by Autumn Dawn
"You know how to can jelly?” Jasmine asked dubiously.
Jaymes’ cheeks turned bronze. “We're taught in school,” he muttered. “It's not hard."
Wiley smiled. She liked this side of him, an embarrassed school boy. “Cool. Assuming we can actually grow something besides weeds."
"Speak for yourself. I am a gardener extraordinaire.” Jasmine put her hand on her chest and struck a pose.
"Hah! The only thing you manage to grow is mold on the leftovers in the fridge,” Wiley retorted.
"And beauties they are,” Jasmine agreed, walking on. She was oblivious to the women in a far corner who looked at her, then turned to each other and whispered.
Wiley wasn't. She frowned and glanced at Jayems.
He let Jasmine get ahead of them, out of earshot, before he said quietly, “She is a human and a Sylph. Don't you see the way the men look at her? Many women won't like that."
Wiley had noticed the unusual attention men showed Jasmine, but had put it down to curiosity. Word had gotten around that she was an alien, after all. Heads turned everywhere she went. No matter how keen the interest was, no one dared to approach her, not with four Haunt guards shadowing her every move.
A daydreamer, Jasmine never quite focused on the world around her, never noticed the attention or the danger.
For once, Wiley was glad. Jasmine would hate it if she realized what was going on. “Send her home."
"To what? You said she'd be alone there."
She hated it when he was reasonable.
"She can do as she likes here ... she can be with you. I see the way you look after her—she's a bit of a dreamer. She doesn't even notice the way men look at her, and I think Keilor would miss her."
Her eyes narrowed. “You're making that up. He'd get over her leaving in about two minutes."
He smiled. “Less, right now. I've known him all his life. He's looking at her the way I've never seen him do with another woman, though he doesn't realize it yet. He's going to fall in love."
She shivered at the way he said it, with fondness and pleasure. He truly wanted his friend to be happy. Unable to bear this tender side of him any longer, she lengthened her stride and caught up to Jasmine. “Come on, Jas. I'm ready for a snack."
Chapter 10
"Come on, Wi. This will work. It has to.” Jasmine was pleading now.
Wiley closed her eyes and groaned silently. Jasmine wanted to go home, and she couldn't blame her. This latest scheme was so far fetched, it was laughable. Oh, she believed they could get Jayems and maybe Keilor into a poker game. Jayems had been very agreeable all afternoon. She had a feeling he'd welcome any kind of overture from her.
Bribing the Haunt guards with their ill gotten gains was idiotic, however. The product of a desperate mind.
The sad thing was, she was going to go along with it. Oh, she fully intended to talk some sense into Jasmine later. She had a feeling that it wouldn't be hard. Not only was Jasmine afraid of the Haunt, she hated looking stupid. Once she calmed down, she'd realize that was exactly what she'd look like if she tried to bribe one of Jayems’ hand picked soldiers to take them to the gate. It was never going to happen.
Crazy or not, she found herself in Jayems’ rooms late that afternoon, setting up a poker game. Jasmine had found a way to persuade the men to bet money against their worthless markers.
"We wager with real money while you use snails?” Jayems asked with a scowl, pulling out a chair.
"What are we supposed to wager, our virtue?” Jasmine retorted, getting up to grab a glass of juice.
She didn't see Keilor's expression as entered the room, but Wiley did. Jasmine might have hesitated if she'd seen the rawness of his gaze. He looked like a man who'd been pushed too far, and was ready to snap at the bait.
Worse, Wiley had not known Jasmine was going to say that. She had a feeling that Jasmine was making it up as she went along, and screwing it up, too.
Jayems looked at Wiley out of the corner of his eye.
Her eyes narrowed. “Forget it.” She was not participating in this lunacy.
"I don't know, I think the idea has merit,” he answered smoothly.
"You would.” His naughty smile made her uneasy. He'd never openly flirted with her before. Was he stepping up his campaign?
Keilor acted unconcerned as he took a seat. “If I'm going to be playing with real coin against shells, I'd have to agree with Jayems. We should at least get a kiss if we win the game."
