by Jenna Black
“Hello?” His greeting was a sensual purr that made her breath catch in her throat.
“Um, hi,” Kiera said a little too brightly. “This is Kiera Malone.” He probably has caller ID, you dope, whispered a voice in the back of her head. What was it about this guy that made her feel like an awkward teenager? “I wanted to email you some mockups, but your card didn’t have an email address on it.”
“Why don’t we meet at the coffee shop and you can show them to me in person?”
That idea was not in the least appealing. At least, that’s what Kiera told herself. “I’d rather just email you, if that’s okay.” Maybe she was being a bit rude, but she saw no reason she had to see him in person for this. Hell, she’d never even laid eyes on most of her clients.
Hunter hesitated, and Kiera had the instant impression that he was put out by her refusal. Or maybe that was just her feeling guilty about her skittishness.
“I’d really rather meet you in person,” he said quietly. “You see, I’m dyslexic, so corresponding by email isn’t my strong suit.”
For half a second, Kiera thought he was making that up just to get her to meet him, but she rejected the idea with a flush of embarrassment. Why she would suspect him of lying about something like that was totally beyond her. She sighed, defeated.
“In that case, we can meet at the coffee shop.”
“I’m sorry to be difficult,” Hunter replied, making Kiera feel even guiltier for her suspicious thoughts. She doubted it was easy for a guy like him to admit any kind of weakness.
“Not at all. When would you like to meet?”
“Would three o’clock work?”
Considering how unencumbered she was by anything resembling regular work hours—or, for that matter, a social life—one time was as good as the next. “Three it is. I’ll see you then.”
“I look forward to it.”
Despite all her suspicions and trepidation, Kiera realized she did, too.
****
Kiera paused to glance at herself in the mirror before stepping out into the hallway. What she saw brought her up short.
She’d never thought of herself as a fashion queen, preferring comfort to style, but she was suddenly struck by how awful her outfit looked. The puffy green down coat was at least one size too big for her—she’d known that when she’d bought it, but it had been on sale, and it had been warm, and she’d figured it didn’t look that bad. The warm knit hat she pulled down over her ears was in a conflicting shade of green, and the way her riot of hair spilled out beneath it reminded her of one of those Bozo the Clown wigs.
Hunter was a client, not a date. But there was no reason she should look like such a slob when going to meet a client, either.
She pulled off the hat and flung it back into the closet. The quick motion left her hair alive with static electricity. She shrugged off the coat and hurried to the bedroom. Layers. That was the key to staying warm. So she donned a turtleneck, a wool-blend sweater, and a corduroy blazer. Then she hurried into the bathroom and brushed some water into her hair, temporarily taming the static. Satisfied—and now running significantly late—Kiera hurried out the front door and headed across the square.
This was one of the coldest Novembers in her memory, and the instant she left the comfort of her building, she cursed the vanity that had moved her to change out of the heavy coat. At least the cold made hurrying easy. Hunter didn’t strike her as the type who had much patience for tardiness, and she’d sensed a distinct annoyance when she’d arrived late for their first meeting.
When she burst through the coffee shop door, she felt chilled down to her bones. She stood blinking in the doorway a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the dimness. Then she saw Hunter, sitting at a four-person table with his arms crossed over his chest. He had stretched his legs out into the aisle, crossing his heavy black boots at the ankle, and she could tell at once that he was exasperated by the delay. Heat rose to her frosty cheeks.
Kiera crossed the distance in several nervous strides, her stomach feeling strangely fluttery. Ridiculous to feel nervous, of course. He was just a client, one of many. Nothing special about him whatsoever. Get a grip, Kiera, she scolded. She smiled brightly and held out her hand as she approached the table.
Hunter uncoiled. That was the best word she could think of to describe the way he sat up in his chair, drawing his legs back under him and uncrossing his arms.
Kiera froze in her tracks, her heart nearly stopping at that brief image of him as a cobra about to strike. There was something fierce and primal in his eyes, something that chilled her far more than the frigid wind.
