by Autumn Dawn
Wiley's eyes narrowed. “Forget it."
"I don't know, I think the idea has merit,” he answered smoothly.
"You would."
Keilor brought two glasses with silver crests to the table and poured a generous shot into each. “If I'm going to be playing with real coin against shells, I'd have to agree with Jayems. We should at least get a kiss if we win the game."
"No."
Jasmine hesitated for a moment. Their newest plan depended on robbing these two blind. The question was, what was she willing to do to get home?
Anything.
Well, almost anything. Taking a bracing breath, she negotiated, “No tongues."
"Jasmine!” Wiley cried in disbelief.
Eyes narrowed, Keilor bargained, “If you sit on our laps while delivering it."
Wiley slapped a hand on the table, embarrassed. “Stop it, you two!” She was ignored.
Cupping her chin in thought, Jasmine ran a thumb over her lips, considering Keilor with mercenary eyes. If she had to sit on his lap then she darn sure was going to make it count. “Gold coin for every shell."
Keilor smiled wickedly. “I'll give you two for every shell if you sit astride."
That gave her pause. Some of the fun of bargaining drained out of Jasmine as she considered whether possible bribe money was worth what he was asking. Her eyes flickered as she looked down, counting the cost to her pride.
"Don't you dare,” Wiley warned her, breaking the tense silence.
"Oda ouya aveha anothera away ota etga oneyma orfa ibingbra ehta aurdsga, Wi?” Do you have another way to get money for bribing the guards? Jasmine asked casually and then added in English, “Don't be a baby, Wiley. It's just a little kiss.” Even as she said it she could feel her hot face betraying her. The very last thing she wanted to do was kiss Keilor, even if it might help them find a way to get home. The thought of sitting on his hard thighs, wrapping her legs around him, with only inches separating significant body parts ... Well, they'd just have to make certain they won most of the time.
"The winner gets the pot, the losers take a shot,” Jasmine told them and then explained the rules while Wiley shuffled the cards in nervous silence.
Predictably, the women won the first few hands, pulling in money hand over fist. Jasmine and Keilor had just folded and taken their shots, and Jasmine was watching Wiley with a smug and slightly inebriated smile when Jayems laid down his first winning hand. She blinked, but the cards didn't change.
Slow color flooded Wiley's cheeks. Jayems pushed his chair back and laced his hands together over his stomach, a warm flame of pleasure and expectation in his eyes. Taking a quick breath, Wiley gulped her liqueur, squared her shoulders and then with more haste than grace, she straddled him.
No doubt she'd intended to make the kiss a quick peck, but it quickly became apparent that she was not in command, and tongues or no tongues, when Wiley finally slid off of Jayems’ lap, she was clumsy with more than alcohol. She knocked her chair sideways trying to sit down, and Jasmine couldn't help a snort of laughter as she helped set it to rights.
Then she lost.
"Huh,” she said in consternation, and slowly tucked an escaping strand of hair behind her ear. She reached for her drink, attempting to stall.
Before her fingers could close around it, Keilor snatched it up. With a wicked glint in his eye, he toasted her. “I'd hate for your senses to be dulled for this, Dragonfly.” With a quick toss he finished her drink and then scooted back his chair, waiting.
She looked away from the electric promise in his eyes and told herself sternly to move. Just a little kiss, she reminded herself, rising. It wasn't helping. Reluctance slowed her every movement and made the slow slide onto Keilor's lap torturous for both of them. When she would have stopped halfway, he grasped her hips and pulled her flush, sending a shock wave thrill through them both. Jasmine gritted her teeth and gripped his shoulders, stiff with willful desire. He grazed his cheek against hers once in acknowledgment and then slowly slid his mouth to her own. Invisible sparks flew as their lips touched softly. Jasmine's mouth parted a little of its own accord, and Keilor sipped, drawing delicately on the soft, damp interior, dragging his lower lip across hers. Her heart thumped like a piston as she slid her fingers into his dark hair, instinctively finding the clasp and freeing the silken strands.
So caught up was she that she failed to remember their audience until Jayems said with amusement, “Do you think we should leave him to her mercy or have pity and toss water on them?"
