Motor City Fae

by Cindy Spencer Pape

  She could almost feel his grimace, even though she didn’t turn around to see it. “Sort of,” he admitted. “It’s been addressed, but I doubt it’s over.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  This time he snorted. “Not yet.”

  Okay, be cryptic, see if I care. “I didn’t really expect to see you again.” Where had that admission come from? She couldn’t seem to control her own tongue around him. The words popped out before her brain could censor them.

  “I figured.” She heard his chair scrape against the hardwood floor, followed by soft footsteps behind her. “I wasn’t lying last night. I would have much rather been with you.”

  She turned into his chest, forced herself to look up into his glorious eyes. He’d put down the cat and laid his hands gently on her upper arms. “I’m getting that,” she admitted, inhaling the clean, crisp scent of sandalwood soap and warm male skin. “I’m just not sure why.”

  “Lots of reasons.” His voice was a low, sexy growl next to her ear and she felt goose bumps form on her skin.

  “Mostly this.”

  His touch was every bit as electric in the morning light as it had been the night before. Hot, strong hands gripped her shoulders and he stepped closer, pinning her back against the counter. He moved slowly, carefully, giving her time, she supposed, to back away, but nothing short of a nuclear explosion was likely to make her budge. Giving in to the madness, she reached out, grabbed his soft cotton polo shirt with both hands and held on for dear life as his head moved inexorably down toward hers.

  The first touch of his lips was electrifying. Warm, tender yet demanding and full of raw sexual promise.

  Conscious thought deserted her as every nerve receptor in her body focused on Ric and Ric alone. She wouldn’t have noticed if the house burned down around them and she was pretty sure they were generating enough heat to make it happen.

  She strained upward, plastering her body against his, feeling his heat through their two layers of clothing, as his soft, talented lips moved against hers. When she opened for him, his tongue plunged in, tasting of coffee and sex and she wasn’t sure if the low moan she heard came from her or from him.

  His hands slid down from her waist, cupping her butt, grinding her hips into his rock-hard thighs for a moment before lifting her to the counter. Her legs opened wide and he stepped even closer, his blatant erection rubbing hungrily against the damp nylon crotch of her shorts.

  This is crazy. His lips left hers and began to trail down her throat. Then she forgot all about why when his hands started to wander up inside her T-shirt.

  “I know,” he agreed, sounding raspy and out of breath.

  Had she spoken out loud? “Want me to stop?”

  “God, no!” She ended on a keening moan as he closed his long fingers over her aching breasts.

  Needing to feel skin-on-skin, she tugged his cotton shirt free of the waistband of his jeans, exulting in the smooth heat of his flesh. She reluctantly relinquished her hold for long enough to let him pull the polo off over his head. His chest was lean but sculpted, his muscles well defined without being bulky. A light sprinkling of fine golden hairs covered his skin and surrounded his flat copper nipples.

  Then she lifted her arms over her head as he grasped the hem of her shirt.

  “So sweet.” She barely heard his reverent whisper over the pulse pounding in her ears. Then his voice sharpened, almost cracked, as his whole body tensed and he pulled his face away from hers. “What the hell?”

  Meagan opened her eyes and blinked, waiting for reality to re-coalesce around her. Then she heard it. The pounding wasn’t just in her ears. Someone was hammering, loudly, on her front door. She buried her face in her trembling hands as Ric echoed the line she’d used earlier.

  “Somebody better be bleeding.”

  Chapter Three

  “Now, who the hell is it?” Meagan slid off the countertop and tugged her clothes back into place.

  “Nobody ever comes over this early in the morning and now suddenly it’s freaking Grand Central Station.” She moved toward the front door as she muttered.

  Ric took a second to adjust himself before moving. No sense in letting his too-tight jeans amputate something he might have a use for later. He didn’t bother with his shirt, but moved silently through the archway that divided the kitchen from the living room of her small but undeniably charming bungalow. He leaned against the wall a few feet behind her as she checked the peephole before she opened the door to reveal Greg Novak.