Then, he smiled, and the illusion burst. He was once more a drop-dead gorgeous man with expensive taste in clothes. Today, he was wearing a deep blue turtleneck that brought out the color of his eyes. She was pretty sure the turtleneck was silk. The turtleneck was untucked over designer jeans instead of tailored pants, but the leather coat was draped over the chair again. Once again she wondered how a massage therapist could afford to dress like that. Family money, perhaps?
Hunter clasped her hand warmly, and she noted the smoothness of his skin. “Sorry I’m late,” she said, slipping into the chair across from him.
There was a faint pause, as though Hunter were waiting for her to explain her lateness. She wasn’t about to do so.
“No problem,” he said, though the slight downward tug at the corners of his mouth suggested the words came with some difficulty. The frown disappeared almost instantly. “You look like you’re nearly frozen,” he continued. “Let me buy you a nice, hot cup of coffee.”
“Oh, no, I—”
“I’m buying you a cup of coffee,” he said firmly. “It’s the least I can do when I dragged you here for something you’d ordinarily do through email.”
She knew defeat when she saw it. “A hot cup of coffee would be heaven right now.”
“Your wish is my command.”
When Hunter turned his back and got in line, Kiera let out a quiet breath of relief. The man was just too intense for words, and he set her nerves on edge. Not entirely in a bad way, but not entirely in a good one, either.
Hunter soon returned with her coffee, dropping a pile of sugar packets and a wooden stirrer on the table. She wrapped her hands around the cup, feeling the warmth seep through the thick ceramic. She allowed herself only a moment of indulgence before digging out her laptop and loading the mockups. She turned the laptop to face him, meaning to give him a spiel about each design, but her tongue tied itself into knots as Hunter perused the mockups one by one. The way his finger slid over the touch pad gave her goose bumps, as if he were caressing her skin.
“You do nice work,” he said without looking at her.
“Thank you.” Damn, did her voice just quaver? She gulped some coffee, burning her tongue in the process. “Is there one in particular that strikes you as right?” She’d researched other websites for spas and massage therapists, and then designed three different schemes. One was highly professional, stressing the therapeutic benefits and conveying an almost medical image. One stressed the relaxing tranquility. And one combined the other two ideas with an overtone of sensuality, using warm colors and slightly soft-focused images.
Somehow, Kiera was not surprised that Hunter seemed most interested in that third scheme.
“This is just the kind of image I had in mind,” he told her, tapping the screen lightly. His finger landed on the picture of a beautiful woman stretched out on a massage table. A sheet covered her legs and came up just over her hips, and there was a contented smile on her face.
Kiera couldn’t help noticing he was tapping right on the woman’s ass, and somehow, she didn’t think it was a coincidence. She tried not to think about her own body draping across a massage table, waiting for the touch of those strong, dangerous hands. Another sip of coffee seemed in order.
“I’ve definitely chosen the right woman for the job,” Hunter said, resting his elbows on the table and regard
ing her with an unsettling intensity.
“I’m glad you think so.” It was a lame reply, but she could barely think with those eyes on her. She felt as though he were stripping off her clothes, one slow layer at a time, unwrapping her like a Christmas gift. Her mind filled with images of bare skin and burning touches.
She blinked to dispel the images, looking instead into her now nearly empty coffee cup. Still she felt his eyes on her, and she squirmed under his scrutiny. Her discomfort slowly turned into annoyance, and finally she looked up and met his eyes again.
“You’re pouring it on a little thick,” she told him, amazed that she was able to force sound out of her throat. Annoyed she might be, but it was hard to deny the way his regard made her shiver deep inside.
Hunter looked startled, blinking and sitting back once more. The surprise banished some of the sexual heat, and for just a moment he looked like a normal—if insanely good-looking—human being. “What do you mean?” he asked, his eyes all boyish innocence.
