by R. K. Lilley
“You’ve been pretty good at keeping things to yourself for a very long time.”
My eyebrows shot straight up. He had a point. I had gotten better at holding my tongue, but I couldn’t quite decipher what his tone meant.
“That’s true. I’ve grown up. But what I said back there wasn’t grown up, and I’m sorry for that. I don’t have a grudge against you. I really have gotten over our…history together, and I think you’re right. There’s no reason that we can’t be friends again.”
“Thank you.” His voice was low and hoarse, his head tilted forward. Even in the semi-darkness, I could see that his eyes stayed on the ground.
There was something so defeated in his stance, something so hopeless in his voice, that I couldn’t seem to help myself; I hugged him. For comfort, for support. Whether it was for him or me or both of us, I didn’t dare contemplate.
I had to stand up on my tiptoes to get my arms around his neck, and that was with him slouched down.
He was stiff as a corpse for about ten seconds before he reacted, his arms squeezing me so hard that I let loose a grunt as all of the air was pushed out of me.
He eased up, and I took a few breaths before relaxing into him.
My body seemed to take over, because touching him brought back so many sensory memories. We were a train wreck, he and I, but something about touching him had always just felt right to me.
I pressed into him, my face still buried in his neck.
He pulled back slightly, and I looked up at him. I couldn’t make out much in the darkness, but I knew he was looking down at me.
“Tristan,” I uttered softly.
He lowered his head until his mouth was a breath away from mine, and even then, I didn’t think he could possibly be going there.
“Tristan.”
He moved his hands to cup my face, and at the corner of my vision, I could see that they were trembling.
He tilted my head one way, slanted his head the other, and brought our lips together.
He kissed me.
A desperate, hungry, wild, make me forget the past and the future kind of kiss.
Most of my life was spent displaying a cool reserve to the world, my self-control assured and seemingly effortless. One brief kiss and the years dissolved, the past and the present merging into one singular thought that existed right now. And right now, all that mattered was this connection, this sensation that began at our joined lips and traveled down my body, igniting every last molecule of my being into a wildfire.
I snapped.
My hands clawed at his shoulders, my mouth ravenous on his. I’d always considered myself a good kisser, and I knew for a fact that Tristan was one, but there was no finesse in this. We simply took, and took, and gave in the form of clashing teeth and warring tongues.
His hands moved to my hips, lifting me high against his body. I’d longed for this body, this exact shape, every bend, bulge, and curve of him all that my own body needed. My legs wrapped around his waist, animalistic whimpers escaping my throat as his erection pushed hard against my belly, and, after I’d shifted just right, straight into my clit.
I knew he was walking, carrying me, but I didn’t care, just sucking at his tongue, biting his lip until I tasted blood. The sky could have fallen around our heads and I wouldn’t have cared. I wasn’t letting go of this; this mindless moment where everything felt like it had shifted back into place, and all of the wrongs were right again.
He tried to set me down, but I wouldn’t let him, my legs a vise around his hips, my arms locked around his shoulders. He pulled his head back, and I bit his neck, rubbing my torso into his.
“Please,” he whispered hoarsely.
That one small request had me pulling back just far enough to look at him. A bright lantern light shone down at us, and I took in our surroundings.
We were on the back porch of the ranch house, and Tristan was pushing my hips away from his, sitting me on the thick rail that ran the length of the patio.
Confused and disoriented, I let him.
I swallowed hard, opening my mouth to say God only knows what when his hands shot to the hem of my lavender bridesmaid dress, yanking it up over my hips.
That effectively squelched my urge to try to speak.
We were rushing headlong into this lunacy, and I could worry about the mess we made later.
I wanted this, needed this like I hadn’t needed anything since I’d cauterized all of the joy from my life.
He pulled the dress straight up, flipping it all the way over my head until my arms were effectively restrained. I didn’t know, or care, if that had been his intent.
He unsnapped the front clasp of my bra, moaning and bending down to suck one quivering globe into his mouth.
His hands fumbled with his belt and fly. He groaned, and I gasped as his freed erection sprang into my stomach.
Big fingers shoved my panties to the side, and the tip of him was pushing into me as he raised his head and took my mouth again. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t ask if I was sure I wanted to do this.
I was relieved, because a crash this brutal could handle no brakes at all.
He reared back, then drove forward, burying his cock in me with one hard stroke.
The world stopped as we took what we needed, what I’d been starved for from the very last time I’d been in his arms.
It was a frenzied mating, a swift coming together that took me to the fever pitch of ecstasy with a few rough, heavy strokes, over too soon—the perfect testament to our torrid love affair.
We didn’t move for a very long time after we finished, and more importantly, we didn’t speak. Words would break the spell. Words were reality. This was a stolen moment, and I wanted to keep it as safe from reality as possible.
My forehead had fallen to his shoulder at some point, and his cheek was pressed to the top of my head. He didn’t pull out, the only movement between us the ragged pull of our panting breaths, and his member still twitching deep inside of me.
We stayed like that for what could have been minutes or an hour. I had no idea what he could be thinking, and I was trying hard not to think about anything but the moment at hand, and the pleasure of being in his arms for this tiny foray of ours into utter lunacy.
