by Anya Breton
She forced herself to the door but hesitated at the threshold. She’d rather face a vicious vampire or a Were suffering from lunacy than this party. Vanilla humans in groups were her least favorite foe. A witch needn’t hide his or her power from a rampaging vampire. But job security would be the least of her problems if she revealed the existence of magic to any of these people.
The familiar emotional signature meant Morgan could be found to the left. She scanned the area, quickly finding him already surrounded by several women. One leaned into him, speaking into his ear in an intimate fashion. Though he ought to be concentrating on what was being said, he was instead fixated on Brook.
After yesterday’s breakfast melodrama, she was acutely aware of the slow sweep of his gaze down her body. Brook struggled to maintain her indifference beneath his frank appraisal. What she’d ignored then was now clear as the waters of a tropical cove.
For whatever misguided reason, Morgan desired her.
Warmth skittered along the path his eyes took. Blood flushed to Brook’s neck. Her breasts grew tender and full beneath the thin fabric as his gaze passed over her. Inches from the gown’s slit along her thigh, her unguarded sex began a slow throb when his attention reached her belly. Neptune in the depths, she was not lusting after the bleeding heart!
There was only one way to chase the harmful emotion away.
Brook strode between the mingling groups, landing in front of her client and his handful of women. “Introduce me to your fan club, Morgan?” she queried in her brusquest of voices.
She’d expected his eyes to flash with anger. Brook hadn’t counted on pink washing over his cheeks instead.
“This is…th-the h-head of the charity, Mrs. Henrietta Hale,” he said.
The emphasis he put on the woman’s married status was curious. But that had been the female leaning into him moments ago, hadn’t it?
“Her friends Jenny Lawson and Kim Brown.” Morgan stretched a palm out toward her. “Ladies, this is my date, Brook Lochlan.”
Calder, she silently corrected his slip.
“A friend of the family,” Morgan said when she failed to close the space between them.
She’d been friendified. Good. He needed to hang on to that reminder the next time he was undressing her with his eyes. Brook gave the trio of women measuring looks rather than feign friendliness. Twisting three lines of magic, she linked with the women simultaneously. Time to discover their intentions.
The redhead named Kim hid impatience well beneath a bright smile. Brook instantly disliked her for it. Jenny was bored. And the married woman sidling close to Morgan barely hid jealousy. Brook had no way to know at whom the woman’s jealousy was directed. Or why the woman experienced the emotion in the first place. She could only speculate or assume. As a Ranger, neither were good ideas.
The impatient one relaxed her fake smile. “Nice to meet you.”
“Thanks,” Brook said even as she scanned the radius around them. She couldn’t be too careful. Morgan’s original attack had occurred in a public place though few had witnessed it. Desperation could make their foe foolish enough to risk capture at a party.
Focusing on the women served another purpose as well. It kept her from acknowledging the information she’d gathered from her client. She didn’t need to know he still suffered from desire. Especially when she was the object of his frequent glances.
The married woman purred into Morgan’s ear, “You promised me a dance. I want it later when you’ve had too much to drink.”
“I won’t be drinking tonight.”
She plumped her red lips at Morgan’s setdown. “Why not? I ordered the best champagne.”
Sharp emotion sliced through Brook’s net, snaring her attention with ruthless force while Morgan muttered an answer she didn’t catch.
Where had that come from? She cast a discreet look over her shoulder to the entrance. Brook found the extreme emotion in a brunette with eerily pale, glaring green eyes. The whole of the brunette’s attention was fixed in Brook’s direction.
Mira Fontaine. Brook would recognize her anywhere. But what had caused that malevolent pinching of the female’s pretty features?
Brook eased the supernatural net away from Morgan’s girlfriend until she could sense more than the force of the emotion. Even without a direct link, Brook noted the siphoning sensation that was the marker of jealousy. Brook’s attention returned to Morgan, where Henrietta’s breast had settled nicely against his side. They had certainly gotten cozy. That explained it.