With a groan of heartfelt reluctance, Keilor ended the kiss and set her back. Aching, Jasmine scooted off his lap and felt her way back into her chair, her eyes still too dilated to focus properly. As her left hand connected with the back of her chair, she heard a clink. Dropping down heavily, she opened her hand to look at it and flushed. It was Keilor's hair clip.
"Keep it,” he said with sultry satisfaction and then mimed a kiss. “A memento."
The tide had definitely turned in favor of the men, and Jayems and Keilor kept stealing the ladies’ drinks in the name of sharp senses, though the liquor had little noticeable effect on them.
"You must be cheating,” Jasmine muttered, eyeing the pile of shells in front of their opponents with suspicion. They were on their last hand, and her cards were good. Almost unbeatable. Unfortunately, as the liquor wore off she became less willing to take the chance of losing again. As it was she started trembling just thinking about the consequences of defeat.
Still ... It was a lot of money. Maybe enough to get them home again. Could she afford to lose this chance when the odds were so completely in their favor?
Keilor raised the bet and Jayems folded. Wiley was already out, and Jasmine couldn't cover the bet. Taking the last shot straight from the bottle for courage, she cleared her throat and asked huskily, “Would you be willing to take a promissory note on a game of strip poker for my ante?"
Wiley drew in a shocked breath of protest, but choked on her own saliva. While Jayems thumped her on the back, Keilor regarded her intently. “Strip poker?"
Jasmine looked down and tapped her finger on the table, her nerves jangling a warning. And whether she liked it or not, a dangerous thrill of anticipation. Would it be so bad to lose?
Mentally chastising herself for daring to think such a stupid thing, she said, “I'll tell you after the cards are on the table.” If things went as planned, it wouldn't matter anyway, because she wouldn't be in a position to pay up.
He looked skeptical, but one look at Wiley frantically waving, “no, no!” and shaking her head at Jasmine and his expression turned speculative. With a graceful gesture, he tipped his cards onto the table.
"Heh, heh!” Jasmine gloated, tossing her own hand down and raking in the pot. She threw back her head and hooted. “Whoo, hoo!” Jumping up, she did a little war dance and then grabbed Wiley in a head lock and rubbed her head with her knuckles, chortling. “I win, I win!"
"Is she always like this?” Jayems demanded in disbelief, watching Jasmine dance a jig around the room.
Wiley snorted. “Only when she wins."
Breathless, Jasmine came back to the table and began raking coins and shells into the drawstring pouch. Keilor dropped his hand over hers, pinning it to the table. When her startled eyes met his he asked, “What did I just lose?"
Pinned at an awkward angle over the table, Jasmine had nowhere to hide her hot face. “Ah...” Heat licked at her from his touch, making her tongue thick, and for a moment she felt a pang of regret. Losing might have been the smartest thing she'd ever done. She cleared her throat. “Strip poker is played in private. The ante is ... the player's clothes."
Keilor sucked in a breath and his fingers tightened briefly before he slowly let her go and leaned back, contemplating the ceiling with a resigned expression. Somewhat subdued, Jasmine finished collecting her loot and then helped to clear the table. With everyone working at once, everything was quickly put away. As soon as it was done, the la
dies took their winnings and left.
Keilor poured them both another drink and then saluted Jayems. “A greedy man would regret letting them win that last hand."
Jayems smiled faintly. “Caught you by surprise with her offer, did she?” Keilor swore softly and gulped his drink, making Jayems laugh. His expression sobered. “How else am I to give them an allowance? Rihlia won't accept anything from me."
"Hm, well, she seemed to be accepting your kisses well enough at the end."
A half-smile curved Jayems’ mouth. “And Jasmine yours."
Keilor took a deep breath as desire flashed through him. “Bite me, I didn't think I'd survive much more of that. The Sylph had to win, and swiftly."
Jayems chuckled and poured them both another drink. “To women,” he proposed, raising his glass.
"To relief.” Keilor countered wickedly, and clinked his glass to Jayems'. A thought occurred to him and he cocked his head, causing the loose strands of his black hair, so like his cousin's, to brush across his shoulders. “How do you intend to let the Sylph spend her allowance? It's not as if she can wander through the markets."
