Faery Surprising

by Mia Watts

  “I barely know you,” he reminded her with a wry smile.

  “Circular argument. You barely know me, but what you think you know shouldn’t be attractive,” she pointed out.

  “Is that your indirect way of asking me why I think I love you?”

  Now she smiled, too. “I’m lying on my parents’ front lawn while there’s a sex toy party going on not twenty feet from us. The neighbors are probably thinking that we’re about to engage in lewd public conduct. You couldn’t frame me for inappropriate behavior with a contracted player better than you are right now.”

  “Oh, I get it. Another indirect answer. So if I’m reading you right, you are asking me why I’m in love with you if I fault your character.”

  She smiled agreement.

  “You’re also demonstrating that you trust me enough to let me put you in a bad position in front of witnesses as your way of acknowledging that you have unresolved feelings for me, too.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to.” He grinned. “Which means you may not want to trust me or believe that I’m in love with you, but you do and you’re waiting for me to make good on my claim that I’m in love with you by trusting you. That about right?”

  “Technically, it’s not your claim. It’s Sage’s.”

  Ian growled playfully. “Then I’ll make it mine. Flora—what’s your middle name?”

  “Ann.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Flora Ann Harper, I’m in love with you. I don’t understand it and I can’t explain it and I really want to know I’m not a complete idiot for feeling the way I do. Please,” he begged softly. “Please tell me what really happened. In your own words.”

  Chapter Eleven

  He was good with his eyes, Flora decided. Really, really good. He expressed things with sincerity and sold his words with those eyes. She could believe him so long as she looked at them because his words rang truer. And because Sage had confirmed it.

  Now came the hard part.

  Knowing he loved her and wanted her to be innocent didn’t discount what he’d tried to do without first knowing her character. He should have found out first. He should have given her the shadow of a doubt just because she deserved it as another member of the human race. Filming another person, especially without their permission and especially while in the throes of passion, smacked of dishonesty.

  It hurt worse because Ian had made her feel him. He’d made her look past their union of bodies where satisfying a physical itch had become a selfless, shared experience. He’d marked her. He’d changed her. No matter what she answered Ian, he’d done that and sex for sex sake would never be the same with another man.

  His eyes told her she’d been changed and she believed them, because just looking into them made her want to agree to all sorts of things. She wanted to push their disagreements under the proverbial rug and say yes to whatever he asked. Ian Tate had mounted an offensive strike on her heart and those words, those eyes had crippled her defensive line.

  If Wilks had taught her one thing, it was how dangerous love could be. It burned, scarred, and left you ashes with which to recreate yourself. Ian Tate was a firestorm the likes of which Wilks could never compare. Ian Tate could destroy her and the ashes he left behind would be scattered by the wind of fall-out.

  Her instincts said run. Her heart said stay. Her common sense told them both to shut up and get it over with by just telling him the truth.

  First things first.

  “Do you believe there are some things which defy logic?” she asked.

  “Like?”

  “Disappearing in hallways with no exits.”

  “I’d say no, but I saw it,” he admitted.

  “That’s a start.”

  Flora pushed on his chest. Ian rolled to his feet. He offered her a hand up which she took. She motioned him toward the side of the house, thinking that the back porch would give them some privacy to talk. If he took this news well, she’d tell him the rest. Maybe.

  They walked quietly. Ian occasionally looked at her, waiting for her to speak, most likely. When they reached the back porch, she motioned toward the patio table. How did one inform another person that faeries existed and she was proof?

  “My dad is a research scientist by profession. It’s why I choose medical research most often when scheduling the team for charity campaigns. I know what he does and how much support he needs to keep doing his job. It’s easy for the public to say, let’s find a cure. It’s not so easy when the funding isn’t there to look for one.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “Dad goes on field expeditions. He travels to natural settings and looks at the biology and chemistry of the area to find new uses for commonly seen plant-life.” Flora took a calming breath. About to strip her last defense, she had nothing to go on but gut-faith in trusting him with the family secret.