Brook discreetly nodded toward the entrance. Though Morgan glanced at the door, confusion flowed off him rather than worry. Brook did it again, this time getting her eyes in on the action. The idiot male shook his head, still bewildered by what she’d attempted to relay.
Brook jabbed a finger toward his glaring girlfriend.
Morgan’s eyes widened. “Mira!”
He was too late to extricate himself from Henrietta before his female arrived. Mira stomped to a stop next to him.
“I didn’t expect to see you tonight,” he said.
Mira sent him a scathing sidelong look. “Obviously.”
“Excuse me, ladies.” He strode forward, taking Mira’s wrist in a possessive grip. Mira allowed herself to be guided into the shadows away from the group.
“She looks so jealous.” Henrietta shot a catty smile at Brook. “I suspect she doesn’t like him going to parties with old family friends.”
Henrietta’s mocking emphasis on their supposed relationship nearly loosened Brook’s lips. As did her withering sweep down Brook’s gown. Instead of insulting the people in Morgan’s life, Brook simply walked away.
A drink, something nonalcoholic, would be good. Too bad there was a line. But…she’d have an excuse to look at nothing while she filtered through the signatures within the room if she were stuck in line. Brook waited her turn at the first of the refreshment tables.
A witch attempted to strike up a conversation. His familiar leer at her bodice jogged her memory—Norman Foster, one of the males she’d vowed to avoid. She put him off with only a severe glance. Moments later Brook had her drink in hand. She slipped into an isolated spot where she could observe Morgan and his peers.
Whatever he’d said to his female had failed to appease her. Mira glared around the room in few-second intervals. For all his ability to soothe, he failed with the one person who mattered most.
Brook’s leisurely sip of her punch covered her interest in the pair. Until a third individual appeared—one who knew exactly what she was doing on the fringe.
“Ms. Calder.” Morgan’s uncle invaded her solitude. “I expected you’d be stunning in a gown.”
She forced her eyes away from her client. Irvin’s bright grin was all she could see in the dimly lit space at first. Soon her vision adjusted. His tuxedo, though standard, didn’t fit him as well as Morgan’s fit him. He certainly didn’t cut the regal figure his nephew did.
Strange. Most witches were attractive—gorgeous even. Yet this witch wasn’t. Irvin must have had a rough childhood. Rough enough to form a hatred of those who hadn’t?
Brook drew in the markers of the male’s emotions. He too suffered from desire—his featured a slice of anticipation. Unlike his nephew’s, Irvin’s attention remained above her neck. Perhaps he’d noted some knockout on his way over.
“Any new hints among your social circle for who did this?” Brook asked rather than acknowledge Irvin’s lie.
The male released a teasing laugh. “Always working?”
“Yes.” She gestured at the pair still deep in argument. “Does his girlfriend often struggle with jealousy at these functions?”
“Whose girlfriend?” Irvin swung toward the wall where her client murmured into Mira’s ear. “Morgan’s?”
Brook didn’t bother with a reply. He ought to know she had absolutely no interest in anyone else in this state.
The older male righted himself. A small smile played across his lips—a
n indulgent one. Brook squelched the irritation at his condescension.
“Mira is merely Morgan’s assistant. They aren’t dating. He hasn’t seen anyone since he moved to Indiana.”
Brook’s attention snapped to Irvin.
The pair wasn’t dating? Morgan had never corrected her when she’d mentioned his girlfriend. Mira’s jealousy was off-the-chart high. Morgan had to note it. Working with a distracting individual couldn’t be easy. So why did he do it?
“Did they date?” she found herself asking as her gaze drifted back to her client.
“No.”
“She’s very jealous.”
“She wishes that would change.”
“She told you this?”
Irvin’s head shook in her peripheral vision. “Observation.”
Brook examined Irvin with a keen eye, searching for clues on his face as well as on her empathy net. “Do you think her jealousy could turn violent?”
Salt-and-pepper brows lifted slightly though his gaze remained steady on hers. “Do you mean to ask if I think Mira is behind the attacks?”
If she’d meant that, she would have asked that. Brook merely stared at the male rather than insult him with brusque words.
