Mysteria Nights

by P. C. Cast

  Except, pushing her away might send her straight into another man’s arms. Something he’d always feared.

  Yes, he’d always dreaded the day she would stop coming to him. That would mean she was ready to move on and accept another man. His hands fisted at his sides. He hadn’t meant to, but he’d cultivated a tentative friendship with her to keep such a thing from happening. Was it wrong of him? Yes. Did he care? Hell, no. The idea of her with another man always blackened his mood and set him on killing edge.

  If she went to someone else tonight, to Falon, he’d—he’d—no way in hell he was letting that happen, he decided.

  Determination rushing through him, he spun on his heel. Genevieve still sat at the bar, her shoulders hunched, her face lowered toward her empty glass as Falon spoke to her. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders, shielding her delectable cleavage.

  “Genevieve,” he called before he could stop himself.

  The music skidded to a halt, the band members too interested in what was happening to play. In fact, everyone present went silent and locked eyes on him. Everyone except Genevieve, that is. She continued to stare into her glass, her gaze faraway, lost.

  “Genevieve, you beautiful thing, I need your attention.”

  Finally her chin snapped up and she faced him, shock filling her luscious hazel eyes. “Did you say beautiful? Are you talking to me?”

  “Is your name Genevieve?”

  “Well, yes.”

  Oh, how she enticed him. She was all innocence, yet she possessed a wild, sex-kitten allure. It was a lethal, contradictory combination that always intrigued him. “Why don’t you have a seat at one of the tables, and I’ll join you in a minute.”

  “Thanks a lot, Hunter,” Falon said, but there was a glimmer of amusement in his tone. Scamming bastard.

  Genevieve’s nose crinkled and her brow furrowed, the planes of her face darkening with suspicion. “Why?”

  “Because.”

  “That’s not an answer. What do you want to talk about?”

  He flicked a pointed glance to their avid audience. “It’s private.”

  “I don’t understand.” Then her lips—her lush, kiss me, lick me all over, fuck me all night lips—pressed together. Comprehension dawned in her eyes. She smiled slowly, seductively, yet somehow she appeared even more sad.

  Now he was the one confused. What had made her happy and sad all at once? What did she comprehend?

  “I would love to ‘talk’ with you,” she said.

  He gulped. She made it sound like they’d be going at it like wild animals on the tabletop. Maybe they would. If only she didn’t tempt him on every level. Why did the Fates have to be so cruel? He desired this woman desperately, but he couldn’t have her as anything more than a friend.

  She eased to her feet, and he choked back a laugh when she flipped the rose-colored pixies off. His laugh died a sudden death when he saw that her dress barely fell below the curve of her bottom. His fingers itched to touch.

  None of the tables were empty. Everyone watched her curiously as she crossed her arms over her chest. “You have five seconds to give me a table or I’ll conjure your spouses into the bar. They’ll find out what you’ve been doing and—”

  Before the last word emerged, everyone at the tables jolted to their feet—everyone except Barnabas Vlad, the art gallery owner. He didn’t have a spouse. Chairs skidded, drinks sloshed over rims. “Here, take mine,” rose in disharmony. Satisfied, Genevieve skipped to the table hidden in the corner, partially covered in a shadowy haven. “I’ll take yours, John Foster. Thank you.”

  The town pervert was too busy staring at her cleavage to respond.

  “Move out of her damn way!” Hunter shouted.

  John nearly jumped out of his skin as he leaped away from Genevieve.

  “And play some music. Now.” Hunter scowled at the band leader. “That’s what I pay you for, isn’t it?”

  A few seconds later, soft, romantic music drifted from the speakers. His scowl deepened. Resisting Genevieve was hard enough; throw in a romantic atmosphere . . . God help him.

  The three fairies were frowning, he noticed, and Falon was leaning his hip against the bar. “You’re putting on quite a show tonight,” his friend said.

  “I’m glad you find it entertaining.” He paused, looked away. “I’m taking a break.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “You’re still in charge.”