"No!” Rihlia said it forcefully, but nobody was listening. She wasn't willing to kiss Jayems for a plan that wasn't going to work, anyway.
Jasmine hesitated, and then said, “No tongues."
"Jasmine!” Wiley cried. She couldn't believe Jas was going through with this.
Eyes narrowed like a tiger contemplating a stray doe, Keilor bargained, “If you sit on our laps while delivering it."
Wiley slapped a hand on the table, embarrassed. “Stop it, you two!” She was ignored.
Cupping her chin in thought, Jasmine ran a thumb over her lips. “Gold coin for every shell."
Keilor smiled wickedly. “I'll give you two for every shell if you sit astride."
That gave her pause. Her eyes flickered as she looked down. Maybe she hadn't thought about the actual consequences until that moment.
Wiley had pictured nothing but. She was in a sweat just thinking about it. “Don't you dare,” she warned Jasmine, breaking the tense silence.
"Oda ouya aveha anothera away ota etga oneyma orfa ibingbra ehta aurdsga, Wi?” Do you have another way to get money for bribing the guards? Jasmine asked casually and then added in English, “Don't be a baby, Wiley. It's just a little kiss.” Even as she said it, she blushed.
Wiley had about five seconds in which to object.
Jasmine shot her a pleading look.
Growling in disgust, Wiley slouched in her chair. She'd beat Jasmine for this later.
"The winner gets the pot, the losers take a shot,” Jasmine told them and then explained the rules.
Wiley shuffled the cards in nervous silence. They had better slaughter the guys in this game, because she couldn't handle kissing Jayems more than once or twice. Her face heated at the thought, but she kept her eyes on the cards and refused to look at Jayems.
Predictably, the women won the first few hands, pulling in money by the fistful. Wiley had just begun to relax when Jayems laid down his first winning hand. She blinked, but the cards didn't change.
Slow color flooded her cheeks. Jayems pushed his chair back and laced his hands together over his stomach, a warm flame of anticipation in his eyes.
Okay, she could do this. Taking a quick breath, Wiley gulped her liquor, squared her shoulders and then straddled him. Closing her eyes, she aimed for his cheek. Any second she was going to go up in flames from the heat of her blush.
Jasmine was dead!
But her lips didn't land on his cheek. A mouth gave softly under her lips, and he truly had to have great reflexes to have gotten it there in time. His hand came up and cupped her cheek; a butterflies’ caress.
She forgot why she was in a hurry, forgot they had an audience. For one aching moment, it was just the two of them, alone.
When Wiley finally slid off of Jayems’ lap, she was clumsy with more than alcohol. She knocked her chair sideways as she sat down.
Jasmine laughed as she helped set it to rights.
Then she lost.
"Huh,” she said. She reached for her drink, in no hurry to pay up.
Before her fingers could close around it, Keilor grabbed it. With a glint in his eye, he toasted her. “I'd hate for your senses to be dulled for this, Dragonfly."
Wiley was too embarrassed to look. They took their time about it.
Maybe Jayems felt the same thing, or maybe he took pity on her, for he finally said, “Do you think we should leave him to her mercy or have pity and toss water on them?"
She heard Keilor groan, then the sound of Jasmine fumbling f
or her chair.
The men stole several more kisses before the game was over, and Wiley couldn't even hide behind a liquor haze. Jayems and Keilor kept stealing her and Jasmine's drinks, claiming chivalry. Unfortunately, they didn't fall into a stupor, either. In fact, the liquor had little noticeable effect on them.
"You must be cheating,” Jasmine muttered, eyeing the pile of shells in front of their opponents. Keilor raised the bet and Jayems folded. Wiley was already out, and Jasmine couldn't cover the bet.
Wiley had never been so glad to finish a game in her life. The moment Jasmine left, she slunk off and hid in her room. Unfortunately, she knew that Jayems wouldn't leave her alone for long. He was determined to see her change every night—doctor's orders!—and he wouldn't believe she'd do it if left in the privacy of her room. Determined to save face, she acted like she was in need of some reading material and went to check out Jayems’ extensive book shelves.