It was the first impulsive thing I’d done in years, but boy was it a doozy.
“Danika,” he finally spoke, his voice hoarse but soft.
I sighed heavily, pulling back. The spell was broken.
COMING EARLY 2014
LOVELY TRIGGER, the final installment in Tristan & Danika’s story
CROSSOVER
A crossover bonus scene by R.K. Lilley
Nerd Alert Warning: Two worlds are about to collide. Beware.
Here’s what I picture when I think of the Vegas from Breathing Fire bleeding into the Vegas that you see in Bad Things and Up in the Air. This is purely for my own nerdy entertainment.
This scene has been specially formulated for fans of both my urban fantasy, and contemporary romance books. Enjoy:)
TRISTAN
I was two thirds through my magic routine when a life-sized version of Barbie and Ken burst into the theatre. The man was brandishing a glowing sword, the woman a ridiculously huge axe.
A lean, bald man followed closely behind them. That one was not even carrying a weapon, but he looked scarier than the other two. I didn’t know why. His dead eyes, or his expressionless face, maybe?
The woman spoke to me as though they weren’t interrupting my show, weren’t essentially high jacking the attention of two thousand avid audience members.
She spoke as though she owned the place.
“Did a really tall Asian dude come through here?” Barbie asked, using one hand to leap onto the stage. It was an impressive maneuver, especially with that big ass axe in her other hand. “Or a very big Swedish man? Or…something else, perhaps, something you wouldn’t know how to explain?”
“Or a tall woman,” Ken added, revealing a hint
of an English accent. He vaulted onto the stage behind her. “No bloody clue what her hair color would be, but she might be…missing her eyes, and she looks like her.” He pointed at Barbie. “Any of this ring a bell?” He gave me a once over, now that we were at the same level. “Well, now, you’re a huge motherfucker, aren’t you?”
I was smiling my stage smile as I put my hands on my hips, tilting my head in a question, looking at the woman. “Who might you be, and what are you doing with that giant axe, in my theatre?”
Barbie smiled, flashing her teeth.
She was gorgeous. Her golden hair was so shiny and wavy and thick that I thought it must have been a wig, and her curves were Playboy material, but damn me if there wasn’t something frightening about her, something savage, like if you got in her way, she’d use that prop of an axe to chop you into tiny bite-sized pieces. “I asked first,” she said smoothly.
That axe was a very convincing prop, though the ease with which she held the huge thing was a dead giveaway. She was tall, but slender, and would never have been able to handle such a thing, if it were real.
I shook my head. “You should check down the street, at the Mystic Casino. It’s a nice place, but I hear the really weird shit goes on down there.”
That got a chuckle from the audience.
She found this hilarious, pointing her axe at me and laughing. She looked like some kind of a Viking warrior when she did that, and I wondered if that was what she was portraying in this little drama. “That’s very funny.”
“I fucking hate that place,” the bald man muttered, suddenly just appearing beside Barbie. I’d never even seen him move.
“Bloody brilliant man,” Ken said with an infectious grin. “So you’ve seen nothing out of whack here tonight?” He was looking along the floor, as though searching for something. “Nothing wonky at all?”
“Nothing besides what happens in this magic show you’re interrupting?”
“Oh, is that what this is?” Ken asked, looking gleeful at the prospect. “I assumed you were some kind of an MMA fighter, considering the size of you, but a magic show is much better. Well, show us a trick then, will you?”
Barbie rolled her eyes. “Really, Christian,” she said under her breath.
“Take your seats and I’d be happy to,” I said with a pleasant smile. Distractions were a nightly occurrence. It was usually easy to incorporate them into the show, but these three were by far the strangest one I’d ever encountered. There was no doubt in my mind that they were paid actors.
“We don’t have seats, mate. We have really big weapons, and that usually—”
Barbie held up a hand, and Ken/Christian fell silent. “Did you feel that?” she asked, her eyes wide.
The two men shook their heads.
“What is it?” Baldy asked her.
She started looking around, as though for an escape route. “We have company. Don’t ask me how he found us.”
“And by he,” Christian drawled, “I’m assuming you mean…”
“The boss man,” Baldy answered, looking disgusted. “Never a fucking moment of peace from the druids, I swear.”
“Druids?” I asked with an arched brow. I assumed I was supposed to ask, since that was the most out of place thing they’d mentioned.
Barbie shook her head at me. “Don’t talk about them, and when they show up, don’t draw attention to yourself. Just go about your business, pretend you don’t know anything, even if you do. They want us, not you.”
I smiled, not sure how to play along with that. She’d obviously forgotten the first rule of improv: always go with the bit. If I wasn’t allowed to talk about the druids, which they’d brought up, the bit was stopped in its tracks, at least on my end. If there was a script for this, I hadn’t gotten it.
“What do you all call yourselves?” I asked them when too much time had passed in silence. I assumed they were trying to promote their little acting troupe.
I wondered where the hell security was.
Christian grinned. “Call us, The Dragon Slayers!”
