by Jenna Black
“Well,” her mother said brightly, “it doesn’t really matter what you think of me or my way of life. Notice that one of us is sitting here with a big smile on her face and the other has a thundercloud hovering over her head. That isn’t a coincidence.”
Kiera folded her arms and felt like a sulky teenager. “I never said it was. You get quite a kick out of getting on my nerves, so of course you’re having fun.”
“Yes, dear, I live to make you miserable. Now, can I tell you my news, or would you like to sneer a little more first?”
Kiera was always amazed at how easily her mother shrugged off these little tiffs of theirs. Kiera would probably spend the rest of the day brooding about it, and here her mom was making jokes. Maybe if Kiera just humored her mom, they could quickly move on to saner, more normal topics and Kiera would manage to escape the diner in time to meet her client.
“I’ll wait until you tell me your news, then I’ll sneer some more, okay?”
Her mom flashed her an ironic grin. “Yes, I believe you will.” She paused dramatically before continuing. “I’ve found him,” she announced with great ceremony.
Kiera bowed her head and tried to suppress a groan. There was only one “him” her mother could mean. For as long as Kiera could remember, her mother had been on a quest to find “him.” In her mind, “he” was the Holy Grail, though Kiera thought it was more like one of those silly snipe hunts they sent you on in summer camp.
“So,” she said, not attempting to hide her sarcasm, “does Mr. Right have a name?”
“No, he’s an anonymous sperm donor. Did I mention I was pregnant?”
Kiera’s head jerked up, her common sense taking a quick coffee break while she thought for one fleeting instant her mother was serious. The waitress chose that moment to sling their food onto the table, breezing away before Kiera could remind her that she’d ordered the chicken soup, not the clam chowder.
“I thought I was the one who’s supposed to be gullible,” her mother said as she cut into her sandwich. “Of course he has a name.” She giggled like a school girl. “And, wouldn’t you know it, his name is Alonso Wright.”
That surprised a laugh out of Kiera. “Mom, that’s one of the oldest—and silliest—jokes in the world.”
“Well, it’s the honest-to-God truth. Wright is a common last name, you know. And I’m sure Alonso has heard a million Mr. Right jokes in his lifetime. But just like I told you, sweetie, the moment I laid eyes on him, I knew he was destined to be my soul mate.”
Kiera’s stomach turned over at the sappy smile and the even sappier words. Her mom had dated quite a few men over the years, some of them for significant periods of time. Kiera knew at least two of them had proposed marriage. But although her mom had been fond of these men, maybe even loved one or two of them, she’d insisted that none of them was her mythical soul mate, her Mr. Right. Annoyingly, she had also declared that none of the men Kiera had ever dated was her soul mate either. Kiera wished she had married one of them and lived happily ever after, if only to prove her mother wrong.
“And does Mr. Wright share your certainty that you are destined for one another?”
“Well, we haven’t exactly met each other yet, so no.”
Kiera stared. “You haven’t met him, but you’re sure he’s your soul mate. Mom, you’ve always been a goof, but this is a bit over the top even for you.”
Her mother wrinkled her nose. “I told you there was fey blood in our family tree—even before my little fling with your father. I’ve always had a little touch of magic, and I can tell you that Alonso Wright and I are meant to be together.”
“Uh-huh.” Kiera speared a cherry tomato and popped it in her mouth. At least if she was chewing, her mom wouldn’t expect her to offer any encouraging commentary.
“Alonso owns the Old World Charm Café—you know, that new Italian restaurant, the little one that opened up right around the corner from me? I had dinner there last night, and the moment I set eyes on him, I knew.”
Kiera considered stuffing another bite of salad in her mouth to avoid this conversation, but her appetite was nonexistent. “You know I don’t believe in this Mr. Right crap, so don’t expect me to get all excited about it.”
“Of course not, dear,” her mother said with a wry smile. “But would it kill you to be happy for me?”