  “That’s nice, too.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re an asshole and if you don’t wipe that smirk off your face, you’re fired.”

  Falon’s deep laughter followed him as he stormed to Genevieve’s table and plopped down across from her. Once again, her delicious scent enveloped him. He shouldn’t have instigated this, but now that he had he was helpless to stop.

  “What did you want to talk about?” She propped her elbows on the table and leaned forward, granting him another spectacular view. Sweet heaven above, she wasn’t wearing a bra.

  Had he suggested they talk? Perhaps a better suggestion would be that he shoot himself here and now and just get his death over with. “We’ve known each other a long time,” he began, fighting past the friction of sexual need working through him.

  “Yes.”

  “And we’ve never discussed—” What the hell was a safe, nonsexual topic?

  “Yes?” she prompted, grinning.

  Her teeth were two rows of pearly white perfection. And she had a dimple. Why had he never noticed it before? Probably because you’ve rarely given her a reason to smile at you, moron. He yearned to nibble on the delectable little morsel.

  “We’ve never discussed—” He paused yet again. The weather? No, he’d only picture her naked in the rain. Favorite places to shop? No, he’d picture her shopping naked. Favorite books? No, he’d picture her reading naked.

  Ah, hell.

  Is she worth your life? Now, this moment, he couldn’t say no so easily.

  “There’s got to be something you want to talk about.” She licked her lips, her pink tongue as lethal as any weapon of mass destruction.

  They could talk about taxes at this point and he’d be aroused. “I—how have you been doing lately?” he asked. He leaned as far back in the stool as he could, hoping distance would clear his foggy senses.

  “Good.”

  “How are your sisters?”

  “They’re good.” She tapped a finger to her chin, her oval nail glinting in the light. “Hunter, is there something else you want to say to me?”

  He tangled a hand through his hair. Hell, yes, there was something he wanted to say to her: get naked.

  How did she twist him into knots like this? He saw her, and he wanted her. He caught a whiff of her sweet fragrance, and he wanted her. He closed his eyes, and he wanted her.

  Is she worth dying for?

  He stared at her, watching the way shadows and light played across her lovely, serious little face. Watching the way hope flickered in her eyes, lighting the hazel to an otherworldly green.

  Before the night was over, he was going to have this woman’s thighs around his waist. Or head. He wasn’t picky. He was going to know what it felt like to touch her curves, to know her taste. He was going to know how her expression changed when she climaxed. The future be damned.

  Not giving himself time to consider the ramifications, he shoved to his feet and held out his hand, palm up. “Genevieve, would you please dance with me?”

  “Really?” Disbelief and awe rained over her face before she frowned.

  “You don’t plan to leave me in the middle of the song, do you?”

  His chest constricted. He’d done that to her on numerous occasions. In his defense, he’d become so aroused holding her in the curve of his body he’d had two choices: leave her on the dance floor or fuck her on the dance floor. “We’ll dance the entire song. I promise.”

  Slowly she grinned. “Yes. Yes. I would love to dance with you.”

  The moment she placed her f
ingers atop his, his senses screamed with approaching danger. He ignored the warning. Here, in this moment, nothing mattered except cherishing Genevieve the way he’d yearned to cherish her all these many years.

  Was she worth dying for?

  Hell, yes.

  Three

  Oh, Great Goddess, it had worked! The love potion had actually worked.

  Her hand in his, Hunter led her onto the dance floor. Where their skin touched, she tingled. He’d asked to do this; he’d even said please. She hadn’t begged—not that she would have. (Okay, she might have.)

  They stopped in the center of the floor, paused for a moment, facing and watching each other. Their breath intermingled—his was shallow, hers was coming in fast, erratic pants. Multihued light pulsed from the strobe above, caressing his face, and music flowed seductively.

  Something she’d never seen before flittered over his expression. Something infinitely tender. Her stomach flip-flopped. What thoughts were rolling through his mind? He reached out and sifted a strand of her hair between his fingers, then brushed it from her temple. His touch electrified her.