Jayems frowned and propped his chin on his fist. “I hadn't thought of that. I suppose I'll have to invite the merchants to bring their samples here.” He brushed his thumb across his lower lip, squinting. “What sorts of things do you think two women raised on Earth might be tempted by?"
"How should I know?” Keilor waved a hand in dismissal. “Females seem to wallow in silks and satins. Send for a dressmaker. Arrange for fittings. Find a perfumer and jewelers. Any merchant selling fripperies should do."
Jayems shook his head at him. “Such promising husband material,” he mocked. “Yet so ugly."
"Tell that to Jasmine.” He preened. “That woman couldn't keep her hands off me."
Smirking, Jayems pointed out, “She was drinking. You might have been a stag for all she knew."
Keilor's smile flashed. “I certainly felt as randy. Too much more of her and we would have both disappeared under the table."
"And Rihlia would have been after you with a knife...."
Chapter 4
"There is no justice,” Jasmine grumbled the next morning when she entered Jayems’ suite and saw her chipper poker companions. Her head felt ready to split and her mood was rotten. She felt as if she'd had ten shots instead of just three.
Wiley's lips twitched as she poured them both a cup of tea. “Pain killer hasn't kicked in yet, huh?"
Her answer was a grunt as Jasmine rested her elbows on the table and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes.
"I should have warned you,” Jayems told her, contrite. “Haunts are notoriously difficult to inebriate. Our liquors are made strong to compensate. I did not remember at first that you might become ill."
Jasmine stirred herself enough to glower at Wiley. “Scruffy alien. Should have known all these years that you were cheating.” Wiley chuckled. Slitting her eyes, Jasmine peered at Keilor, who was dressed casually in loose trousers and a dark green, long sleeved shirt. His hair was loose today, and he looked better than she could bear to look at so early into a hangover. “What's the occasion? Are all your uniforms in the wash?” she asked nastily and then winced when her head throbbed in rebuke.
He raised a brow. “Our family is arriving today, and I've taken the day off.” He nodded at Wiley. “Her mother, Lady Rhapsody, will be here in time for dinner."
Wiley blanched.
Jasmine jerked upright and then hissed and grabbed her head at the crushing pain. White lights flashed behind her eyes and she grit her teeth, panting. Someone picked her up and took her to the couch and then dropped a cold cloth on her brow. Something sweet and cloying was waved under her nose, and then she was out.
"She's better off asleep until the medicine kicks in,” Keilor explained in a business-like manner as he capped the vial of dream flower oil.
Rihlia was still pale, and Jayems touched her shoulder in concern. She knocked his hand away and then turned her back on him. “I don't want to see her."
"Rihlia—” Jayems began, concerned. He hadn't seen her this upset since before Jasmine arrived.
"My name is Wiley,” she snapped viciously, “And I won't see her!” Her eyes took on a dangerous gold glint.
Undaunted, Jayems tried again. “She's your mother,” he said, his body tense. “She's waited almost twenty years for the chance—"
Wiley's answering response raised the hair on the napes of both men. No one should say such things about their mother. Shocked momentarily dumb, Jayems watched her storm off and winced when she slammed her door. There was a moment of silence.
Keilor touched his shoulder. “She didn't mean it, surely,” he said quietly.
"How can I keep Lady Rhapsody from her own daughter?” Jayems asked in agony. “She's done nothing to deserve this.” He sighed heavily and began to pace. “She's coming here tonight, thinking that she's about to meet her beloved daughter, not confront a waking nightmare. This will kill her, Keilor."
Keilor said nothing. Jayems spoke the truth. Better that her daughter had never been found than to be returned to her full of misplaced hatred. Worse, who could understand such loathing for the very woman who had spawned her? His gaze fell on Jasmine, and his eyes flared. “Our little gem,” he breathed, reaching out to grab Jayems. “What do you see?” he demanded, pointing to the unsuspecting girl.
Frowning and slightly annoyed, Jayems answered, “A sleeping Sylph."