“I’d be thrilled if I thought you really had something to be happy about. Seeing a man and instantly deciding he’s the love of your life doesn’t cut it.”
“Kiera, honey, I know you think I’m just this side of certifiable, but even us crazy people occasionally get something right. Right here, right now, I’m happy, and I intend to enjoy it to the fullest.”
Envy twinged in Kiera’s chest. She wasn’t unhappy with her own life, even if she had to admit it was a little lonely at times. Loneliness was far preferable to the misery she’d endured during her last relationship, one she’d stayed in far longer than she should have. But it had been a long, long time since she’d been bubbling with happiness like her mom was now.
Happiness built on fantasy and wishful thinking doesn’t count, she told herself. She had a good, stable life, with none of the wild peaks and valleys of her mom’s. She’d spent long enough in one of those valleys when she’d stubbornly tried to make her relationship with Jon work. And no peak was worth suffering the sickening plunge again.
****
Hunter glanced impatiently at his watch as he sipped his cooling cup of coffee and watched the ebb and flow of customers through the doorway. When he’d first moved into the apartment directly below Kiera’s, his plan had been nothing more sophisticated than to engineer chance meetings with her in the lobby and elevators, counting on his natural charm—and fey glamour—to draw her to him. However, during his first week of fact-finding and information-gathering, he’d learned she worked from home as a web designer, and that information had led him to a more pro-active plan of attack.
Hunter’s appointment with Kiera was supposed to be at two o’clock, but she was already fifteen minutes late. If he’d been a real client, he’d have gotten up and left by now. Patience wasn’t a virtue that was much valued in the Unseelie Court, and Hunter had to fight the urge to tap his foot on the floor or his fingers on the table.
The bell on the coffee shop door tinkled, and Kiera stepped in from the cold, her cheeks bright red from the wind’s bite. She was wearing the same ugly coat, the same hat, and the same scarf that she’d worn every time he’d laid eyes on her. He had thought perhaps she would dress more appealingly when meeting a client. He himself had chosen an expensive Armani jacket, paired with a silk shirt and Italian loafers. His black leather coat was draped across one of the four chairs at his table, and his hat hung on the side of the chair, looking much less rakish there than it had on his head. Of course, if Kiera had been here when he’d arrived, as he’d expected, he’d have been able to use the coat and hat to their fullest advantage, presenting the dark and mysterious image he’d so meticulously planned.
Kiera scanned the tables. He had not described himself to her, and he’d told her he’d recognize her from her picture on her website when she entered the shop. He let her examine each of the tables, hoping she was sweating and thinking her client had failed to wait for her. But when her eyes found his table, she stopped her search. Her brows drew together in just a hint of a frown, and he wondered if she remembered seeing him in the square the other day. Then she banished the frown and strode to his table.
“Hunter Teague?” she inquired, so sure she was right she was already pulling out a chair to sit down.
Hunter’s reply was half a beat late because he was so startled by her certainty. “How did you know?” he asked, hoping he sounded only mildly curious instead of annoyed.
She piled her motley array of winter wear onto the other empty chair, then shrugged. “Instinct, I guess. You look like your voice sounded.”
Hunter was struck momentarily speechless, not sure what to make of
that comment. He tried to hide his discomfiture by taking another sip of coffee. It had gone cold and bitter, and he couldn’t help a grimace of distaste. She had only spoken two sentences, and already she had managed to put him off balance. Pushing the coffee cup away, he cocked his head at her. “Is that a compliment or an insult, I wonder?”
She looked surprised. “Neither. Just an observation.” The surprise vanished under a sweet smile as she stuck her hand out over the table. “Kiera Malone, at your service.”
Hunter suppressed a growl of frustration, for somehow Kiera seemed to have taken charge when he was supposed to be holding the reins. He’d planned to stand and give her a gallant kiss on the knuckles instead of a handshake when she finally arrived. The anachronistic gesture would have charmed and unsettled her in equal measure, and he would have firmly established his control. Now, however, it was too late to stand up, and he would feel silly kissing her knuckles when sitting down. Annoyed that his strategic choreography had been ruined so easily, he managed a winning smile as he clasped her hand warmly.
