by Holly Gunn
It doesn’t even feel like a scrap when he does it. In fact, that kiss feels like foreplay.
At my place of work.
A place his mother created.
I take a step back, losing his touch, and clear my throat before asking, “Do you want a tour?”
Eagle’s smile is gradual. I see his hand twitch as though moving to his mouth, and I feel a deep bitter-sweetness hit me. I watch his hand for a moment then his smile. And I can’t help myself. I reach forward for his hand—damn professionalism.
He takes mine, and as we start to walk, I yell, “Grizz, move it or lose it!”
Everything stops.
The whole world stutters.
And I slowly glance up at the man I want so badly to be my king, it hurts almost physically.
His eyes are bright, not because of his magic, but because he’s chuckling. A slight, low laugh that tickles my insides and turns me on, a permanent condition when I’m near him, it appears.
“You’re really beautiful, do you know that?” I ask, and his easy laugh fades to a smile, then to an intense look I want to bottle and sell to every man who is unable to get a woman. Intense a la Eagle would leave no one single and every girl wet.
“I suspect,” he states, his hand moving to touch the skin at my jaw, “that we will have to agree to disagree on our definitions of beauty in this case, Elizabeth.”
Oh, I like that. My name on his lips. His hand caressing my cheek.
“Iz!” Grizz grunts from right next to Eagle. “Come on, move it or lose it.”
I roll my eyes, grab for Eagle’s hand again. It might not be professional but I can’t help myself. I want him close. Plus, as we move through the home his mom created, I want to know his reaction. He’s able to hide his emotions in many ways, but I’m finding his hands are his tell. He fists them, or they shake, or he moves one to his mouth, or he squeezes my hand, or he wraps me tighter with his arm when he’s worried.
I’ve always liked a man’s hands.
With Eagle, his darker skin, those muscled fingers, thick and long, there are a great many reasons to enjoy the look of them. Knowing they’re a gateway to his emotions, I like them all the more.
“Waylan,” I warn, my hand out (yet again) to him.
He smirks and schools me by saying, “What? You said I was losing my touch.”
I had said that.
I look to my hand, give it a shake indicating he should put the object in my palm. He reaches into his back pocket, and his eyes go wide. He looks around himself in a circle as though the object he’s stolen is missing.
“Waylan, don’t mess aroun—”
He throws his hands in the air.
“Mizz Izzy, I don’t have it. It was in my back pocket, I swear.”
I blow out an exaggerated breath. “What exactly was in your back pocket?”
His eyes narrow.
“You know what was in my back pocket. You always know. You’ve got that telepathy thing.”
My eyebrows go up and I find myself smiling.
Eagle and Grizz are at my back.
We’re at the end of the tour, and they’re meeting some of the staff.
I don’t know what to say to Waylan. It makes a lot of sense now why he trusts me and gives stuff back, and why he never steals from me too. I don’t know if I want to disabuse him of the notion that I’ve got magic. I do have magic, but of course he doesn’t know that. But it might be better if he goes on thinking I’m something a little more than average.
Then, I feel something slide into my back pocket, a wallet.
I pull it out and glance toward Waylan.
“You … are … so … cool!”
The kid thinks I stole the stolen object off him.
I twist toward Eagle and Grizz, bite the inside of my lip, and turn to see Waylan staring at me like I’m the queen of magic.
I’ve never been one to miss an opportunity.
“Stop stealing, kid.”
He nods at the same time he smirks. And I think, fuck. Because I know he’s got a bigger challenge now.
As soon as he’s down the hall, I turn on the both of them. “Whoever did that, you’re going to teach me how to because now Waylan’s going to start stealing my shit all the time.”
I hear Nancy laugh, and I yell, “It’s not funny!”
She pokes her head out of the office at this. “Oh, honey. Sarah’s sons schooling your favorite clepto is the definition of funny.”
I give her that, begrudgingly.
“Well, I still need to learn to steal now on top of everything else.”
Her barreling laugh reaches us as she pops back into her office.
“So,” I prompt, putting on my mom of the House voice, “which one of you was it?”
I can’t say I’m all that shocked when Grizz says, “Iz, it was all in good fun.”
“You’re still going to teach me.”
I give the leather wallet to him and then stand there a bit awkwardly.
“Uh, that’s pretty much the whole house. Boys … Girls … Lots of criminal masterminding.”
It’s Grizz who asks, “Where’s Mom?”
And the way he asks it tears me up inside. I know he means her portrait, the memorial we have, but the question is a child’s question, and Grizz is no child.
I try not to let it show, but I know I fail when Eagle’s face softens. Grizz is tough, but he doesn’t shy away from what he says or feels. I can respect that.
I point down the hall and whisper, “Sarah’s this way.”
I take them there slowly, our steps light on the hall carpet. We turn a sharp right and walk down another hall, then down a small flight of stairs to an alcove.
Books are strewn about. Comfy chairs in disarray. It looks like what it is. A sunporch with a small alcove and a place where teenagers live.
It’s also exactly where Sarah would be sitting if she was still here.
I let them have their moment of silence and steal my own glance at the woman I haven’t looked at in quite some time.