His attempt to deny it was even more annoying. No way in hell Hunter was not aware of the sensual heat he kept putting into his gaze. The Irish temper that she had inherited from her mother began to stir. She swallowed a number of comments that would be highly inappropriate with a client.
“Look,” she said, “I’m perfectly happy to design this website for you, and I’m perfectly happy to meet for coffee like this to discuss it, but I could do without all the smoldering looks, okay?”
“Smoldering looks?”
She rolled her eyes. His face just wasn’t made for feigned innocence. “Yeah. You know, like this:” She let her lids slide heavily halfway over her eyes and parted her lips in a parody of a come-hither expression.
For a moment, he looked both surprised and offended, and Kiera had a terrible fear that she’d been wrong and had just made the worst kind of fool of herself. Then he laughed and shook his head, but it was a self-deprecating laugh, not a mocking one. There was a warm, pleasant burr to his laughter, and everything about him looked more relaxed and natural. It was like watching an actor as he walked off into the wings, dropping his assumed character and slipping back into himself.
“Sorry about that,” he said, still grinning. “I’m an incorrigible flirt, I’m afraid. I’ll try to knock it off if it’s bugging you.”
She would not have described what he was doing as flirting. Flirting was light and fun and nonthreatening, and she couldn’t apply any of those words to the way Hunter had been looking at her. What the hell was he after, anyway? It wasn’t like she was one of the world’s great beauties, and he didn’t know her well enough to be interested in her for her personality.
Hunter was still smiling at her ruefully, looking unguarded for the first time she could remember, but instinct told her he was hard at work rebuilding his facade. For some reason, he seemed to feel like he needed to play the role of the suave and polished ladies’ man with her. If he was hoping to make the relationship between them into something more than business, he’d be much better off dropping the act. But since Kiera wasn’t interested in Hunter as anything but a client, it was just as well he continued to play the charming rake. Maybe there was a part of her that found his act sexy, but there was something just a tad off about it, something that made her want to hold him at bay. And holding him at bay seemed infinitely safer than letting him charm her.
****
Hunter sat at the table and fumed as he watched Kiera slip out the door of the coffee shop and practically run across the street to the square. She couldn’t get away from him fast enough, apparently.
He’d never had that happen to him before, never had a woman turn him down like that. He had thought for a moment that her defenses were weakening, had thought the glamour and his own personal appeal had become irresistible. How had she managed to shrug it off?
Never before had Hunter met such a strong-willed woman. He should find that will of hers a blasted nuisance, something that interfered with his mission and therefore needed to be destroyed. But in the moment when Kiera had shrugged off his glamour, he’d felt a strange stirring of admiration in his chest. She had a fighting spirit, one that resisted manipulation, whether magical or otherwise. How he wished he were free to do the same thing. Of course, as far as Kiera knew, the only negative consequence of resisting him was the possibility of losing him as a client. When he resisted, he faced death by torture. He could hardly blame himself for his capitulation under the circumstances.
Hunter took a deep breath in an attempt to settle himself down. He had time still. No need to rush these things. And after all, with her fey blood he shouldn’t expect her to fall for him as easily as other mortal women. But even as he thought these comforting thoughts, someone slipped into the chair that Kiera had recently vacated.
Hunter looked up to see Bane sitting across from him, an ugly smirk on his ugly face. Hunter was really letting the mortal woman get to him if he had actually failed to notice Bane making an entrance. The goblin had a cup of coffee in each hand and pushed one across the table to Hunter.
“Trouble in paradise, Boyo?” Bane mocked, sipping his coffee.
Several patrons in the shop were staring at the table in distaste, for Bane’s ragged, filthy coat stank of sweat and alcohol and urine. His hands were wrapped in raveled knit gloves with the fingers torn off, and his hair was a snarled rat’s nest of oil and debris.
Hunter hated the very thought that anyone might see him talking to this creature. If you had Kiera’s strength and will, you’d walk out. Hunter dismissed the thought as soon as it occurred to him. Free will was not a luxury he could afford, so he shrugged and leaned back in his chair, stretching out his long legs. “No trouble,” he said. “I’m just learning the lay of the land.”
