Wicked butterflies riot in my stomach.
And then, as if he had an epiphany, he suddenly stops fighting, and his expression loses its playful quality. “I want you—I don’t want to pretend there’s nothing here when I know there is.”
“Don’t do this,” I beg.
“Madeline,” he says, meeting my eyes, not about to be deterred. “Yes or no—do you still have feelings for me?” He draws out each word, but it’s pointless. He already knows.
“Fine. I’m still attracted to you,” I say, avoiding like a pro.
He shakes his head, laughing under his breath. “You’re going to make this difficult, aren’t you?”
You betcha.
“All right,” he relents when I don’t answer, but his eyes are a bit too bright to believe he’s going to walk away. “We’ll keep it friendly—no strings, no promises.”
“Jonathan—”
“I’m going to kiss you now. You have three seconds to command me to stay out of your head.”
“No, this is ridiculo—”
“One…two…” he begins, grinning.
“I am not—”
“Three.” And true to his word, the fool man kisses me. His mouth presses against mine, hot and impatient and sexy as a sultry night in the south. And I panic. Because Jonathan.
My brain short circuits for approximately two-point-three seconds. His hands find my waist, and his fingers dig into my sides in the best way. I’m pretty sure I’m going to ignite at any moment. If I were a Dragon, we’d already be on fire.
I grasp hold of Jonathan’s shirt, yanking him closer, breaking the kiss just long enough to push persuasion into my words as I command, “Stay out of my head.”
Then I meet him again, and it’s a lost cause. Either the magic worked, or it didn’t, but it doesn’t matter now. With my free hand, I run my fingers through his hair, earning a very satisfying groan out of him. He tightens his hold, pulling me flush against his chest. The room goes up ten degrees, and the part of me that thought this was a bad idea gets smothered with giddy anticipation.
The knight’s lips pull from mine and trail down my jaw. He pushes my hair from my neck and drifts down my skin, pressing a kiss where he pretended to bite just a moment ago.
“You want this?” I say, tilting my head back. “Then we’re going to have rules.”
“Rule One,” he says with a laugh, nibbling my skin. “No biting.”
“You’re already breaking your own rule.”
“Rule Two,” he continues. “Don’t scare Madeline by talking about feelings.”
I protest, trying to shift away, but he only laughs as he kisses his way back up to my lips.
He finally pulls away, meeting my eyes. “Rule Three—“
“We’re not dating,” I interrupt. “This is just…this. And we’re not public—this is a behind-closed-doors thing only, do you understand? You won’t tell anyone.”
He smirks and moves his hands to my shoulders, gently kneading away several days’ worth of stress. “Are you embarrassed of me, sweetheart?”
I’m terrified I’m going to get you killed, I think. Jonathan can’t hear me though, not at this moment.
“You know I’m not,” I say. “But this is a deal-breaker—take it or leave it.”
“I’ll take it.” He leans in once more, meeting my eyes before he presses a gentle, slow kiss to my lips. “For now.”
Something about the soft assault nearly breaks me. I move in, looping my arms around his neck, and kiss him back. It’s a slow exploration, something we’ve never had the time for before now. I breathe him in, reveling in the moment. I’m just parting my lips, inviting him to deepen the kiss, when there’s a knock at the door.
“Madeline,” Lillian says sharply through the wood. “Dinner is getting cold. What are you doing in there?”
“I’ll be right out,” I say, trying not to laugh. Jonathan lowers his forehead to my shoulder, shaking with mirth.
“Good. And phone your knight with the sexy butt. I sent him to fetch you, but he must have gotten lost.”
When I’m confident I can answer without laughing, I say, “Okay.”
The hall goes quiet. Jonathan looks up, meeting my eyes once more, looking entirely too pleased with himself. In a stage whisper, he says, “Your mom thinks I’m handsome, and your housekeeper thinks I have a sexy butt.”
Dissolving into laughter, I lean forward and press a hand over his mouth. “That’s enough talking for you.”
