by Michele Hauf
Rook stepped back, putting up his palms. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she said quickly and offered him a sheepish smile. Swishing a curl of hair over her shoulder, she took a much-needed breath of air. “I didn’t want to stop you, yet I needed you to. It is a bit fast. Not that anything is wrong with fast. I just think—”
“I got it.” He dashed a hand across his lips and flicked a wink at her. “You’re right. I tend to take things that I want when a little prolonged desire is best employed. We should savor this.”
She nodded eagerly. “Savoring is good.”
At the same time she wished she wasn’t so prudent to hold him off, and instead, could grab him by the shirt and pull him back for more.
“Any way I can convince you to go along with me to headquarters tomorrow to look at mug shots?”
“Still don’t want to take sides.”
“The victim chooses her own side. Very well. I won’t push you to do anything that would make you uncomfortable.”
Being labeled a victim did not sit well with her. She had merely been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Yet the idea of missing out on his coercive sensual skills made Verity drop her shoulders. Should she reconsider helping him? What if she refused to help unless he kissed her?
“Come. It’s time we called it a night.”
He tugged her hand into his and led her through the living room and into the kitchen, where he promptly helped her on with her sweater. Gathering her long hair into his hands, he pulled it from the sweater and let it fall across her shoulders. He nuzzled his face into her hair and wrapped a hand around and across her stomach from behind.
“You have gotten inside me, Verity.”
“And yet you claim an inability to read me.”
“Frustrating, but the mystery of you is as sweet as a vanilla macaron.”
He’d guessed it right. She had always considered herself a vanilla macaron.
“Mmm…your hair. I want to lose myself in this.” He bunched up her tresses against his face. “You’d better leave now before I decide to keep you here against your will.”
Sounded rather adventurous, actually.
But Verity declined her lusty imagination. With a nod, she turned to give him a quick kiss. “Thanks for a lovely evening.”
He stroked her neck over the vampire bite. “This should be gone by tomorrow, yes?”
“We witches take a little longer than most paranormals to heal. Give it a few more days.”
“Sure. That’ll give me an excuse to see you again. To make sure you’re looking as good as new. Bonsoir.”
Closing the door behind her, she exhaled and shook her head. Damned vampire bite. Did it bother him? Surely, as a hunter, he wouldn’t like to look at anything left behind by a vampire. She’d have to practice her cover-up skills with makeup before she next saw him.
Date number two couldn’t arrive fast enough.
* * *
Rook caught his hands on the back of the kitchen chair and listened until he could no longer hear Verity’s heels tapping away down the outer hall. They’d been so close to stripping away clothing. He certainly wouldn’t have stopped it. When the hell had he been such an animal around a woman?
Besides always? He did have a tendency to take and then push them aside, never to see them again. Easier that way. When a man lived this long he couldn’t dream to have real, lasting relationships. Such a connection would only result in heartbreak. He’d been there and done that enough times to have learned his lesson.
Verity had bewitched him; that was it. Because he couldn’t imagine not touching or kissing her. He wanted to put his hands on her. Constantly.
Are you forgetting why you need her?
“No,” he muttered to Oz.
She can help you find your soul. End of story.
“Why can’t it be the beginning? I like her, Oz.”
She will muddle everything if you do not treat this as a business arrangement.
Could be true. Oz was the wiser of the two of them. If Rook became further involved with Verity, his brain would certainly not be en pointe and he could not expect to have the focus required to hunt Slater and find the bald vamp who might have his soul.
It was all tied together in some way. Zmaj, Slater and the vampire who had stolen his soul from Verity.
Ah, but he hadn’t felt this way about a woman in a long time. A little muddling was all right, wasn’t it?
Rook, you are not thinking straight.
“No, I’m not,” he whispered. And the smile that followed spread up to his eyes and into his heart.
Chapter 4
Verity slipped her feet into thigh-high black suede boots. A fitted blue sweater dress stopped above the boots. With winter, she’d have to switch to longer skirts, but she was holding out with the shorter, more flirty skirts as long as possible.
Strolling through the house, her thoughts admonished her silly need to take sides yesterday. Because really? By not helping Rook to identify the vampire who had attacked her, she was taking the side of the vampires.
What could it hurt to take a look at a few pictures? Especially if it meant seeing the handsome knight again.
“I’m not a victim,” she said. “And I’ll prove it by doing the right thing.” She touched the cell phone sitting on the kitchen counter. “I should have gotten his number.”
The doorbell rang, startling her from her thoughts. Dashing down the front hallway, she opened the door and, stepping out, walked right into Rook’s arms. He slipped her into his embrace with an ease that didn’t give her time to comprehend that he was also kissing her until her shoulders hit the door frame behind her. And the man’s tongue slid across hers.
He certainly knew how to kiss. Forget “Hello, how do you do?” or even “Bonjour, mademoiselle.” She’d take this silent yet intimate greeting any day. His entire body fit up against hers, feeling the shape of her, speaking his command with the jut of his hip to hold hers against the doorframe.