Eagle looks like his father. Darker, olive-toned skin versus his mother’s paler complexion. Onyx eyes. But I notice he’s got her smile. It’s almost gentle, and I want to see more of it. She gave him that, and he deserves to share it with the world.
“She was one of the best women I’ve ever known,” I say to him, and feel him squeeze my hand. “I was eighteen and I only worked with her that year. When she passed, I knew there was nowhere else I’d ever want to work. This house is her legacy. And her heart is still inside the walls of this place. Every group that comes through here, boys or girls, build themselves into little units, little families. It’s like magic.”
“Elizabeth,” he says, and in his voice, I hear hers.
My breath catches as I turn to see he’s got that gentle smile on his face.
“She spoke of you. Grizz and I were only fifteen, but she spoke of the witch who brought magic to the home she always wanted to create. She said you were the missing piece.”
I shake my head. “No, that was Sarah … She was the one—”
His finger moves from trailing along my cheek to rest on my lips.
“My mom was magic, inside and out. She was a beauty. She was everything a mother should be, and her death rippled loss through our family. But ask Grizz. She spoke of the new girl who brought magic to the house she always wanted to make a home.”
I don’t know what to think of this. For almost fifteen years, I’ve worked at the House and I’ve stayed to carry on Sarah’s legacy. Now, to find it’s a part my legacy as well, I don’t know what to think of that.
Grizz clears his throat.
“You good for playing practice next Tuesday night, Iz?”
The question is out of the blue. I go with it, though, nodding.
“Sure thing,” I reply.
Grizz smiles and, for the first time, he reaches out to me, pulling me close for a hug. It’s exactly as you’d expect a bear hug to be. All-encompassing perfec
tion. Bear shifters, whether grizzly or polar or otherwise, tend to be growly, aggressive, and extra into hugs. Grizz isn’t like that. He’s not touchy-feely like the others of his kind, so I feel honored to get this from him.
“We’ll get out of your hair.” He claps Eagle on the back. “Come on, big man. You’ve got other acts you need to meet with this afternoon.”
I look to Eagle. “You manage more than just Shyfter?”
“He’s got over three dozen on his client list, and a dozen of those are top performers. Eagle only deals with the best.”
My eyes widen.
“How big?” I ask.
Before Grizz can answer, Eagle’s eyes cut to him. Grizz smirks.
Eagle stares at him a little longer. There’s some communication going on that I know nothing about. Secret guy language? Bro-code? I don’t know.
I give them a minute.
Grizz waves and says, “Later, Iz … Be quick, bro.”
My attention is drawn to Eagle’s hands fisting then releasing.
“I would very much like if you would accompany me to dinner Friday evening, Elizabeth.”
My head shoots up and my lips part on a, “Yes.”
His smile is slow. I grab his hand to make sure he won’t cover it, but it hasn’t even flinched.
He nods once. “Wonderful. Shall I pick you up at seven on Friday, then?”
“Perfect,” I reply, again without thought.
“Yes, perfect,” he whispers.
He leans forward, and I instinctively go up on my tiptoes.
Please kiss me, I think.
And he does.
His soft, firm lips touch the skin of my cheek and move gently along the skin of my jaw until his mouth touches the edge of my own.
The touch, whisper soft.
I turn my head just slightly, at the same time I exhale the building tension.
With that movement, his mouth touches mine for the first time.
His tongue licks along the seam of my mouth, tasting, caressing the same as his fingers do to my face.
My fingers dig into his shoulders in order to get a better grip and stay upright.
My breath is caught. My lungs are still.
There are only his lips on mine, taking me softly, loving me gently, showing me he is in control, but that control is not always rough nor is it about power.
Sometimes, it’s a slow seduction of caresses and tongues sweeping inside.
His kiss ends the same way it began, with his lips caressing my cheek.
My eyes are closed.
I could kiss him like that forever.
It’s like being lost in a dream world, one I never want to leave.
“You are beautiful, Elizabeth,” he says, his voice rough and low.
I open my eyes slowly.
His words are not a throw-away compliment. From any other man, it might be a superficial statement said in lust. From this man, it is anything but. He says those words as though there is no other truth possible, and I believe him. I’ve never thought myself beautiful. Attractive, maybe. But not beautiful.
“You make me feel beautiful,” I tell him.
He makes me feel more than that.
He makes me feel like I’m soaring.
It’s not scary. It’s not uncomfortable. It’s the best feeling in the world.
“Dinner,” he says, separating himself from me, but touching the skin at my jaw one last time. “Friday night. I will pick you up.”
“At my place? You need my address, Eagle,” I remind him with a smile.
He smiles back. “Snake got it from your cousin.”
Of course, he did.
I roll my eyes.
“See you then,” he says and then turns on his heel.
I watch him walk the rest of the hallway, his tall form filling out the suit he’s wearing nicely. So nicely, I shiver. Suits have never done it for me, but they say your taste buds change every seven to ten years.
My tastes are definitely changing.
I have a hankering for licking an eagle from head to toe—all night.
Again, I shiver.
“Are you cold or something, Mizz Izzy?” Lanie asks when she and Julie walk past me.