He gives my finger a playful nip and pulls my hand down. “We don’t have to talk…”
“No,” I say sternly. “We have to go to dinner before Lillian kills us both and plants our heads on spikes outside the kitchen to warn others not to miss one of her meals.”
10
“Oh look, Maddie,” Eric says lightly when Jonathan and I step into the dining room. “You found Jonathan.”
I eye the handsome knight, but he only grins.
A glorious, golden beef Wellington sits in the middle of the table, waiting to be cut. If the puff pastry has gone soggy on the bottom because of my tardiness, Lillian really might come after me with a spear.
There’s peppercorn sauce and fluffy, buttery mashed potatoes along with two types of vegetables, a tossed salad, and Lillian’s famous rolls.
“It looks wonderful,” Mother assures Lillian. “Won’t you join us?”
But, as usual, the housekeeper declines and disappears into her kitchen to scrub something. We’re left with awkward, too polite conversation, but even it drifts off as we attend to the matter at hand.
Eric and Jonathan watch with breathless anticipation as Dad cuts into the beef Wellington, and steam escapes, letting out the delicious aroma. I shake my head, laughing to myself, realizing neither of the knight marshals has experienced Lillian’s cooking before.
Rafe grew used to it. In fact, I often wondered if it alone was the reason he was quite so dedicated to his job of nannying me.
Our stilted small talk dies off as we begin to eat. Even Mom, who is the picture of a good hostess, is silent for several moments as she enjoys the meal. When the conversation picks up, it floats to safe topics—our ailing Grand Duke, the weather and how cool it’s been this year, and Aparian politics.
Finally, when we’re done eating, Dad sits back from the table and crosses his arms. “I believe it’s time to address the elephant in the room.”
Jonathan and Eric share a brief look, and then they turn back, waiting for him to continue.
“We spoke with Madeline before dinner, and we are aware that you know of her Obsidian magic.”
Eric looks startled, but Jonathan only feigns surprise.
“Because you protected her from the guild, I believe you are also aware that she’s not the black-hearted future queen those of the Entitled have been hoping for.”
They only nod, looking unsure how to answer.
“It is imperative to all our safety that they do not learn of her existence. This is a secret that will stay between us, am I clear?”
“Yes, sir,” they both say, nearly in unison.
“Moving forward, you will continue your duties as expected. However, consider your marshal job to be your cover. Your top priority is keeping Madeline safe. I admit I would like to have her removed from your team, but I can think of no safer place for her than with you.” His eyes bore into them, very much a polite threat. In other words, it had better be the safest place for me. “I need you to swear to me now that you will protect her and the secret. I assume I don’t need to tell you how badly we’ll all suffer if the Entitled gets their hands on her.”
First Jonathan swears his loyalty and then Eric, and I cross my arms, nibbling my lip. The whole conversation is making me very uncomfortable. Suddenly, I feel like a government secret.
“Can you vouch for Gray?” Mom asks.
Together, they nod, and Eric answers, “Yes, ma’am. Gray is loyal to the team, and we’ve made this decision together.”
“And Rafe?” Dad questions. “I don’t know him well.”
Oh sure. They can’t just take my word for it—they want the opinion of the professionals.
“Rafe will die to protect Madeline,” Jonathan says, and it’s clear he’s not exaggerating.
A sinking feeling settles in the pit of my stomach because I believe him.
Please be careful, Rafe.
“Very well. We’ll speak with them as soon as we can.” Dad sits back. “For now, I’d like you to focus on your next job. I understand you’re leaving for Las Vegas this evening?”
“Vegas?” I interrupt. Jonathan said we had a job, but he didn’t say where.
Eric turns to me and grins. “You know the missing models? Turns out they’re Aparian, and they’re not missing—someone is sucking the magic right out of them.”
“The models are Peacocks,” I deadpan.
“That’s right.” Eric’s grin grows—he’s obviously enjoying himself. “And Jonathan is going to pose as one.”