Verity tucked the toe of her boot around one of his ankles, wanting to draw as much of him against her as possible. His tongue lashed hers. He tasted like espresso, the dark, bitter kind that she’d never dared try—until now. A sigh ended the surprise connection.
“Namaste,” he said.
“Right back at you. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“I thought I’d make one more attempt at coercing you to look at mug shots today.”
“Oh, well—”
He put up an admonishing finger. “I have a bribe.”
Verity lifted a brow. A bribe sounded promising. Far be it from her to confess she was just considering helping him.
From behind his back, the man produced a pretty sky-blue box embossed with white lettering.
“Ladurée,” she whispered with glee.
She recognized the signature Bonaparte box; it was filled with eighteen macarons. It was a treat she never indulged in because so many at a time felt too decadent. She dashed her tongue across her lips and reached for the box.
Rook pulled it away. “It’s yours if you accompany me to headquarters and look over some mug shots.”
Wasn’t he a sneak using macarons to coerce her? If she told him she’d had a change of heart, surely she’d spoil his perceived success and the prize would be reneged.
She nodded. “Agreed.”
He lifted a brow. Had she agreed too quickly?
“Uh, well, you know, I suppose it couldn’t hurt to take a look at a few photos. But I’d be doing it against my original convictions.”
“Of course, your convictions can remain strong. Let it be recorded that I coerced you and you fought mightily to the end.”
Smiling, he stepped back onto the walk, paralleled by flowers and vines
and, box held out as a lure, began to step backward. He crooked a finger in beckon.
Verity closed and locked the front door behind her. Following the bait, she took delight in Rook’s little-boy grin. He thought he was being so clever. Far be it from her to reveal otherwise.
Once through the purple iron gate, she saw the car parked in front of her property and her attention diverted from sweets to something even sweeter. Oh baby. The sports car’s curves were obscene. The paint color resembled the inside of a crushed pomegranate. Verity actually wanted to lick a vehicle. She’d bet the interior was soft, creamy leather that a person could absolutely melt into.
The knight had expensive tastes that she could appreciate. And just because she could take care of herself didn’t mean she couldn’t get behind a man with money.
Forget behind. She preferred a man to stand alongside her or even allow her the lead on occasion. Date number two?
Wait, no. Today wasn’t a date. This was work. Which meant she still had two dates remaining on the three-date rule.
“What do you call this sexy contraption?” she wondered as he held the car door for her to get inside.
“It’s an Alfa Disco. A little out there in style, but I love the curves. You like?”
Her eyes darted from the interior of the car to the little blue box he held.
“Oh yes.” She liked everything about this man.
She slid onto the passenger seat and he shut the door, taking the box of macarons with him and placing it on his lap as he got in and revved the engine. A pulse of his jaw momentarily switched the playful man over to focus. Certainly he had a dark side that he seemed to guard as precisely as he ordered his home. The heart was a home, after all.
“Want a sip? If I had two cup holders, I’d have picked you up a cup.” He handed her a paper coffee cup and shifted into gear.
The espresso was dark and commanding, much like Rook. Verity sipped the bitter brew while the crushed-fruit Alfa Disco glided through the city as if on air.
Settled into the leather seat that was as soft and buttery as she’d guessed, she observed her dashing host from the side. So intriguing, that tuft of gray hair above his ear. Immortals tended to age slowly. How long had he lived?
A furrow in his brow made her wonder if he concentrated too intently when driving. Cool, calm, yet ultra-aware. A hunter to the core. She wanted to reach over and trace the triangle of stubble that underlined his mouth, but instead she curled her fingers into her palm.
“What?” he suddenly asked after they’d driven ten minutes. He turned, navigating the car into an ill-lit underground lot. “You’ve been staring at me since we left your place. Do I have my shirt on inside-out?”
No, but if he had, then he’d have an excuse to remove it and give her a look at what she felt sure were sexy abs. The shirt in question stretched snugly across his pecs and about his biceps.
“Is this normal business practice for the Order of the Stake?” she wondered as he stopped the car and dashed around the front to open her door.
She stepped out. “Inviting witches into headquarters?” she reiterated. “It feels sneaky to me.”
“We’re not being sneaky. Just clandestine.”
“Mmm, clandestine appeals.”
“Everything about you appeals, Verity.” He nudged her hair with his nose as he tucked a kiss behind her ear. Stepping back and pressing his palms together as if to remind himself to keep his distance at work, he then said, “It is rare an outsider is invited into the inner sanctum, so to speak. So forget everything you see inside, will you?”
“Or you’ll have to kill me?” she joked, handing him the espresso as he led her toward an elevator.
“I don’t kill witches.”
She wanted to trust that statement but could never get beyond the distinct scent of burning flesh reminiscent of her mother’s death.
“But you’ve killed female vampires?” She followed him into the elevator.
He tilted his head at her, his eyes seeking but probably not seeing what he wanted to see. He couldn’t read her? Good.
“On occasion I’ve had to stake a woman,” he finally said. “It’s never easy. But my job, first and foremost, is to protect humans, and I do it no matter the costs.”
She nodded. The man was a killer, and she didn’t want to get on his bad side. But only a vampire could do that. She hoped.