  The need to breathe was forgotten. Only Hunter existed, only Hunter mattered. His fingers slid down her shoulders, along her arms, and circled her waist. Her lips parted on a sudden gasp of pleasure. His strong arms locked around her, gathering her close. Heat zinged and crested, then his hands were, anchored on her lower back.

  “Hunter,” she said, unsure why she’d whispered his name. It was there, in her mind, in her blood, branded on her cells.

  “Genevieve,” he returned softly. “So lovely.”

  Throughout the years, she’d prayed he would accept what was between them. She would have prayed even harder if she’d known the sheer magnificence reality would be. Her chest pressed to his, nipples hard and aching; his strength seeped through her scanty dress. And he didn’t jerk away from her, didn’t run. The scent of him, heat and man, enveloped her.

  Together they swayed to the erotic rhythm of the music. Several times, his erection brushed against her. Delicious. Welcome. Their gazes never strayed. Constantly sizzled.

  Emboldened, she rasped her hands up the buttery soft material of his T-shirt. He sucked in a sharp breath. “I’ve wanted to be your lover for so long,” she admitted.

  “I’ve wanted that, too. So badly.”

  Her fingers played with the hair at his neck. “Some days I would have sworn you desired me. Some days I would have sworn you hated me.”

  “I always desired you. You’re total pleasure, sweetheart.” He paused. Frowned. “You’re eternity.”

  Eternity . . . With that one word, joy and sadness battled for supremacy inside her. Joy because he was talking about forever with her; sadness because it had taken a love potion to get him to this point. However, she shoved the sadness away. Tonight was a night for magic and love. She would allow nothing else to intrude.

  Tomorrow the sadness could return and erode the precious memories she had formed. As for now, she would take what she could get, however she could get it.

  She’d wanted him too long.

  “I’ll give you eternity,” she said. “I’ll give you anything you ask for.”

  He broke eye contact and pulled her the rest of the way into his body. Her head rested on the hollow of his shoulder. “I’ve watched you grow from pretty teenager to exquisite woman.”

  A shiver stole over her skin. Was he speaking true, or did the love potion beckon him to lie and say anything that might please her? “Why did you constantly push me away, then?”

  He ignored her question. “Every time you walked into a room, you consumed my attention. If you had known just how much I desired you, you would have pursued me all the more. And if you’d pursued me any more, I wouldn’t have been able to resist you.”

  Sparks of exotic sensation pulsed through her. Unable to help herself and craving the taste of him, she grazed her lips over his neck. Her hands clutched at his back. Mmm, his skin tasted good, like expensive wine and twilight magic.

  “There was no reason to resist me,” she said. “I wanted to be with you.”

  “You amaze me.” He nuzzled her nose. “You could have any man you want, but you never gave up on me.”

  That sad little gleam returned to her eyes, and Hunter knew he’d do anything to get rid of it. “What if I swore to never run from you again? Would you smile for me?”

  In lieu of an answer, she brushed her lips over his neck once more. This time, however, she let her tongue explore, twirling, circling. He cupped her butt, lifting her slightly, and his erection rubbed the crevice between her legs. A moan tore from her. They were fully clothed, yet they were managing to make love on the dance floor, despite the people circling them.

  Genevieve bit his ear. “Help me understand why you ran. Did you think I would use you? Did you think we would no longer be able to remain friends?”

  He laughed, the sound devoid of humor. “No. I knew you wanted more than sex from me. I knew our friendship could survive.”

  “Then . . . why?”

  “Genevieve,” he said. The grief in her voice sliced through him, more lethal than a blade. He couldn’t tell her the truth because it would frighten her away. If she knew she was going to be the death of him, she would leave him.

  Now that he had her in his embrace, he wanted to keep her there. Would keep her there. He couldn’t believe he’d pushed her away for so long. Stupid. A mistake he’d never make again. Never had a woman felt more perfect in his arms.

  After all the years he’d hurt her, she deserved romance from him. Sweetness, tenderness, more than he’d ever given another.