  Greg ignored Ric and smiled at Meagan. “Hi, I’m Greg.”

  She nodded warily and shook his hand.

  Greg turned to Ric. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  Meagan had stepped back and picked up Calculus, who glared nastily at Greg. Ric suppressed a grin. The overfed furball apparently knew a predator when he met one.

  “Sure.” He followed Greg out to his car. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “I spotted a couple of thugs,” Greg whispered as he took a guitar case out of his battered red pickup and handed it to Ric. “Or something anyway. Kind of small, but they looked like they were up to something and when I got closer they vanished.”

  “Shit.” More goblins? Ric took the case. “This isn’t mine.”

  Greg shrugged. “So? She doesn’t know that.”

  “True enough.” Ric put the case in his own trunk, waving as Greg drove off. Meagan appeared to be frozen in place, so Ric closed the door and lifted the cat from her arms. Her glossy curls tumbled around her shoulders.

  When had he pulled the band from her hair?

  She was skittish now, he could sense that much from her jumbled thoughts. Not the time to pick up where he’d left off. He dropped down on the plush, lime-green sofa, a good five feet away from her. “I almost forgot why I came over so early.”

  “You said you came to apologize.”

  “Well, that was part of it,” he admitted easily, cranking up the charm he’d spent centuries perfecting. “I also have a favor to ask.”

  “What kind of favor?” She looked like a suspicious pixie sitting in the Hawaiian-print wing chair with her knees drawn up to her chest and her hair falling all around her.

  “The friend I’ve been staying with is having this party,” he began. “And I really have to show up…”

  “And?”

  “And whenever I’m in Detroit, Aidan has a bad habit of trying to fix me up with someone.” It was a complete lie, but one Aidan would be willing to go along with. “So it’s a lot safer if I just bring my own date.”

  “Yeah and I’m sure that’s such a huge problem for you.” She didn’t look offended, thank the gods. Her lips were curving upward and the twinkle was back in her eyes. “Is this a really roundabout way of asking me to go to a party with you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “When?”

  Okay, this was going more easily than he’d expected.

  “This afternoon. Well, all weekend, really. It’s a house party, a weekend thing. Some of the guests have already arrived.”

  “O-o-okay. I guess that explains the early wake-up call. So where is this shindig? And just what is a house party, anyway? I’ve never heard of one outside a Regency novel.”

  He smiled at her stream of consciousness questions.

  “Let’s see, in order: yes, that’s why I arrived early; Aidan’s home is in Grosse Pointe; and a house party is a gathering that goes on for more than one day with overnight accommodations.”

  “Private accommodations, or would I be expected to share?” Her tone was cautious, but he couldn’t tell if she was objecting or not.

  He felt his face heat as he flushed, something he didn’t think he’d done in centuries. He studied her bright, cheerful living room to avoid looking in her eyes. The luxurious fabrics, bursts of vibrant color and dozens of potted plants reminded him of Meagan herself, full of beauty, texture and life. “You’ll have your own room,” he promised.

  She nodd
ed. “Fair enough.” Then her eyes widened.

  “Grosse Pointe? What in the hell am I supposed to wear?”

  “Anything you like. I was hoping to spend at least part of the afternoon in the pool, though, so if you can manage a swimsuit, I’d appreciate it.”

  “Okay, I think I can handle that.”

  Relief flooded him. She was going to come with him, without magic or coercion. Whatever she decided to wear, he looked forward to peeling it off her satin skin before the night was over.

  “Wow.” Meagan fought the urge to panic as Ric’s Jaguar passed through the wrought-iron gates of the Grosse Pointe compound. “So this friend of yours,” she asked Ric, her mouth dry. “Is his last name Dodge, Ford, or Chrysler?” A place this palatial could only belong to auto-industry royalty.

  “Greene.” Ric chuckled and reached over to squeeze her hand. She supposed it was meant to be a reassuring gesture, but the electric charge that still flared whenever they touched only unnerved her more. “Aidan Greene.”