“Do you ever wonder why you’re always the bait?” I ask Jonathan as he tosses our luggage in the back of his Hummer.
“I believe you’ve played bait a time or two.”
It’s almost dark, and the temperature has dropped. I can’t say I’m going to mind spending some time in Vegas. It’s got to be warmer than here.
We’re supposed to be at the Cherry Creek Knights’ Guild in Denver by nine for an impromptu meeting with Gray, and then we’ll catch our flight. Gray is in charge, but because the scale of the event we’re covering is so massive, we’re joining forces with several other teams. Tonight, we’ll meet them, and Gray will go over our assignment.
All I know at this point is that we’re heading to the huge fashion convention that takes place every November—the one Eric’s friend Sara was talking about. There are about a billion individual shows, but Jonathan’s going to be working undercover somewhere in Menswear.
“Ever modeled before?” I ask Jonathan.
“No,” he answers, sounding less than enthusiastic about his assignment.
“Do you think you’ll have to walk a catwalk?” I hand him my old makeup bag—I haven’t had a chance to replace any of my things, so I’ll have to make do with what was lying around my closet. “Maybe you should practice strutting.”
“Thankfully, no. It sounds like I’ll stand on stage, maybe mingle with the audience a bit. It’s an expo, not a full-blown fashion show—which is bad enough if you ask me.”
My stomach flutters with sweet, sweet expectation, but for once, my response doesn’t have anything to do with the handsome knight. May I be honest? I’m ecstatic about the expo. This is precisely what I need right now—I’m finally going to be in my element. It will be nice to be the most knowledgeable one in the room for once. I might not know how to track an evil Aparian, but you better believe I know how to navigate the fashion world. I might be useful for once.
As Jonathan finishes loading our things, I browse the exhibit listings on my phone, trying my best not to drool. Several of my favorite designers are attending, and there will be events and seminars and—
“You’re thrilled, aren’t you?” Jonathan closes the back and glances at me.
“Yep,” I say, still looking at my phone.
“You know you can’t wander on your own, right? And we will have a job to do.”
I glance at him before looking back at my screen. “Yep.”
He lets out a frustrated laugh. “Are you even listening to me?”
“Nope,” I say, smiling to myself. Then out of the blue, I ask, “So the whole ‘Jonathan Kingman: Playboy Extraordinaire’ thing wasn’t a cover? It was real?”
Casually, he leans against the bumper and crosses his arms, studying me. “My great, great grandfather ended up in Texas at the right time, bought the right land. We have people who handle our investments, and my sisters and I have trust funds. But my dad expected us to work for a living—use our magic, practice our strengths. That’s what we do.”
I nod toward the Hummer, letting a smirk play at the edges of my mouth. “I don’t suppose you occasionally dip into that trust fund to support your vehicle obsession?”
A quick grin crosses his face. “Maybe.”
The money doesn’t matter to me. It’s nice having it, of course, but my family has plenty; I don’t need his. But I can’t help but wonder if the Jonathan from the mansion—the man who played my husband—was real, then what about the rest? Was that a real glimpse at what life could be like with him? Was it less of an act than I thought?
Not that it matters—it doesn’t. In fact, it’s best I don’t entertain these thoughts at all.
Eric joins us a few minutes later, carrying Charles.
“You’ve dressed him again,” I say, groaning. “What was wrong with the sweater I had on him earlier? Where did you even get that?”
Eric glances down at Charles, who’s looking particularly dapper in a dark brown leather bomber jacket complete with a tan fleece collar. The only thing he’s missing is a pair of aviator glasses, and he would look like he stepped out of a feline version of Top Gun.
But that’s not the disturbing thing—no. You see, Eric is wearing an almost identical jacket, just in gladiator size.
Absently, I picture the knight in Tom Cruise shades. Hmm…not bad.
“I thought it was fitting for his first flight.” Eric smiles in a way that tells me he knows matching the cat is beyond odd, but he simply doesn’t care.