“Pleased to meet you, Miss Malone. As you so rightly guessed, I am indeed Hunter Teague. Would you like a cup of coffee before we begin?”
Kiera brushed red curls out of her face and shook her head. “No, thanks. I’ve had so much coffee already I might float away. But if you want a warm-up, I’ll get you one.” She was already pushing her chair back before he had a chance to respond. “I’m buying, since I kept you waiting.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Hunter said stiffly, even as he tried to school his expression. He had meant to buy her a cup of coffee.
Kiera laughed. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those old-fashioned guys who think women should never pay for anything. I’ll write this off as a business expense. You drinking decaf or regular?” Once again, she didn’t wait for his answer. “Regular,” she said to herself confidently and was halfway to the counter before he could get in a word.
Hunter was glad there was a line at the counter, because he needed a little time to reassess the situation. He was ashamed of himself. Surely he could improvise better than this, even if she had spoiled his well-laid-out plans. Of course, he’d never tried to seduce someone on command before, so perhaps he wasn’t at his best. Besides, this was just the first meeting. He would do a better job of tailoring his sensual attack once he gained a little insight into her personality.
Hunter rallied his mental troops as Kiera returned to the table and set a fresh cup of coffee in front of him. She dug a yellow spiral-bound notepad and a mechanical pencil out of the bulging monstrosity of a purse she carried. He’d thought a professional web designer would take notes on an iPad or a smart phone. He found the pencil and paper both surprising, and strangely charming.
“So, Mr. Teague,” she said, “tell me a little about your business and about what you imagine your website will look like.”
“Please, call me Hunter.”
“All right,” she agreed easily.
“As I believe I mentioned on the phone, I’m a massage therapist.” He watched her face closely for her reaction, and was rewarded with a spark of interest. He’d chosen his fake profession with care, wanting something that would inspire sensual images in Kiera’s mind.
“You did mention it.” Her smile changed into something more like a grin. “You don’t look like any massage therapist I’ve ever seen.”
Aha, now he was getting somewhere. He took a sip of his coffee and raised his eyebrows. “Oh? What should a massage therapist look like?”
She was still grinning. “In my experience, they’re always these petite New Age women with hands so strong they could crush bricks.”
He put down the coffee cup and pushed it aside, leaning forward ever so slightly, letting his Faerie glamour surround him and reach for her. “Well,” he murmured, “I may not be a petite New Age woman, but I do have strong hands.”
He expected her eyes to get that smoky, glazed look women usually got when they felt the touch of his glamour, but Kiera remained distressingly clear-eyed. Of course, being half-fey herself, she was undoubtedly more resistant to glamour than the average mortal.
“What led you to such an unusual profession?” she asked.
Hunter tried not to be disgruntled by her failure to fall instantly under his spell. Luckily, he had invented an entire past for himself and had his lie ready to hand. “An old girlfriend of mine was in training to be a massage therapist. She practiced on me and taught me how to return the favor. I discovered that I had a knack for it, and that I enjoyed the work.”
The way she was looking at him was worrisome. He could tell at once that she doubted his story, though he didn’t know why that should be. It seemed like a perfectly reasonable explanation. He wondered if he had made a tactical error in choosing massage as his profession. Perhaps it was too female-dominated an industry, and he was raising her suspicions by his unusual choice. But the possibilities were too tempting. If she resisted all his other charms, surely she would not be able to resist him when he talked her into sampling his services. Imagining her lying naked on the massage table stirred something deep in his belly. When he took the fantasy a step further, imagining his hands on the smooth, bare skin of her back, heat flooded him.