  “You have the most amazingly expressive eyes.” He allowed his fingers to crawl down the curve of her bottom and play with the hem of her dress. “Have I ever told you that?”

  She sucked in a gasp of air; then, as she released the breath, she relaxed against him fully. “No. You never told me.”

  “More fool me. Your eyes are so intoxicating, sometimes green, sometimes velvety brown, and I always feel like I’m lost in them.” He brushed the side of her face with his, tickling her softness with his slight beard stubble, relishing the contact. He kissed the tip of her nose. Not dipping lower and tasting her lips proved nearly impossible. “Did you know you have three faint little freckles on your nose? When you’re angry or sad, those freckles darken. I’ve wondered over and over again if you have freckles on the rest of your body.”

  “I could . . .” She gulped. Her eyes widened and filled with eagerness. “I could show you.”

  “Yes. I would love that.” I’m not an honorable man. He stilled with the thought. Here she was, offering him a paradise he didn’t deserve. His mouth curled into a frown, and he stared down at her. She deserved a man who could love her forever, a man who hadn’t hurt her for years.

  So what? he thought in the next instant. She wanted him; he wanted her. He wasn’t a martyr. For what short time they had together—he knew his death was certain now, but he was past the point of caring—he would give her everything. His heart, his attention, his affection. He’d love her so thoroughly she’d savor the memories for the rest of her life.

  “I truly am sorry for how I’ve treated you in the past, sweetheart.”

  “I forgive you,” she said, her features sincere.

  His brows arched in surprise. “That easily?”

  “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

  “Genevieve.” He groaned her name as he meshed his lips into hers. She immediately parted for him, welcoming him inside. Her decadent flavor filled his mouth, so much richer than he’d ever imagined. She moaned, a needy sound, a greedy sound.

  Urgency roared to intense life. Shards of her magic flowed into his cells, awakening pieces of him he hadn’t known existed, crowning him with power and vitality. Warming him. He felt the pinprick rasps of her nipples against his chest and had to clench his fists in the material of her skirt to keep from kneading her breasts. Had they been anywhere
else but a crowded barroom, he would have taken her. Would have pushed them both over the sweet edge of seduction.

  “I want you,” she breathed. “I want to make love with you.”

  “Hell, yes.” He’d place her gently in his bed and smooth his hands over her. Work his way up and down her body with his tongue. Her legs would part, revealing the wetness of her arousal. “Stay the night with me.” Stay forever.

  “Yes. With all my heart, yes.”

  His cock jerked in reaction. Passion blazed in her eyes—passion for him. Only him. She smoothed her tongue over her lips, taking his taste with it. Her eyes closed in surrender, and she was the very picture of desire. Of lust and love and his most private dreams.

  “Tell me what you’re going to do with me, once you have me in bed,” she said in a needy, aroused whisper. As if she had to know right then or she’d combust.

  “What would you like me to do?” If he did half the things floating through his mind, they wouldn’t walk for a week.

  “Everything.”

  He rubbed against her, the action causing pleasure/pain flickers through his body. “Kiss you?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” She bit her bottom lip.

  “Touch you?” He wanted so badly to drag her up to his room, to kiss and touch her now, but he was going to dance the entire song with her if it killed him. And it just might.

  A tremor slipped down her spine. “Where would you touch me?”

  “Everywhere.”

  Another tremor. “Yes, do that. Touch me everywhere.”

  “I’ll taste you everywhere, too.”

  “Please, yes.”

  He licked the shell of her ear. “I’m going to make you come so many times, you’ll—”

  The double doors suddenly bounded open and a horde of . . . creatures burst inside the bar, surrounded by a palpable air of menace. Instinctively sensing their danger, Hunter shoved Genevieve behind his back. The music screeched to a halt. At the bar, the three fairies instantly shrunk to their tiniest size, puffs of glitter-smoke wafting from them.

  Short, winged monsters with long fangs, more fur than a bear during hibernation, and razor-sharp claws formed a line in front of the doors, blocking escape. Their eyes were red and glowing; their angled, grotesque features were misshapen. Hideous.