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“Then what is?”
“You have your unreadable secrets. I have mine.”
He set a plate of quinoa and vegetables before her. Verity closed her eyes, drawing in the crazy-good scents, until Rook touched her shoulder to sweep her hair back.
Meeting his gaze, they shared a smile that said everything she had wanted that kiss to mean to him.
“This meal won’t be anything to talk of after that kiss,” he said.
So he had been affected by it.
Smiling to herself, she forked in a bite. True, his kiss had been delicious, but the food was nothing to sneeze at. “I’ve only known you a few hours and already you’re spoiling me. If you keep feeding me like this, I may never leave.”
“Is that a promise?” He winked and poured a goblet of wine for himself.
* * *
While Rook loaded the dishwasher, Verity wandered into the living room. She didn’t feel compelled to help. Domesticity was not tops on her list. Admittedly, she spoiled herself with maid and catering services. She could afford it. An immortal witch with a mind to living many centuries compiled a nice portfolio over the years, and a cache of seventeenth-century gold given to her by a former lover who had taken infatuation to new levels was something she would appreciate for centuries to come.
The sudden awareness that Rook was behind her made her bow her head and smile. He was so quiet. Stealthy, like a hunter. But a sexy, cool stealth that disturbed her need to remain cautious around him. She was normally not so quick to jump into a man’s arms, let alone allow him to kiss her, but with Rook all her personal boundary rules seemed ridiculous.
Trust? Certainly not. But trust had nothing to do with lust.
He wanted to touch her? Bring it on. And don’t stop, pretty please.
He raked his fingers up through her hair, clutching a good portion of it, and tugged her head and shoulders back until she bent at the waist. Looking down at her and holding her firmly before him, he traced a finger down her neck and the vee décolletage of her T-shirt, leisurely skimming the mounds of her cleavage. To be held like this—controlled—excited her.
“Your skin is soft.” With a twist of his hand, he righted her to stand straight. His fingers never left her cleavage, and they felt like a cool summer breeze against her warm skin. “Your skin is like the flame you seem to have mastered. I’ve known witches over the years, and most avoid fire.”
“Because it can bring our death.”
He nodded, his jaw tensing. Burning a witch at the stake, or in any other manner, was the worst and most assured way to end their life. Had he witnessed such a travesty? Verity got the impression he suddenly wasn’t in the present moment, so she sought to lure him back.
With a teasing dip of her tongue out the corner of her mouth, she held up her palm, and with nothing more than a thought summoned a fireball the size of a plum to hover above her fingers.
Rook’s eyes alighted with the flame’s reflection, and his smile grew. “Marvelous. And so controlled. May I?” He opened his palm as if he wanted to hold it. “Can I?”
“If I allow it, you should be able to hold it a few seconds without getting burned.”
She tilted her palm, and the ball of ensorcelled flame rolled onto his hand without touching skin, only skimming above it. Her magic kept it from settling onto his palm, and she had to concentrate to make it stay there. He didn’t flinch at the heat, and she gave him credit for that. Perhaps his cooler skin also made it possible to hold it as long as he was.
Lifting his hand before his eyes, with his other fingers he touched the top of the ball. “Incredible.” The flames licked at his fingertips and he hissed, retracting and shaking out his palm and dropping the fireball.
Verity bent to sweep a hand through the flame, extinguishing it before it hit the wood floor.
“Sorry.” He studied his fingertips. “I’ll leave the fire magic to you.”
“You had to try it,” she said, taking his hand to inspect the damage. “I sense you are a man who likes to control whatever you can. You exude power.”
“Is anything wrong with that?”
“Not at all. So long as you don’t corrupt that power with greed or malevolence.” She kissed his fingertips, which were warm but had not touched the flame long enough to receive more than a red blush to the skin. “You want to play with something dangerous that’ll warm your hands?”
She stepped back, teasing her fingers along the neckline of her shirt. A dip of her head, and she looked up through her lashes at him. The hunger in Rook’s eyes brightened. He followed her as she backed across the room, nearing the Buddha statue. Only when the windowsill behind her stopped her progress did he smirk. Triumph. She was now trapped by the hunter, unless she dodged to the side.