Bane snorted. “You’re supposed to be laying the woman, remember?”
“I don’t interfere with your business. Keep out of this.”
“Can’t. The Queen wants her progress reports.”
Hunter had to fight to contain the stream of curses that wished to escape. Seducing Kiera was already turning out to be harder than he’d expected, and having his mother and her pet goblin breathing down his neck wasn’t going to make things any easier.
“So,” Bane prompted, grinning in pleasure at Hunter’s chagrin, “got any progress to report?”
“This is only the second time I’ve met her. I’m working on it.”
The goblin put his cup of coffee aside and leaned his elbows on the table. “You’ve been here two weeks, and you’ve only met her twice?”
Hunter shrugged. “I’m posing as a client for her web design business. I had to give her time to get the first assignment done.”
“You’re living in her building, in case you forgot. You don’t need the client charade.”
Hunter narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists under the table. “I know what I’m doing. When was the last time you seduced a woman?”
The amusement faded from Bane’s face, and he replaced it with a look designed to freeze Hunter’s marrow. The goblin leaned even closer, his foul breath making Hunter’s eyes water. “When I want a woman, Prince, I don’t ask her permission.” The glamour slipped enough that Hunter could make out the flash of fangs behind the disguise.
His whole life, Hunter had had to mask his disgust for the cruelties of the Unseelie Court. Only that long experience kept him from recoiling now. “Well I do need this one’s permission,” he said evenly. “I’ll have to bed her multiple times to make sure I get her pregnant.”
Bane touched his tongue to one of his fangs. “We could just snag her and bring her back to Faerie. You could fuck her at your leisure until she’s pregnant, and you wouldn’t need permission.”
Hunter’s stomach churned at the thought, but still he kept his voice calm and level. If Bane saw that the threat bothered him, it could be a disaster, both for Hunter and for Kiera. “She may be mortal, but she is Finvarra’s daughter. There’s a reasonable chance she’s got enou
gh Faerie magic about her that she would not conceive if forced.” He had no idea if that was true, but it wasn’t impossible.
Hunter waited as Bane digested the thought. His heart thundered in his ears and his palms were sweating. No doubt Bane was just baiting him as usual, knowing he could never force himself on a woman, even after a lifetime of corruption by the Unseelie Court. But if Bane was serious about this, and if the Queen thought Kiera’s consent was unnecessary . . .
Bane nodded. “I suppose that possibility exists,” he conceded, and Hunter let out a silent sigh of relief. The goblin grinned again. “Besides, you wouldn’t be able to get it up to rape her, so it wouldn’t do us any good.”
Yes, Bane had been baiting him again. And even knowing it, Hunter hadn’t been able to stop the creature from getting under his skin. His hand itched to unsheathe the knife up his sleeve and bury it in Bane’s throat.
The goblin shook his head. “You’re too easy, Prince. After all these years, shouldn’t you know me well enough not to fall for it every time I goad you?”
Hunter forced himself to relax, leaning back into his chair once more. “Probably,” he agreed, pissed off at himself for fueling the goblin’s amusement once more.
“Now, let’s get down to the real business, shall we?”
“What business would that be?”
“The Queen wants to see some sign of progress.”
“I told you, I’m working on it!”
“Well, work faster.” Bane drained the remains of his coffee cup, giving a pointed look at the cup he had passed to Hunter.
Hunter pushed the cup back across the table; he would never dream of drinking anything the goblin had fouled with his touch. Bane shrugged and gulped half the cup down.
“She’s set a deadline for you,” Bane said. “You have three days to win your first kiss.”
Hunter told himself not to panic, but that didn’t stop the sudden quickening of his pulse. Kiera was far too guarded with him still. With her ability to shrug off his glamour, he would need to court her slowly and with great care or he might never gain an invitation to her bed. Hell, he didn’t even think he could get her out on a date in so little time. He shook his head.