  “That sounds familiar.”

  “He’s the CEO of Underhill, Inc.”

  “Oh.” She slumped back in her seat. Yikes! Not auto industry, but pretty much everything else, from credit cards to toothpaste, along with hotels and professional sports teams. She looked down at her white capris, green cami and Hawaiian-print shirt. “I am so underdressed.”

  What was she doing here, anyway? This mansion and this guy were so far out of her usual league they made her stomach churn. She was certain that at any moment some security guard was going to stop the car, identify her as a commoner and boot her underdressed butt right back to Royal Oak.

  “Stop it.” Ric, as usual, seemed to be reading her mind. It felt intimate, though coming from any other guy it would probably seem creepy. “You’re an invited guest, you look fantastic and after seeing the painting that Aidan has hanging in the foyer, all the other guests are going to be climbing over one another to meet you.”

  That got her attention. “What painting?”

  “The forest scene, the one I bought yesterday.”

  “And why is that hanging in Aidan Greene’s foyer?”

  “Because when I showed it to him, he loved it. When I told him I was inviting you, he suggested displaying it, to see if it drummed you up some more business.”

  “Oh.” Wow, what a compliment. And he was right.

  With the people liable to be here this weekend, some of them just might come down to the gallery and buy a painting, if only to keep up with the Greenes as it were.

  Judging by the array of luxury cars in the circular parking area, they could definitely afford it. “That was really thoughtful.”

  “Aidan is a thoughtful guy. Stop worrying, please. You’re here to enjoy yourself.”

  “If you say so.” Her misgivings continued to grow as Ric ignored the valet and parked in the barn-sized garage.

  He was apparently a regular guest, judging by the way the employees nodded and waved at him.

  Ignoring the portico-covered main entrance, he ushered her through a small French door on the rear side of the fieldstone mansion. That took them into a booklined library that would have looked perfectly at home on Masterpiece Theatre.

  Meagan stared around in awe, her jaw probably hanging halfway to the floor. Speaking above a whisper would have seemed somehow sacrilegious. “This is fantastic!”

  “Thank you.” The accent was just like Ric’s but the voice wasn’t as musical and had a slightly deeper pitch.

  She spun around to view the man who had emerged, in perfect silence, from behind a shelf.

  The magazine photos had not done justice to what had to be the single most perfect specimen of maleness on the planet. Tall with a rangy athletic build, he had rich walnut-colored hair with just a few mahogany highlights and eyes the color of the most perfect emeralds. He may have lacked Ric’s earthy sensuality, but in his perfectly tailored suit and raw silk tie, he more than made up for it in elegance and style. Ric quickly introduced the other man as Aidan Greene.

  “Have we met?”

  One corner of his perfectly sculpted mouth twitched upward into a grin. “Perhaps in another lifetime. You seem familiar to me, as well, but I’d never have forgotten such a lovely face.” The kind words and his lopsided smile made him seem less like a marble statue and a lot more approachable. For the first time since they came through the gates, Meagan started to relax.

  She shook the hand he offered, feeling like a princess, until Ric cleared his throat and wrapped an arm around Meagan’s waist, tugging her close. She looked up to see his jaw tighten and his eyes narrow.

  Oh, God! Ric was jealous.

  “She’s in the room next to yours, Ric, just as requested.” Aidan glanced down at Meagan with another off-center grin. “There’s a connecting door, but it locks from your side. He doesn’t have a key. Go upstairs, unpack and come down when you feel like it. After seeing your painting, several of my other guests are looking forward to meeting you.”

  “Sounds good. We’ll catch you later.” Ric picked up Meagan’s bag with his free hand, his left arm remaining firmly around her waist. He led her down a wood-paneled hallway to a grand foyer, complete with a curving marble staircase and her framed painting, prominently displayed.

  “Wow.”

  “He’s just a guy, Meagan.” She’d never heard testiness in his voice before and it was kind of cute.

  “Wow, the house. Not wow, the zillionaire. And wow, that’s my painting—in this house.”