“I think she has it in her,” Irvin said. “But I don’t think she’d do it.”
“Has it in her?”
“Mira has a dark side,” he said.
“How do you know that?”
“I’ve happened upon her during one or two…incidents.”
Now Irvin had every ounce of her focus. That nearly coy hesitation on the final word promised juicy information. “What sorts of incidents?”
“She destroyed one of Morgan’s ceramic vases when he upset her.”
Irvin shifted his gaze to the pair that had recently stepped away from the wall. Brook watched as well, noting how Morgan led the female with a hand on her forearm. He wouldn’t leave the room without his Ranger guard, would he?
Irvin had stopped. There had to be more to the story. She pressed for it. “How did he upset her?”
“I don’t know for sure. I asked but Morgan didn’t have an answer for me. And he was incredulous. He was inclined to believe I’d misconstrued her actions. That it had been accidental, when I’d clearly seen her snatch up the piece and hurl it at the window Morgan had recently passed.”
“The window?” Brook repeated in shock despite knowing most of Morgan’s house was made of windows.
“Yes. Lucky for us, her aim sucks.”
Morgan was frustrated. On too many levels. Mira’s arrival had only highlighted it. He’d told her to stay safe. Elsewhere. Putting in an appearance at a party he was sure to attend wasn’t staying safe.
But that wasn’t what frustrated him. His bodyguard did.
Neptune’s beard. Brook had never looked as alluring as she did tonight. That gown was indecent with the way it shifted over her lush curves like water sluicing over a naughty statue. She should have let him see the thing before he’d paid for it. He would have sent her back for something with sleeves. And a hoop skirt.
“I’m already here, Morgan,” Mira said as he marched her to the door. “It’s more suspicious that I’m leaving early than it would be if I stayed.”
He bit back the urge to scold her for ignoring his command in the first place. Mira’s concern was touching. Or it would have been if he hadn’t known her true concern.
Brook.
Two days ago he hadn’t considered Mira might want him as more than her boss—before Brook had called her his girlfriend. And two days ago he would have laughed at Mira’s jealousy. As if he’d want Brook. And yet…
It was all he could think of now. He’d barely kept his hands to himself when the Ranger had joined him and his companions minutes ago. Morgan had wanted to caress her generous breasts through the silk until her nipples strained for release. He would have settled for a hand at her waist. Touching her had become integral to the success of his evening. That meant Mira had to go.
For her own safety, of course.
Morgan nudged her toward the coat check. “I’ll tell anyone who asks that you came only because I’d asked and your illness sent you home.”
“What illness? I feel fine.” She dug the heels of her designer pumps into the gaudy-patterned carpet. “Really, Morgan—”
“It’s too dangerous,” he said for the seventh time, ignoring the satin fabric beneath his fingers as he pressed her shoulder toward the counter, because acknowledging it would invite comparisons to other satin fabrics.
“Whoever it is would be foolish to try anything at a party,” she said.
Was that why Brook had let him walk out without her? Thank the god of the ocean the Ranger couldn’t read his silent irritation that she hadn’t shackled herself to his hip. Or something a little closer to the center.
Morgan scrubbed a hand over his face. “I was nearly shot. In public. I’m taking no chances with anyone.”
“But yourself.”
“As I told you. It would be suspicious if I hid away.”
“That’s ridiculous—”
“And whoever it was would take it out on those I care for.” He hadn’t meant to look Mira in the eye when he spoke the words. No doubt she’d read it as a soulful gaze—one with far more emotion behind it than he meant to broadcast. For a Water witch, Mira was obtuse regarding the emotions of others. But then he had been with her as well.
“Please,” he said with a low sigh. “I take my people’s safety very seriously.”
“But you don’t take your own seriously.”
“I will. In fact, I shouldn’t be away from Brook for long.”
Mira’s eyes narrowed into fine slivers. The drawing sensation coincided with what he’d felt from her the moment he’d spotted her dark head of hair. Jealousy still. Morgan might have assured her there was nothing to concern herself over. He didn’t.