  She could see his confusion, yet he stayed silent, letting her talk.

  “Mom is a free-spirit.” As though to echo that statement, a female roar of laughter reached them from inside the house. “Mom’s a faery.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “Dad went out on one of his expeditions and came across my mom, bathing. She got pregnant. Though he thought she was slightly insane for claiming to be one, the faeries weren’t happy about her pregnancy with Sage and left Dad no doubt about Mom’s, uh, heritage.”

  Ian folded his arms and leaned back. The skepticism dripped from his slitted eyes.

  “They—the faeries—gave each of the children she bore a double-edged gift. I think it’s their way of punishing Mom for marrying a human while reminding all of us exactly which two worlds we come from. We—all five of us kids—each do something a little different and it never works when we want it to.”

  “I thought you were being serious.”

  “I am.”

  Hurt shifted his expression from disbelief to sad disappointment. “If you aren’t going to give me the truth, just don’t tell me anything. Whatever. But don’t lie to me.”

  “I’m not lying.”

  “Faeries,” he barked. “I ask for truth and you give me a load of bull about faeries.”

  “I’m half faery. All my siblings are,” she insisted.

  She hated the slight whine in her voice. He’d either believe or he wouldn’t. Damn it, she wanted him to believe her. Believing her with this meant she hadn’t put her faith in the possibility of them, in vain.

  “I transport. You saw that for yourself. That’s what I do. Never when I want to. Never conveniently. You think I wanted to end up naked with a vibrator in the men’s locker room? In my team’s locker room where I’d get fired on sight?” The words rushed from her in urgency to make him understand.

  “Everyone has a kink, Flora.”

  “Sage sees what people are thinking. That’s why I trust his assessment.” Flora pressed on, hoping that adding information would provide the proof he needed. It was a long shot.

  “Dill freezes time. My twin sister, Fauna, has invisibility. Willow turns into wooden things. None of us can control it.”

  “Enough. Here’s a tip. Next time a guy tells you he loves you, at least have the decency to give him a believable excuse for flipping out on him.”

  Ian practically leaped out of his chair.

  “I’m not lying.”

  “Save it,” he said holding up his hand. “I don’t want to hear any more.”

  Flora watched him walk away, his back growing fainter as the night enveloped him. Even the crickets had gone silent.

  “You could have started with something easier,” a quiet voice said from the darkness.

  Flora started. “Fauna? I thought you weren’t coming.” She could say she hadn’t seen Fauna there, but that was obvious. Flora thought invisibility would be a good faery gift to have right now. Then she wouldn’t have to see the disappointment on Ian’s face when he looked at her because he would
n’t see her to be disappointed.

  “Mom,” Fauna said, by way of explanation.

  “That’s what Sage said.”

  “Why didn’t you tell him about Wilks?” Fauna asked.

  Maybe to test him? To see how far he was willing to go in order to hear the truth? Because if he didn’t believe her about being a faery, then whether or not he believed the blackmail charge didn’t matter? There wouldn’t be a happy ending to her story if he believed her about the coach but thought she was a raving lunatic.

  Start simple? She had. She’d started at the very beginning, the source of who she was and if he hadn’t accepted that, he’d never accept her. Well, she’d been right, hadn’t she?

  God, it sucked being right. How long would it take for the stabbing pain in her chest to ease?

  ———

  Ian turned over, twisting his sheets around his hips. He kicked off the covers and stared bleary-eyed and the bedside clock. There should be a rule that when you had decided to cut your losses on a relationship, the rest of you agreed. Instead, thoughts of Flora tumbled through his mind, replayed moments, wondered why she’d created the elaborate lie to keep him away.

  He flopped on his back and the sheet fell, leaving him naked. He’d had her like this—naked, open, ready. Which reminded him, he should ask her for his leather belt. She could keep the jersey. The material loved her body.