She'd been strictly a cable girl herself and had rarely picked up a book back home. She'd seen Jayems reading in his library from time to time, settled in one of the two leather chairs. Ottomans were positioned in front of each chair, and end tables on each side held lamps for when the daylight faded. The shelves were behind the chair and lined three walls. A handsome rug warmed that corner of the wooden floor.
She hadn't had an interest in exploring that section of the room before. Now she looked at the polished red bookshelves in some surprise. Every book was handsomely bound, and many of them had gilt lettering. Normally that was a turnoff for her, because she always figured those kind of books were boring old classics. Deprived of her TV, however, she was willing to investigate closer.
A book on the side table caught her eye, and she picked it up. It was titled, “Her First Time.” Her jaw went slack. Glancing to make certain Jayems wasn't in the room, she hastily set it down and moved to the shelves, blankly studied the spines.
It was a few moments before she actually read the titles. He'd been thinking about her first time? Their first time? Flames licked her cheeks. Her first experience with the opposite sex had happened years ago, and she'd had her fair share since. Was he thinking of her first time graduating to full-blown sex?
With a shiver, she tried to put it out of her mind, but she kept flashing back to it. Curiosity was eating at her. What was in that book?
With an effort, she made herself focus on the other titles in front of her. He had books on negotiating, battle tactics, history, agriculture ... boring. Didn't the man read any fiction? There was a book on stained glass working that looked mildly interesting, but she kept scanning the shelves, hoping for something more enticing. Her search was rewarded. There, right in the middle of his shelves at eye level, was an entire shelf of books devoted to lovemaking.
Wiley's eyes boggled as she read the titles. An Illustrated Guide to the Sensual Arts. A Woman's Climax. Emotional Need and the Sensual Virgin. There were dozens of titles.
Holy Hannah! What was the man, some kind of gigolo? She started to wonder if the book on the table was a new book or an old favorite. Certainly he'd started his collection long before she'd entered the picture.
Disturbed to see him as a sensual being, considering the restraint he'd shown around her most of the time, she backed off. Maybe she'd be better off going straight to bed after all.
He was there, behind her. His gaze took in her expression and shifted to the shelves behind her. He raised a curious brow. “Something disturbs you?"
Oh, he was bold. A surge of annoyance made her cross her arms. “Well, yeah. It's a little disturbing to find I've been locked in with a skirt chaser."
"A skirt chaser?"
She tipped her head at the books behind her. “Your bookshelf reads like National Pornographic."
He smiled. “You sound jealous."
"I'm not! I'm just wondering how many women are going to be running around here.” She was defensive and knew it, but she wasn't jealous. Of course, that meant she was righteous instead, and that didn't sound good, either.
"One. You.” He drifted a step closer. “Are you curious what I learned from my books?"
"No.” She tried to sound firm, but she was interested. Those kisses of his had been unusual, unlike any she'd had before. Her boyfriends had always been in a hurry; Jayems liked to linger. That kind of thing could get addictive. “You come off as some kind of cool dignitary, and here you are reading smut in the evenings!"
He moved closer. “Is knowing how to please a woman a crime? Is wanting to? Should I take my pleasure and leave her none?"
These were tricky questions, and it was getting hard to think. She was sure he was doing it on purpose. “That's not the point! You're some kind of playboy. Admit it!"
"I'm not playing with you,” he said, closing the space between them. He put his arms around her, loose enough not to make her fight, but firm enough to make his point. One hand began to stroke her hip, distracting, enticing.
She raised her arms to hold him off, but there was no strength in them. “Stop."
"Am I hurting you?"
"No, but that shouldn't matter when a woman says stop,” she said with an edge to her voice.
"You're right,” he whispered against her lips. He released her.
Now that she was free, she didn't know where to go. To her room? Her legs wouldn't move.
Smoke gathered in his eyes. “I have an idea ... something I can teach you from my books. With this, I won't even touch you."
Curiosity would be her undoing. Or was it him? “What?” she said warily.