"A girl...” Keilor paused significantly, “...who knows Rihlia better than anyone alive. A confidant, a beloved friend.” He squeezed Jayems’ arm. “Someone with untold influence over your wife.” He released Jayems and assumed a cool mien. “And if need be, a bargaining chip."
Jayems slowly shook his head, more in thought than denial. “I'm not interested in manipulating Rihlia if I don't have to. Still...” A slow, determined smile lifted his mouth. “Perhaps the girl might be of some use after all."
Jasmine felt a great deal better when she woke up. Sure, her mouth felt like last year's dryer lint and her head was fuzzy, but nothing hurt. She opened her eyes, feeling almost optimistic, and turned her head.
Jayems and Keilor were staring at her.
"What?” she asked defensively, scooting up into an upright position. Was it a crime to suffer hangovers here or something? Keilor handed her a glass of cool water, and she gulped it down with gratitude.
"Why does Rihlia hate her mother?” Jayems asked without warning, staring at her intently.
Caught off guard, she said the first thing that came to mind. “Wouldn't you be mad at someone who dumped you in the woods and never came back for you?"
"That is not what happened!” Jayems snapped, making her jump.
Keilor touched his arm, but he didn't look any happier. “We've told her that she was lost, not abandoned,” he said, obviously restraining himself.
Jasmine shrugged and looked off to the ceiling, dismissing his objection. “As if that matters to a child."
"She's no longer a child,” Jayems argued, looking like he wanted to jump up and pace.
She looked at him for a long moment. “Wiley never knew her mother growing up. Emotionally, when she thinks of her, it's with the feelings of a small child. She's stuck in a time warp, with no frame of reference to deal with the woman as an adult.” Her thoughts turned inward. “You just don't erase all that in a day,” she finished softly.
"How can I do that if she won't even talk to her?” Jayems demanded. “How can she learn to get over this if she keeps running away?"
Jasmine was silent. Mothers were not a topic she ever cared to dwell on. Her own hurts were infected, painful wounds that she protected with the zeal of a zealot, and she didn't care to probe at the hurts of others, especially Wiley's. Still, it was different, wasn't it? Wiley's mother wasn't going to drive her off.
Wiley's mother wanted her.
Feeling a little sick, she wandered over and gripped the back of a
kitchen chair, very tight. Wiley's mother wanted her, and why wouldn't she? Wiley was a wonderful person. Anyone would be glad to have her for a daughter. And deep down, past the pain and the fear of rejection, Jasmine believed that Wiley wanted to know her mother, too—needed to know her.
She walked to Wiley's room. “Wiley,” she called, knocking on her door without enthusiasm. There was a rustling noise inside. “I know you can hear me, long ears.” No response. Jasmine slumped against the door, feeling ninety years old. Flattening one palm against the wood, she rested her head against it as well and said tiredly, “You're going to see your mother, Wiley, because you're not a coward. If you need to hate her then at least have the decency to tell her to her face that you think she's a bitch.” She heard a menacing growl from Jayems’ direction, but she ignored it. Closing her eyes, she said hollowly, “I'd do it for you, Wi, but dealing with one mother in a lifetime is all I have the energy for. Just get it over with.” Utterly drained, she straightened up and shuffled off to her room, not caring as much as she should that others witnessed her weakness.
Two hours later, she cared.
Keilor found her wedged in a corner behind a wing chair in her darkened room, curled on a cushion and nursing her sense of worthlessness. When she'd left Jayems’ suite earlier walking like an old woman, he'd feared something like this, but a sense of self-preservation and the need to keep Jayems from storming into his wife's room had stopped him from following her. Kisses were one thing, but he was not ready for emotional intimacy with her, not now or ever. The sight of her so broken pained him in frightening ways. To preserve his distance and to maintain control, he responded with callousness.
After all, it had worked so well on Rihlia.
"Lights.” He folded his hands behind his back and braced his legs as he affixed his bleary-eyed target with a cool stare. “It appears that your tactics were successful, Sylph. My cousin has agreed to dine with her mother this evening. She is selecting a dress as we speak, and she wishes you to come now and choose your own."