Hunter reached for his cup of coffee once more, startled by his reaction. Kiera wasn’t pretty enough to justify the lust she had somehow inspired in him. He wondered if she had a touch of Faerie glamour about her, despite being mortal. But of course, that couldn’t be. A half-blood could possess glamour—as Hunter himself did—but only if she’d gone to Faerie and partaken of food or drink. In which case she wouldn’t be mortal anymore.
Whatever doubts she might have had about his explanation, she banished them with a shrug. “So, you’ve recently moved here from New York, and you need to establish a new clientele.”
“That’s right.”
“Do you have a business card?”
“Of course. It’s my personal card for now, until I have my business up and running.” He pulled a gold business card holder from his pocket, flipping it open and passing a card across the table. He’d decided that the card should be plain and understated—let Kiera put her mind to the task of designing an image for him. The harder she had to think about the allure of massage, the more susceptible she would be when he moved in for the kill.
Kiera took the card and glanced at it briefly. She started to tuck it into her coat pocket, then pulled it out again and looked at it more closely. Her eyebrows shot up. “Why, this is the same building I live in!” she said.
“Is it?” he exclaimed in feigned surprise.
“What a coincidence.”
He smiled. “Yes. And a convenient one at that.”
She smiled in what was probably supposed to be agreement, but he could see at once that the thought of him living in the same building made her uncomfortable. He stored that observation away for future reference.
“All right,” Kiera said brightly, sticking the card in her coat pocket, “that gives me the essential address and phone information. Now tell me a little bit more about how you envision your website.”
He tried to look appropriately helpless. “To tell you the truth, I haven’t the faintest idea. When I was in New York, I built my clientele by word of mouth, and I haven’t a clue how to attract new clients through a website.” He smiled hopefully. “I was rather thinking that was where you came in.”
“Yes, of course. I just wanted to know if you had something in mind to begin with. What kind of image would you like to build?”
“Peaceful,” he answered promptly. “Relaxing. Sensual without being sexual.” He almost smiled to see the faint hint of color in her cheeks at his mere suggestion of sex.
Kiera scribbled a few notes, then stuck the end of the pencil in her mouth without seeming to notice she was doing it. “And what vital information do you need displayed?”
He launched into a detailed description of his “business” and his offer
ings. He’d read up on several forms of massage on the Internet, and had settled on Swedish and deep tissue massage as his specialties, as they seemed to have the broadest appeal. He’d called a number of spas in the area to inquire about the prices, making sure his own were reasonable. He’d even bought a couple of instructional books and videos, so he knew the basics of what he’d be expected to do. He’d had no one to practice on, of course, but he was sure the touch of his hands would be sufficient to hide any deficiency in his training.
By the time he was through, Kiera had covered several pages with scrawled, illegible notes, and had left many a tooth mark in her pencil. She was chewing on it again as she glanced over the notes, and Hunter found his attention riveted to her lips as she toyed with the pencil. Images came to mind, visions of those lips wrapped around something other than a pencil, and his cock stirred restlessly.
An interesting development, he thought, frowning. He’d assumed he would have to use plenty of imagination to arouse himself sufficiently to do his job, but Kiera seemed to be inspiring him all on her own. He couldn’t imagine why. Not that she was ugly. In fact, if she dressed more appealingly and made some effort to tame her hair, she might even be pretty. But Hunter had never before felt much attraction to mortal women who weren’t drop-dead gorgeous.
Kiera extracted the pencil from her mouth and nodded briskly. “I think I’ve got enough here to work with,” she told him, closing the notebook. “When do you need the project done?”
He gave her his most charming smile. “I am more concerned that the project be done right than that it be done fast.”
“All right. I can have some mock-ups for you in about a week. I’ll come up with three design schemes, then a couple sample pages for each scheme. You tell me which one you want to pursue, or if you want me to give you more options. Once we’ve agreed on a design scheme, we can talk about what else you might need. I can do business cards or a Facebook page or brochures. But all that comes after. Sound fair?”
“Sounds perfect.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet and counting out four crisp hundred-dollar bills.