The elevator doors slid open to a limestone-walled hallway. It appeared as though it had been carved from the stone beneath the city, much like the hundreds of miles of labyrinths that coiled under Paris.
“Cozy,” she commented, following Rook’s sure strides past a few steel doors that looked out of place nestled within the stone walls. The air was humid, the light thin. “What’s above?”
“Don’t ask me to reveal the exact location of this place,” he said over a shoulder. “I probably should have blindfolded you.”
“You had me at clandestine escapades, but I’ll swing for the blindfold, too.”
She walked right into his embrace. The man slid his mouth along her jaw, and at her ear he whispered, “That can be arranged. But not here.”
“Of course, not at your place of business. Don’t worry. You can trust me to keep a closed mouth about this visit,” she said.
She tapped the blue box, and the knight swung out of the embrace and into a stride. Verity picked up her steps to keep his pace. And to keep the box in eyesight.
Excitement scurried through her system. She had been invited into the inner sanctum! There was something cool about that. A bit like playacting the spies she’d seen in movies. Too bad the man didn’t keep a blindfold in his desk drawer. A little kink never hurt anyone.
Rook arrived at a door. “Ready?”
So much unsaid in that word. An invitation to much more than was exposed on the surface of the sultry look he cast her.
“Always.” And that was a yes to both helping him and the lascivious deeds his eyes promised. “Anything I see while I’m here will go to the grave with me. Promise.”
He spread his hand before her chest, as if to touch, then did not. Must have remembered he couldn’t read her. “I believe you. My office.”
He opened the door and gestured her inside. Expecting hi-tech cyber décor with blinking lights and secret passkeys, Verity let out a sigh of disappointment as she entered the room. It was plain and spare, much like his home, with only a marble-topped desk and a few ancient weapons hung on the limestone walls. Not a retinal-eye-reading device in sight, nor a green laser security beam threatening to cut her off at the knees should she make the wrong step.
“Collected over the years?” she asked and tapped the cold iron spike protruding from a mace. The tip of it was blunted, no doubt from repeatedly connecting to stone or perhaps skull.
“Yes, and used in battle more than a few times.”
She imagined Rook swinging the mace at a vampire’s head, and then—no, she didn’t want to consider the gory details. Besides, beheading a vampire wasn’t always the trick to ending its life. The heart had to burst to guarantee sure death.
Rubbing her palms over her sweater skirt, at Rook’s direction she took a seat in the office chair, while he stood beside her and booted up the computer. Tilting her head closer to his chest, she picked up his tobacco and peaches scent. Wonder if she could lick that delicious scent off his skin? She would certainly like to try. And she’d start…there, just under his jaw where it formed a square corner of his face.
“Verity?”
Had he said something to her while she’d been imagining dancing her tongue over his body?
“It’s yours.” He placed the box on the desk next to the mouse pad. “Thank you.” He winked.
“Always willing to help. Uh, for macarons, of course.”
“Of cou
rse. You’ll find we have a few photos. Some vamps photograph well enough, but many do not, so there are sketches mixed in with the photos. Click the right arrow to scan through them. Let me know if you find a face you recognize. Are you cool with this?”
“Oh, yes.” She sat up to the desk and palmed the mouse. “I like a good adventure.”
“Then I’m going to leave you a few minutes to check on operations. I’ll be back with more espresso, yes?”
“Sure. Cream, too, please!” she called, still tasting the bitterness at the back of her throat.
As soon as he had left the office, she lifted the top of the box. Inside nestled colorful jewels that smelled like heaven. If a witch were to believe in heaven, Verity felt sure her ethereal diet would consist entirely of macarons (and the occasional cup of hot chocolate from Angelina). She strolled her fingers over the soft yet crisp pastries and landed on a deep golden jewel that she then drew out and bit into.
“Mmm, chocolate yuzu. I love that sneaky knight.”
She smirked at how easily it had been for the man to win her over. So he’d won this round. She wasn’t at all ashamed of the loss. And really, it wasn’t an official loss considering she’d decided to help him before the bribe had been revealed.
Focusing on the faces before her, she clicked rapidly through the first half a dozen or so because they all had hair, but then she stopped herself.
“He could have shaved his head recently. Better look at them all,” she cautioned.
Again, her gaze swerved to the macaron box. Such a distraction would prove this a most challenging task.
* * *
Smiling to himself at the forethought to purchase the macarons, Rook strode through the locker room and checked in the gym to see if any knights were using the facilities. Most days the headquarters was quiet, and without any current trainees, he usually had the place to himself.
“Kasper,” he said to the man who sat on the weight bench. Clad in sweatpants, his formidable biceps shone with sweat. “How’d it go with the Magic Dust situation?”
Recently vampires had discovered a new drug. Although faery dust was a vamp’s favorite drug, the past few months Paris had been hit with a much crueler version of the stuff that drove vamps insane. And to feed their cravings, they went in search of anything that sparkled. That had resulted in innocent humans getting their necks ripped out as the vampire clawed for the diamond necklace they wore. Even rhinestones had attracted them. Nasty stuff.