Verity planted her feet. She preferred the capture.
Rook did not disappoint.
He swept a palm along her thigh and hooked her leg with a hand, coaxing it up along his hip. Pressing her back against the window frame, he placed a hand over her head as he leaned in and captured her mouth with another of his devastating kisses.
Verity tugged him closer with the leg she had wrapped behind his hip, and he nudged his erection against her Hard and ready. Goddess, but she could unzip him and take him in hand if she could get beyond the fact that this was happening so quickly. They’d shared a drink at a café and then supper, and now…
The devouring. Which she didn’t mind at all if she didn’t think about all the reasons to mind it. Reasons that included the fact that she knew nothing about this man and generally she was a bit more prudent when it came to intimacy.
His kisses tickled along her jaw and up her cheek, where he nuzzled into her hair and his breath hushed across her ear. The touch sent shivers up and down her skin. Verity coiled against him, wanting to pull him into her and become one with his powerful distraction of masculinity.
“You were right,” he said at her ear. “You are as hot as the flame but infinitely more interesting to play with.”
He slid a hand over her chest and she gasped, tilting back her shoulder to fit her breast against his palm. A squeeze of her nipple stirred up a moan, and in response he bent and mouthed her roughly through the fabric.
“Rook,” she gasped. “This is…”
“Fast?” he guessed, nudging his nose along the neckline of her shirt. A finger dragged the stretchy fabric aside. A dash of his tongue traced the rise of her breast. So sensitive there. “You want me to stop?”
“Uh…” Did she?
Hell no, and blessed be, yes.
She grasped behind her, and her fingers landed on the carved woodwork coasting a windowsill. Leaning away from him only thrust up her breasts and offered him more of what he wanted.
Yes, this is too fast, her conscience finally blurted at her. She and the hunter should take it slowly. Couldn’t give him everything he wanted so quickly. Bad things happened when she gave in—like stalking.
Verity shoved at his chest.
Rook stepped back, putting up his palms. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she said quickly and offered him a sheepish smile. Swishing a curl of hair over her shoulder, she took a much-needed breath of air. “I didn’t want to stop you, yet I needed you to. It is a bit fast. Not that anything is wrong with fast. I just think—”
“I got it.” He dashed a hand across his lips and flicked a wink at her. “You’re right. I tend to take things that I want when a little prolonged desire is best employed. We should savor this.”
She nodded eagerly. “Savoring is good.”
At the same time she wished she wasn’t so prudent to hold him off, and instead, could grab him by the shirt and pull him back for more.
“Any way I can convince you to go along with me to headquarters tomorrow to look at mug shots?”
“Still don’t want to take sides.”
“The victim chooses her own side. Very well. I won’t push you to do anything that would make you uncomfortable.”
Being labeled a victim did not sit well with her. She had merely been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Yet the idea of missing out on his coercive sensual skills made Verity drop her shoulders. Should she reconsider helping him? What if she refused to help unless he kissed her?
“Come. It’s time we called it a night.”
He tugged her hand into his and led her through the living room and into the kitchen, where he promptly helped her on with her sweater. Gathering her long hair into his hands, he pulled it from the sweater and let it fall across her shoulders. He nuzzled his face into her hair and wrapped a hand around and across her stomach from behind.
“You have gotten inside me, Verity.”
“And yet you claim an inability to read me.”
“Frustrating, but the mystery of you is as sweet as a vanilla macaron.”
He’d guessed it right. She had always considered herself a vanilla macaron.
“Mmm…your hair. I want to lose myself in this.” He bunched up her tresses against his face. “You’d better leave now before I decide to keep you here against your will.”
Sounded rather adventurous, actually.
But Verity declined her lusty imagination. With a nod, she turned to give him a quick kiss. “Thanks for a lovely evening.”
He stroked her neck over the vampire bite. “This should be gone by tomorrow, yes?”
“We witches take a little longer than most paranormals to heal. Give it a few more days.”
“Sure. That’ll give me an excuse to see you again. To make sure you’re looking as good as new. Bonsoir.”