“I still don’t know how Charles will do on the plane,” I say, reluctantly letting the outfit thing drop. (At least the jacket is better than the pumpkin sweater he had him in last week.)
When I called the airline after dinner, they said Charles may accompany me in the cabin as long as he’s crated—unfortunately, Charles isn’t a big fan of his crate.
Jonathan looks at Eric the way you’d expect a man to look at his best friend who’s playing dress up with a cat—like he’s questioning his sanity. Then he shakes his head, dismissing it, and turns to me. “Just take Charles out and let Eric hold him when we get to our seats. It will be all right.”
I open my mouth to tell him that the woman I spoke with said Charles must be contained, but then I pause. “I could,” I say slowly. “Couldn’t I?”
Rafe told me to practice my magic after all. I’m not sure this is what he meant, but what harm is there? Practice is practice, right?
“It’s not like you have to worry about him causing a scene midflight,” Jonathan continues. “Eric can take care of him.”
I glance at Eric. “What do you think?”
Eric’s smile becomes oddly tight, but he nods. “Of course.”
“You okay?” I ask, tilting my head to the side to study him.
“Fine.” The tension leaves his face, and he steps into the Hummer.
Well, that was kind of weird.
11
The Cherry Creek chapter of the Knights’ Guild is larger than the one in Avon even though Avon is the Royal Guild headquarters in the US. The sign out front says the building is an administration office for an insurance company, but the Knights’ Guild logo—two swords crossed over a mountain—grace the corner of the sign, telling me we’re in the right place.
It’s almost nine when Jonathan pulls into the parking spot, and clouds have gathered, blocking the moon. I step out of the car and take a deep breath—the air is crisp, cold.
“Do you think it’s going to snow?” I ask the guys as they get out. Before he closes his door, Eric makes a little nest of jackets for Charles and gives him an extra dose of Bunny magic so he’ll sleep while we’re in the meeting.
Jonathan looks at the sky. “It might.”
Yep, I’m so ready for Vegas.
Eric, sweetheart that he is, opens the door for me with an easy smile. “Ladies first.”
I step into the office, glad the heat is turned up. We enter a tidy waiting area with a long reception counter. There are sever
al potted plants, and chairs are arranged around coffee tables containing magazines. It almost looks like a dentist’s office.
A brunette woman about my mom’s age sits behind the counter, and she smiles when we walk in. “Hi there. Driver’s licenses and faction IDs, please.”
I set my faction card on top of my driver’s license. It claims I’m a Sparrow—or limited magic user—but that’s neither here nor there.
“Thank you,” she says, checking our names off a list. “I’ll need to keep your licenses to make your security passes for the convention, but I’ll return them shortly. You may go on back.”
Jonathan nods, and we press through a door next to the counter that opens to a hall with several more doors off it. Yep, it’s very much like a dentist’s office.
“I take it you’ve been here before?” I ask the guys as they pass several doors with confidence, walking as though they know where they’re going.
“We work with the Cherry Creek chapter often,” Eric says.
The hall takes a ninety-degree turn to the left and then opens into a large room. With its couches and dozens of soft chairs, it looks more like a break lounge than a conference area. There’s a massive television on the back wall, and a bar along the right side that’s stocked with several large coffee thermoses, stacks of white mugs, and an assortment of sugar and cream.
Gray stands at the front of the room, quietly speaking with an older man in a suit. His face is solemn, and he looks tired even though it’s barely nine o’clock. When he spots us, he waves us over.
“Hey,” a short man with fire-red hair says in greeting, standing as we pass. He clasps hands with each Jonathan and Eric, doing the man-hug thing, and then turns to me.
“Madeline, this is Hudson,” Eric says. “Hudson, this is Madeline Bennet.” He emphasizes the last name, apparently wanting to stress who I am though I’d rather keep it quiet.
“Pleasure.” Hudson takes my hand and gives it a firm shake. I study him, trying to guess his faction.
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