  God, what was not to love? He could almost see the bottom edge of his jersey pulled up just under the puffy lips of her sex. If he touched her through the jersey, would he feel the moisture on his fingertips or would he have to bury his face against her, his nose and lips hidden by the material as he tasted her.

  Eating out by tongue brail. His cock strained, so erect it curved back against him to brush his abdomen.

  “The faeries can come suck my cock,” Ian muttered. He grabbed the pillow edges at either side of his head and folded them up against his ears. “That includes you, Flora Harper! You can suck my cock!”

  Movement and weight trapped his legs. Ian bolted upright. Flora squirmed uncomfortably across his shins and like a wet dream come to life, the bottom of the jersey she wore left a wedge of shaved pussy visible.

  “Flora?” He was dreaming. He had to be.

  Ian cautiously leaned over and ran his hand down her arm, felt the knob of her elbow bump against his fingers, and skimmed her forearm. Her fingers curled around his and she unconsciously squeezed them.

  His mouth went dry and a cool sweat touched his back. “Flora,” he croaked.

  “Mmph.”

  “Wake up.” Faeries? No fucking way. They didn’t exist. This didn’t exist. She wasn’t really at the end of his bed and his feet weren’t actually going numb from her body weight sprawled across them. It was just a realistic dream.

  She shifted her top thigh, drawing his attention to the sweet vee between her legs and the shapely curve of hip to waist. “A fucking realistic dream.”

  Still acting on disbelief and a little fear, Ian retracted his feet from under her and squeezed the fingers she still held. “Flora, baby, wake up.”

  Flora hitched a sigh. Her dark lashes fluttered as sleepiness became foggy awareness. The transformation to sudden horror sobered him. That expression was completely believable. She didn’t know how she’d gotten there.

  “Ian? Oh shit, Ian!” Her brow furrowed as she backed off his bed and toward the door, keeping her eyes on him as though he were a vicious animal. “I—I don’t understand. I was dreaming about Willow licking bald cats while Mom tied helium-filled condoms on their tails. I wasn’t dreaming about you.”

  “Thanks?”

  “How did I get here?”

  “I think I called you.” He shook his head. “I don’t know. That sounds insane. I can’t make you materialize.”

  “Were you dreaming about cats and condoms, too?” she asked, seeming to search for a link.

  “Fuck no.” Well, he had been thinking about cats a few hours ago, but it had been in specific relation to owning them with Flora. He hated cats. He’d love cats if they were Flora’s. He’d make them a damn cat castle if she asked him to. “Do you even like cats?”

  Total non-sequitor.

  “What?”

  “Never mind.” Funny how the mind worked. If it couldn’t make sense of the obvious puzzle, it tried to solve an easier one instead.

  “I should go.”

  “Wait,” he said.

  Flora stopped moving backward. Her eyes grew large as they skimmed over him and found the evidence of his desire. He didn’t bother hiding it. She knew she turned him on. He was naked. She’d appeared in his bedroom. If she was shocked, shouldn’t she be the embarrassed one?

  Except Flora licked her lips and shot every good intention to hell.

  “Why wait?” she asked. Was her voice wavering?

  “You’re here, aren’t you? You’re actually standing here in my bedroom. I’m not dreaming this?”

  It was as though he’d given her an idea. Her face lit up hopefully. “Nope. Sorry. It’s a dream you’re having. Yay, you on the realistic dream-age. I gotta go now, okay? Good. Don’t even bring this up tomorrow because I won’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “It’s not a fucking dream.” Ian leaped to his feet and ran toward her.

  Flora squeaked, slipped through the bedroom door and ran. “Bunnies!” she shouted.

  Ian drew up, “What?”

  “Bunnies!” She shouted again, wrinkled up her nose and made a bunny face. Then suddenly, she disappeared.

  “Whuh?” The faded remnants of her scent still teased him. It stood out from the stale hotel cleaning smells as a hint of illusivity. Not a dream, then, but what that left seemed just as unlikely.