Closing the door behind her, she exhaled and shook her head. Damned vampire bite. Did it bother him? Surely, as a hunter, he wouldn’t like to look at anything left behind by a vampire. She’d have to practice her cover-up skills with makeup before she next saw him.
Date number two couldn’t arrive fast enough.
* * *
Rook caught his hands on the back of the kitchen chair and listened until he could no longer hear Verity’s heels tapping away down the outer hall. They’d been so close to stripping away clothing. He certainly wouldn’t have stopped it. When the hell had he been such an animal around a woman?
Besides always? He did have a tendency to take and then push them aside, never to see them again. Easier that way. When a man lived this long he couldn’t dream to have real, lasting relationships. Such a connection would only result in heartbreak. He’d been there and done that enough times to have learned his lesson.
Verity had bewitched him; that was it. Because he couldn’t imagine not touching or kissing her. He wanted to put his hands on her. Constantly.
Are you forgetting why you need her?
“No,” he muttered to Oz.
She can help you find your soul. End of story.
“Why can’t it be the beginning? I like her, Oz.”
She will muddle everything if you do not treat this as a business arrangement.
Could be true. Oz was the wiser of the two of them. If Rook became further involved with Verity, his brain would certainly not be en pointe and he could not expect to have the focus required to hunt Slater and find the bald vamp who might have his soul.
It was all tied together in some way. Zmaj, Slater and the vampire who had stolen his soul from Verity.
Ah, but he hadn’t felt this way about a woman in a long time. A little muddling was all right, wasn’t it?
Rook, you are not thinking straight.
“No, I’m not,” he whispered. And the smile that followed spread up to his eyes and into his heart.
Chapter 4 (#ulink_fb375fa0-ba15-509b-a645-6711819a10e1)
Verity slipped her feet into thigh-high black suede boots. A fitted blue sweater dress stopped above the boots. With winter, she’d have to switch to longer skirts, but she was holding out with the shorter, more flirty skirts as long as possible.
Strolling through the house, her thoughts admonished her silly need to take sides yesterday. Because really? By not helping Rook to identify the vampire who had attacked her, she was taking the side of the vampires.
What could it hurt to take a look at a few pictures? Especially if it meant seeing the handsome knight again.
“I’m not a victim,” she said. “And I’ll prove it by doing the right thing.” She touched the cell phone sitting on the kitchen counter. “I should have gotten his number.”
The doorbell rang, startling her from her thoughts. Dashing down the front hallway, she opened the door and, stepping out, walked right into Rook’s arms. He slipped her into his embrace with an ease that didn’t give her time to comprehend that he was also kissing her until her shoulders hit the door frame behind her. And the man’s tongue slid across hers.
He certainly knew how to kiss. Forget “Hello, how do you do?” or even “Bonjour, mademoiselle.” She’d take this silent yet intimate greeting any day. His entire body fit up against hers, feeling the shape of her, speaking his command with the jut of his hip to hold hers against the doorframe.
Verity tucked the toe of her boot around one of his ankles, wanting to draw as much of him against her as possible. His tongue lashed hers. He tasted like espresso, the dark, bitter kind that she’d never dared try—until now. A sigh ended the surprise connection.
“Namaste,” he said.
“Right back at you. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“I thought I’d make one more attempt at coercing you to look at mug shots today.”
“Oh, well—”
He put up an admonishing finger. “I have a bribe.”
Verity lifted a brow. A bribe sounded promising. Far be it from her to confess she was just considering helping him.
From behind his back, the man produced a pretty sky-blue box embossed with white lettering.
“Ladurée,” she whispered with glee.
She recognized the signature Bonaparte box; it was filled with eighteen macarons. It was a treat she never indulged in because so many at a time felt too decadent. She dashed her tongue across her lips and reached for the box.
Rook pulled it away. “It’s yours if you accompany me to headquarters and look over some mug shots.”
Wasn’t he a sneak using macarons to coerce her? If she told him she’d had a change of heart, surely she’d spoil his perceived success and the prize would be reneged.
She nodded. “Agreed.”