A part of him, initially small but quickly widening with disturbing speed, wanted Brook despite their vast differences. Perhaps because of them.
“Take care, Mira,” he said in distraction when the line opened for his assistant to fetch her things. “I’ll call…”
He didn’t finish his thought because he’d forgotten what it was, if he’d known to begin with. How could he remember a damn thing when his attention was riveted on her?
How had Irvin persuaded Brook to dance? And why did the formerly gangly female have to move with grace foreign to a tomboy? How had she learned to move like that?
Who had taught her?
Never before had Morgan felt inclined to harm his uncle. But the hand inches below Brook’s flared hips should have been his, not Irvin’s. And never had he experienced the urge to drag a woman out by her hair.
The image of his fingers slicing through those spiked, cropped locks flared in his mind’s eye. He’d let the tips of his digits linger at her nape until she shivered with desire. Only when he’d drawn a reaction with the heat of his gaze would he slide the straps of her gown over her bare shoulders.
Morgan’s cock roused when Brook’s gaze met his across the dance floor. And she shivered. Deliberately he stepped to the wall rather than cut into their dance. He couldn’t be trusted. Laughable that, considering he was the most principled male he knew. Brook had always gotten him in the worst trouble.
His uncle sent a glance over his shoulder. Irvin’s lips quivered in the mere moment Morgan had seen his face. And then he was bent over Brook’s figure, whispering in her ear. Morgan’s chest tightened at the sight of them in the intimate embrace.
Brook jerked her head to the right. A shapely shoulder appeared beyond Irvin’s frame. As soon as Morgan had seen it, it disappeared behind his uncle’s body.
Frustration. Hers. He could feel it across the room without an empathic link. Morgan shot forward in time to hear her protesting.
“He’s a sitting duck alone over there and I don’t want to dance.”
“You were dancing peacefully while he stroked Mir
a,” Irvin said before he realized Morgan was within earshot.
Stroked Mira? Was the male trying to make Brook jealous? Morgan’s gaze switched to hers, eager to know if it had worked. Her eyes were narrow, but the emotion he noted when his empathic link snapped into place wasn’t jealousy. No, it was more irritation.
Brook Lochlan was one giant ball of vexation—a sexy ball in a slinky gown that left little to the imagination.
But she wasn’t Brook Lochlan any longer. How could he have forgotten she’d married?
He knew how. Morgan hadn’t wanted to remember. Lust had made him stupid.
“May I cut in?” he asked of his uncle now that he’d successfully iced his baser needs.
“If you must,” Irvin said with stiffness he ordinarily reserved for their opposition. “We were enjoying each other’s company.”
A glance at Brook merited no assistance. Her plump lips were set together as they often were, neither thinner nor poutier than normal. She’d been arguing when he’d arrived. But she wasn’t arguing now even though Irvin had lied.
Or had Morgan misunderstood what he’d overheard? It would have been easy, especially given how badly he’d wanted to believe she hadn’t been enjoying herself.
Still Morgan stepped into their space. Irvin released her waist and her hand and then moved with a mocking flourish to the left.
“Do try to enjoy the rest of the dance.” Irvin’s sardonic emphasis pointed out the fleeting moments left in the ensemble’s current piece. He sauntered into the crowd without a backward glance.
Morgan’s attention slipped away, settling upon Brook’s face—her glaring face.
“I was getting somewhere with him when you interrupted,” she said.
“You were trying to stop dancing when I interrupted.”
“What I was saying and what I was doing were two different things.”
“You?” Morgan brought his head back to give her a once-over. The motion was meant to be feigned incredulousness—a mocking gesture she’d surely understand. Instead, Morgan had noted how the silky fabric of the gown skimmed her inner thighs far too closely. Lust he’d thought he’d conquered melted his brief, icy resolve.
“What is that supposed to mean?” she ground out before recognizing the scene they created. Brook stomped forward in her silver sandals. She grabbed hold of his hands, setting one to her waist and the other out to the side, exactly as he should have done.