  “It’s just a house.”

  She laughed at his grumpiness, unable to resist slipping her own arm around his waist and giving him a playful squeeze. Why was it that she couldn’t seem to stop touching this man? “Not to us mortals, it isn’t. The only times I’ve been in places like this, I had to buy a ticket. I promise not to get hung up on it, but you could let me wallow for just a moment.”

  “Wallow away. But don’t forget who brought you, all right?”

  She turned to look at him and had to catch her breath at the raw sexual promise in his golden eyes. “Don’t worry. That isn’t going to happen, Ric.”

  “Good.” He tugged her up the grand staircase, down another corridor paneled with burnished golden oak and finally stopped at the second door from the end of a long hallway. “This is your room. Mine’s the next.”

  “With a connecting door.” She was short of breath but not from the stairs.

  “And a shared bathroom.”

  “I think we can handle that.”

  “I promised not to pressure you, but you’re killing me here. If you don’t want me inside, you’d better keep that damned door locked.” Did he mean inside the room, or inside her? The thought had her nipples tightening and her thighs clenching.

  He turned her to face him, gripping both of her forearms so tightly it almost hurt. Then he inhaled a ragged breath and stepped back, releasing her arms.

  “Meanwhile, how about a swim? If I’m lucky, the water will be ice cold.”

  He opened the door to her room and her jaw dropped again. The huge room was furnished with carved walnut and crisp white linens. The scent of lavender and lemon oil gently suffused the air, along with the fragrance from a vase filled with roses that stood on the dresser. Huge leaded windows filled the entire far wall, fronted by a velvet-covered window-seat. A thick oriental carpet in pink and white filled the center of the glossy wood floor.

  “How’s life down the rabbit hole, Alice?” The humor was back in his tone.

  “Can you read my mind, or what?” she demanded, stepping past him into the palatial chamber.

  “Only when you broadcast your thoughts so loudly.”

  He chuckled in a way that made her long to rip his clothes off and handcuff him to the nearest bed—which just happened to be a magnificent four-poster piled with pillows.

  When she shot him a glare, he laughed again and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Okay, okay. Let’s just say you have a very expressive face.” H
e lifted her by the waist and kissed her soundly.

  She relaxed against him and shrieked in surprise when he strode into the room and tossed her onto the white duvet.

  He grinned and took a step back. “Now I’m going to walk out of here, before I give into the urge to try out that bed.”

  Ric tensed when he heard the knock on the connecting door. This was it. The moment of truth. He held his breath as he opened the door to see Meagan standing there in a plain navy blue swimsuit. An exceptionally modest onepiece swimsuit. The high neckline covered her plump breasts, flattening them somewhat, though he could still see her nipples poking out, tempting him to touch. A faded turquoise beach towel was wrapped sarong-style around her waist.

  Most importantly, he reminded himself, he couldn’t see if the mark was there or not.

  He forced his gaze away from her spandex-covered curves, while disappointment warred with appreciation.

  “Shall we go?”

  She took his arm and followed him down to the pool.

  Throughout the afternoon, Ric cursed himself a hundred times for not keeping Meagan locked in their suite, naked. He sat on the edge of the Olympic-sized pool, sipping a beer and watching her as she joined in an energetic game of water volleyball with several of the younger guests. He gave himself just a moment to enjoy the show before he went back to worrying about his mission. Her generous curves were well-covered, but they still bounced deliciously as she jumped and splashed. Her riotous curls were drawn up into a high ponytail, but they still tumbled past her shoulders in back and he still wanted to bury his hands in them.

  All he knew was that mission or no mission, he wanted her with a bone-deep yearning he couldn’t remember feeling in all of his eight hundred years. And he damn sure wasn’t letting Owain le Faire, or anybody else for that matter, lay a hand on her.

  Forcing his temper down and his expression to remain neutral, Ric glanced around the pool-patio area. A movement at the garden gate caught his eye and he raised a hand to hail Greg, who snagged a drink from a passing waiter and ambled over.