"The power of scent,” he said softly, drawing in a breath by her ear.
She shivered.
"Our senses are so much more than sight and sound and touch,” he murmured next to her neck, raising chill bumps with his breath. “Seduction is also the perfume of flowers in a woman's hair, the warm scent of her skin, the soap she uses to cleanse her body.” He sank slowly to his knee while he talked, his eyes half closed as if in bliss. “I can smell the change in fabric from your shirt to your pants, the musk of the leather belt riding your waist, and more...” He knelt in front of her now and drew in a deep breath.
Slowly, his eyes opened, and he looked up at her through his lashes. “I can even smell your desire."
Riveted, she stared at him. Sweat broke out on her skin, and he closed his eyes as if savoring the scent. Desire pulsed in her blood, made her fingertips itch to touch him. Oh, he was good ... and that was his undoing.
She stepped back, bumping her hip on the chair as she went. Scrambling around it, she eased toward her room, away from him. He didn't move, just watched her back away from him.
"I ... I'm not one of your women,” she said, unable to look away.
He just looked at her.
"I'm not going to let you do this,” she whispered. She got another two paces.
"My bed is that way,” he said simply, and rose. Moving as if he were the master of time itself, he walked toward his room, pulling his shirt over his head as he walked. He tossed it in the open door and unbuckled his belt. With the door still open, he stripped out of the rest of his clothes as casually as if she weren't looking.
There was a lot to see.
He pulled back the covers and got into bed, then picked up a book. Opening the cover, he began to read.
Wiley blinked, but it didn't clear her head. The light gleamed off his chest, reflecting shadows as he turned the page, illuminating every line of muscle. He'd wound her so tight, his every move was pure temptation.
As if her body weighed a thousand pounds, she turned and slowly walked to her room. It was like a nightmare where she wanted to run, but was unable. If she went in that door, she was going to become a wife.
She couldn't be a wife. She couldn't.
* * * *
Jayems watched her slow retreat. Not tonight then, but soon.
Chapter 11
Her mother had come.
Wiley watched the huge double doors open to the family banq
uet hall and tried to control her breathing. She wasn't ready for this.
Jayems had sprung it on her that morning, told her that her mother was arriving that evening like he was handing her a gift. She'd gone ballistic, cursing him for not giving her more notice, cursing her mother for—she still didn't want to think about it.
It was Jasmine who'd talked sense into her. Jas had faced her own mother, an abusive addict, when she was still in her teens. The interview had not gone well, but it was behind her now, and at least she'd had the courage to face it. “Just get it over with,” she'd advised Wiley.
Jasmine stood at her side now, silently supportive, and led the way into the room. She might be a dreamer, but sometimes she had ten times the courage Wiley would ever have.
The room was decorated in simple elegance, as were the people inside. She searched the faces of the two older women there and had a bad moment. Neither of them were familiar. The fading brunette was soft and chubby, her flesh plumped around her many rings, and her purple and burnt orange gown draped around her like a high-priced dust cover. A platinum blonde stood at her side, slim and elegant in a pale yellow, grecian inspired gown. Gold clips held her gown together at the shoulders, elbows and wrists, and blue, red and yellow ribbon trimmed her hem and the wine red sash around her waist. Sprays of yellow and white flowers, fashioned of diamonds, flashed in her upswept braids. A matching necklace circled her neck. Her sky-blue eyes were alive with emotion and wet with tears.
The queenly lady glided forward, her gaze devouring Wiley's face. Her voice was hoarse when she whispered, “Daughter?” Without warning she threw herself in Wiley's arms, shaking her head as if she couldn't believe her eyes. “Rihlia. You've come home."
Wiley stiffened and shot a panicked glance at Jasmine, who shrugged her ignorance. Her mother had certainly never wept all over her. Besides, she seemed distracted by the blond man breathing down her neck. Wiley recognized him as the one called Fallon, the man who'd stumbled on her camp with Jayems and Keilor. Whatever his business had been, he seemed to be back, and he really, really seemed to dig Jasmine.