Barbie shook her head, then bent forward and punched him hard on the arm. She pointed her battle-axe at me again. “Don’t fucking call us that. I mean it.”
“She really does,” Baldy muttered, not even looking my way.
Suddenly, simultaneously, every door in the theatre opened wide. The ones I couldn’t see from the stage, I could hear, at least twenty doors slamming open, all at once.
It wasn’t one of my tricks. I raised a brow at Barbie. “What was that?” I asked her, figuring she was in on the stunt, whatever it was. She seemed to be the one in charge.
She grimaced, and waved her hand vaguely towards the main entrance. “You’re about to find out. Remember what I said.”
A large, dark-haired man swept down the aisle, heading directly for the stage. He had a black patch over one eye, and wore some sort of dark robe that covered him from his broad shoulders to his feet.
This newcomer radiated rage. Baldy was no longer the scariest motherfucker in the room.
Here came the real theatrics, I thought, as a dozen dark-robed figures fell into step behind him, forming into two straight rows.
They walked like soldiers, their steps precise, their postures straight. They were taking this to a whole new level, with the costumes. Barbie, Ken, and Baldy, at least, had been wearing jeans. They’d have stood out in a crowd, but this group was something else altogether.
The leader, Eye-patch, kept his one eye fixed on Barbie, his expression dark. “What are you doing in here, Jillian?” he asked, addressing her. “None of us should be on this property.”
“You know what we’re doing here. We saw,” she shot a sidelong glance my way, “Drake come this way. He’s disappeared. We assumed, that, you know, it was in here.”
Eye-patch shook his head. “Impossible. This property is warded from that sort of thing.”
“Warded,” I tried the word out, wondering if I was supposed to even be participating at this point.
Barbie/Jillian shot me a warning look, and a shush, but it was too late, Eye-patch was focused on me.
“Who is that?” he asked her.
I smiled, projecting my voice, “This is my little show that you’re interrupting. I’m Tristan Vega. Illusionist.” A smattering of applause accompanied the words. I stifled a grin.
He was looking at Jillian again, as though I hadn’t even spoken. “Quite a mess you’ve made here for us to clean up.”
“Cleanup is unnecessary,” she reassured him. “This is all part of the, um, magic act. That’s all. Right, Tristan, we’re just part of your act?”
“Of course, what else?” I said smoothly, wondering where this was going.
Eye-patch didn’t look pleased. “We’ll leave you to it, then. In case you forgot, you’re supposed to be working with us, so contact me right away if you find it. Understand?”
She just nodded, then watched him leave. “Have you ever noticed,” she mused, after he’d left earshot, “that every time someone proclaims that something is impossible, that’s usually right about the time that it happens? Do you suppose that’s true for everyone, or just us?” I assumed she was addressing her two cohorts.
“I have noticed that,” Christian agreed.
“It’s only us.” My head whipped around, because that had been her voice, but coming from a different direction.
I blinked twice, then glanced back and forth, because now there were two of Jillian, and Baldy had disappeared.
“Nice trick,” I told the original version of her. “I’m going to guess a twin, but I’m not sure how your sister got up here so fast.”
Jillian was shaking her head and glaring at the other version of herself. “Really?” she asked her sister. “You couldn’t go five minutes without switching over?” She glanced at me. “And don’t call it my sister. That’s insulting.”
“Really, sis,” the other one told her, smiling. That smile struck me as a tad evil, though I co
uldn’t have said why. If I had to guess, I’d say it was the dead eyes. “That’s insulting. Don’t call me an it.”
Jillian pointed at her. “Don’t call me sis. And you’re the one that told me you were an it.”
“Ladies, ladies!” Christian called out, pacing along the stage, his eyes on the ground. “Whenever you want to finish having the same argument again, we should probably find this thing, and let the big man get on with his magic show.
They all began to search the floor of the stage carefully.
“Do you suppose one of them lost a contact lens?” I asked the audience, who laughed on cue.
“Found it!” Christian cried out triumphantly.
I turned to look just as he plunged his sword, which had grown in size, and was glowing blue now, straight into the floor of the stage.
I winced. There were so many trick doors under this thing, it wasn’t likely he wouldn’t damage something important, if he was really stabbing that thing through the floor.
A glowing, swirling blue circle appeared on the ground beneath him, then began to grow in size.
“Keep this to yourself,” Jillian said quietly as she passed me.
Christian waved at the audience, and then stepped into the circle. He began to descend into the circle, disappearing slowly into the ground.
Jillian’s sister went next, hurrying, and not so much as glancing back at the audience that watched the trick, enthralled. In fact, she kept her back to them all as she followed Christian, sinking into that glowing blue circle.
I was quite impressed myself, because I couldn’t see how they were doing it, and my eye was trained well to catch that sort of thing.
Jillian waved at me, at the audience, as she approached the blue sphere. It just kept growing. “Magic, by the talented illusionist, Tristan Vega!” she called out, gesturing towards me.
The crowd erupted in applause even as she vanished into the ground.
The entire circle vanished with her, and even I couldn’t see a trace of where they could have gone. They must have opened a trap door, and somehow I’d missed it. Unlikely, but the only logical explanation.