  Ian went to the door of his hotel suite and found the inside bolted just as it had the last time she’d popped in and out on him. That was the night he’d woken up with her in his arms and the morning he’d found her in her office still smelling like sex.

  Other memories crystallized. Flora had been standing in the stadium during practice wearing a sexy red wrap-dress and seconds later, she’d been gone. The hallway, too. The locker room.

  “Shit,” Ian muttered. He ran his hand through his hair. “She’s either a faery or a damn fine magician.”

  ———

  Flora watched the last piece of footage showing Ian Tate in play before the season ended and he was picked up by the Gladiators. About a month before the end of the season, he’d taken a heavy hit when a player sacked him. Ian limped off the field with help.

  She replayed the sack. Even her untrained eye could see the unnatural bend. Could cortisone shots heal that? She shot a furtive glance toward her office door and decided she’d look at his team statistics anyway.

  A quick Internet search for injury statistics pulled up a surprisingly thorough list. The knee injury didn’t appear on it, but Flora decided it must have been less dramatic than it looked on film.

  He’d had six concussions among the listed injuries. She could have sworn there’d been another two in practices. Fans leaped on that kind of information. Still, eight concussions was serious. There’d been something about another famous quarterback having eight concussions and warned he’d have to drop out if there were more. Wouldn’t that make him, and Ian, less desirable picks? Wouldn’t Deeks have wanted a stronger player on the team? They’d been up to draft John Aster.

  Aster was in prime physical condition, young, lots of increasing play time on the field, and would have been far better received than Ian. Another search showed that while Ian signed for a smaller salary, it wasn’t by much. Certainly not enough to justify Ian’s acquisition with his numerous injuries and age, when compared against Aster.

  Having been in the industry long enough to recognize trends of importance, the need for good publicity and involvement with the community, she had to be missing something.

  Article after article pulled up some great stories about both men. Aster was an exemp
lary role model. Ian was, too. Ian did have a certain charm that felt natural. Aster appeared polished to a high gloss. Still, all of that looked great to the public and sold tickets. Why Ian? Why not Aster?

  Sterling? The suspicion held weight. Sterling was his uncle. From everything she’d read, Ian had no surviving family. So who was Bobby Sterling to him and if an uncle, why had it been kept from the press? There’d only be reason to hide it if their relation raised doubt.

  But this was football, not political espionage.

  “Reporting for duty,” Ian said, striding into the room like he owned it.

  Flora minimized her search window just in case he came around the desk. “I’m thinking of doing a charity auction for juvenile diabetes. Did you know John Aster has diabetes?”

  “Bunnies,” he said.

  “Pardon?” Flora tried to keep her expression blank. It wasn’t easy when Ian looked as though he wanted to strip her clothes off and fuck like the furry little creatures. Her pussy tingled. She crossed her legs beneath her desk.

  “Bunnies and faeries.”

  “Aster has diabetes and was first pick as our quarterback draft. I wonder why we didn’t go with him.”

  Ian’s expression darkened. “Would he have been less of a challenge for you?”

  “Than a player with a fetish for small animals? Sure.”

  “You were there last night,” Ian said.

  “Where?”

  “In my room.”

  “Go home. I don’t have anything for you today,” she said.

  “What about the diabetes?”

  “I’ll call Aster and get back to you.”

  “Tell me about the faeries, Flora.”

  She looked up at him warily. “I did.”

  “Explain it to me again. I’m in new territory with this.”

  Ian planted his hands on her desk. It was the same stance Sterling had taken with her the day Ian had come to collect his uniform from her. They didn’t look alike, but Flora was sure they were related. Uncle wasn’t an informal title, it was a familial title.

  Sterling couldn’t have gotten Ian on the team without help. He didn’t have the leverage or the position to see it happen. Scheduling appearances just didn’t have anything to do with recruitment. Having them both on the team and the acquisition at least a little bit questionable, did seem convenient. Somehow there was a link.