately, face almost serious for a change. “You're a beautiful woman, Fleur, and that means something when you can perfectly control your appearance. It's not your physical sideâas nice as it is. It's something in here.” He tapped my breastbone. “Something warm and sensual and lovely that shines out. I'd know you in any body, in any place.”
I curled up against him, happy. “I'm glad you're here. Even if it's because of the Barton and Dana mess. We're going to fix that for you, you know. I promise. I'm not letting them ship you off somewhere horrible.”
A faint, playful smile curled his lips. Affection shone in his dark eyes, affection that was no doubt mirrored in my face. Suddenly, he leaned over and kissed me.
Whoa.
It wasn't a friendly kiss either, not the kind we so regularly planted on each other's lips in a careless way. This was a deep kiss, an erotic kiss. His lips felt like velvet, his tongue slowly sliding over mine. I was so floored by what was happening that for a moment I couldn't do anything except sink into that kiss and let it send shockwaves through my body.
My senses returned to me, and I broke away, sitting up. “What the hell are you doing?”
He sat up as well, as surprised by my reaction as I had been by what triggered it. “What do you mean?”
“You kissed me. I mean,
really
kissed me.”
really
kissed me.”
He grinned, sensual and provocative. I shivered. When incubi targeted you with that charm, it was bewildering, even for a succubus.
“What's wrong with it? You mean more to me than anyone else in the world. This is a natural step for us. We should have been doing it a long time ago.”
I shook my head, backing away. “I like the way we've always been.”
“Only because you haven't tried anything else. Look, I'm not asking you to run off into the sunset here. We're friends. I know that, and I like that. But you've said it yourselfâsleeping with people you don't care about is wearying.”
“Yeah, but . . . I don't think this is necessarily the answer.”
“Then what is the answer?” he demanded. “Sleepingâor rather not sleepingâwith a mortal you do care about?”
I climbed out of bed. “That was harsh. And it's unrelated. I don't want us to be anything more than friends, Bastien. Sex'll mess things up.”
He stayed on the bed, watching me pace. “Sex will fix a lot of things. It's about time we got some satisfaction that wasn't all business. It'll be therapeutic for both of us. We need it.”
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