I laugh as I reply, “Something, Lanie. Definitely something.”
Then I call up Ryn and tell her she needs to help me pick out an outfit for two nights from now. Esly calls two minutes later and says she’s got me covered and already had the outfit for mystery-man picked out days ago.
Of course, she did.
My cousin, the romance reader.
Though, for the plans I have for Friday night, I don’t think I’d want anyone else picking out what I need to wear for my first date with my king.
9
Eagle
Her laughter is soft, a tattoo of sound that speaks to who Elizabeth is at her core.
“How many cousins do you have might I ask?”
She grins then appears to do a mental count, her eyes to the ceiling.
Those eyes are lined in coal, her lashes thickened, her cheeks luminous and covered in makeup, hiding her soft pink cheeks, and her lips glossy.
I enjoy the gloss. I do not enjoy her covering her thin, fluttering eyelashes, nor her covering her beautiful skin with foundation. But it’s not my face, and if this makes her happy, I can’t complain.
Even covered in makeup, she’s still the same exotic woman I first saw playing a beat on a simple bongo, although the beat, like the woman, was anything but simple.
“Last count, maybe sixty, but it could be more.”
“That many?”
She nods.
“And all of these antics you partake in are with your cousins?”
“No, my roommates are hell on wheels, too.” She shakes her head, and I miss her hair flying everywhere. She’s tied it back tonight, as she does at work.
Her work outfit was spectacular, but not once today have I seen her hair free. I wonder suddenly what she would look like soaring above Bear mountain in the sunshine. I make it my mission to bring her camping as soon as possible.
The guys and I go camping at least once a month in the Spring, Summer, and Fall months. We shift, flying and running through Bear mountain or other ranges that are quieter, depending on the season. It’s something my father has always discouraged but not outright forbidden.
“Esly is the quietest but even she’s a little wild.”
“How so?”
“We hit up Hollywood a few times a year, just for fun. Do the tourist thing, hit some hot spots, hop on those open-top buses where they take you to see all the big mansions and tell you the scandalous Hollywood histories. One time,” she says laughing, “our guide was late, and Esly steals a badge, winks at the driver, tells him to ‘hit the gas, lover,’ and then struts up to the top of the bus. She’s on the microphone, we’re giggling like we’re drunk, and for the next three hours, Esly shares the most hilarious history of L.A. I’ve ever heard.”
“Was her history accurate? I would assume those on the tour wanted their money’s worth.”
She smiles and eats some of the calamari with her hands. Others watch her do this.
I do too.
I watch her because she’s my every erotic dream come to life. I don’t care why the others do.
“Oh, they abso-damn-lutely got their money’s worth. We’ve been on so many tours, she was able to grab up that mike and tell them all the true history, but she condensed it, added some facts about prohibition, asked the driver to take us by the bookstore that’s in that old abandoned bank, pointed out more celebrities than any tour had ever seen.” She winks. “My cousin uses her Dabbler gifts for photography. She catches the stars.”
“That seems like a rather, pardon my judgment, unfulfilling job.”
Izzy shakes her head. “Not the way Esly does it. She likes to say, ‘I only catch love on camera,’ her motto.” I watch as she tilts her head back, revealing the column of her throat and she consumes more o
f our shared appetizer. “Those articles you see where a new couple is seen together, all gooey and in love, or the ones that have a breakup and the article says something like, ‘But we know their breakup is temporary’ or shit like that, bet your bottom dollar, that’s an Esly article.”
I find myself smiling at that. I don’t cover it. The reason why I don’t is because I’ve caught her staring at my mouth when I smile. I do enjoy it when she stares at my mouth.
I have been with women. There have been enjoyable experiences. But I have never found it difficult to keep my cock in check. This evening, I’ve had to take several moments to stifle it. She’s a breath of fresh air and a stunning beauty that makes me constantly hard. The contrast keeps me on my toes.
“She’s a romantic like Heavy,” I share.
She’s cautious when she asks, “Is Heavy a romantic?”
“Heavy is many things, a romantic is one, but he would deny this for himself.”
“Why?” she asks, no longer cautious but curious.
“He moved from Nashville about maybe eight, nine years ago. Snake, Grizz, and I actually met him at a bar. The poor man was near-on crying into his beer.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. I’m coming to find she does this often. Depending on the degree to which they rise, the set of her shoulders, and the degree of fire in her eyes, each facial expression reveals every minute thought or emotion.
“Someone broke Heavy’s heart?” Her voice is soft but also fierce.
My smile returns. “It’s not my story to share, but there were broken hearts all around it seems.”
She’s back to cautious when she asks, “Did the woman who broke his heart have a crown-shaped birthmark?”
I’ve leaned forward to share in eating the appetizer, but my eyes fall on her instantly. “Why should that matter?”
She gives me a strange glance and states, “Because he’s a king.”
There’s something she’s not telling me.
I do not like to be kept in the dark, and I find I like it less when it comes from the woman opposite me.
“I am your king; there’s no need to look for other candidates.”
I cannot fathom where this comes from. Perhaps I’m worried she’s seeking out her king elsewhere.