by Ashley Meira
I gave him a pointed look.
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“So? Let me be ridiculous. It’s my magic.” Him knowing I had magic didn’t mean I could start using it. Someone would sense it, someone would realize what I was. Who knew where Council Inquisitors were lurking? Someone would rat me out, and I would end up in prison. Fiona would end up in prison. “I don’t need it. I don’t want it.” I couldn’t.
“You may not want it, but you have it.” He took one of my hands, engulfing it between his larger ones. “You have a gift, Sophia.”
My hand felt frozen when I pulled away, but I resisted the urge to slip it back in between his. “How long until we land?”
“A few hours, but Sophia—”
I stood up. “I’m going to sleep a bit.”
“You realize this is the second time you’ve tried to get out of a conversation by feigning sleep?”
“I’m not feigning. I don’t know how it works for super powerful firebirds, but I get tired after fighting an army of mages. And I wouldn’t have to get out of a conversation if you stopped pushing the issue.”
“Fine,” he said stiffly as he walked up to me. “Do you want me to heal you first?”
“What?”
“You told me you were very, very hurt, remember?” he said with a teasing smile.
Healing magic was absorbed by the injuries themselves, so I wouldn’t have to worry about outing myself. He ran a knuckle down my arm, and I shivered at his touch. He smirked. Jerk.
I grabbed his hand. “Do you have enough magic?”
“Yes. I was planning on taking a nap too.” He began pulling his hand away, but I tightened my grip, refusing to admit I didn’t want to let go.
I nodded. “You can take the couch then. I’ll curl up in one of the chairs.”
His gaze didn’t leave our hands, but he didn’t seem bothered. “You can take the bed.”
“You have a bed in here?”
He nodded toward the back of the room.
“I thought that was the bathroom.”
“It’s in there too.”
That was so cool. “Is the bed more comfortable than the couch?”
“Of course,” he said, confused. “It’s a bed.”
“Unbelievable,” I mumbled. “That couch is more comfortable than my bed.”
He chuckled. “I find that hard to believe.”
“You haven’t slept in my—” I let out a deep sigh at the smug look on his face. “You’re too big for the couch. I’ll sleep there. You take the bed.”
“No.”
“That’s it? Just no?”
“Always worked so far.”
I glared at him. “I guess we’re sharing the couch then.”
“Oh?” He twisted his hand so our fingers were laced. My skin tingled. “If you’re up to sharing, I’d be happy to take the bed.”
I pulled my hand back. “Never mind. Take the couch.”
“Don’t worry. It’s only for a few hours. Then I’ll have a big comfy bed.”
“I’ve already stopped feeling guilty.”
“Then why aren’t you looking me in the eye?”
Because I was looking at his hand. My fingers twitched, and I ran them through my hair. Not as satisfying. I followed his hand up as he raised it.
“Healing?”
I nodded. His large palms covered my shoulders. I could feel the heat of him. His magic was everywhere. It started from my shoulders and caressed down my body. There was a pronounced heat on my backside. Enough that I peeked open an eye I hadn’t realized I’d shut.
“I thought that’s where you landed.”
“I didn’t.” Though I wished I did. “My chest is fine too.” Though I wished it wasn’t.
“Is it terrible I’m a little disappointed?”
No. “Yes.”
A moan escaped my lips as his magic seeped into me. It was the best damn thing I’d ever felt in my life. So amazing I was considering letting him share the bed for real.
Too soon, his magic vanished. My Fire pouted. Yes, pouted. Disappointment flooded me, but my rational side reminded me I didn’t have any injuries left. Any more healing, and I’d absorb it like regular magic.
“Thanks.”
He pulled away. “Was it good for you, too?”
I groaned. “Why do you have to ruin everything?”
Chapter Eleven
He had a couch more comfortable than my bed and a guest room bigger than my house. Sleeping on the plane had left me refreshed, but one look at this place made me want to hop right back into bed.
“Want to go to bed?” he said, tugging me back against him.
I jumped. “Don’t sneak up on me.”
“You’re warmer than most people,” he said with a soft groan that did horrible things to my self-control. “It’s very pleasant.”
“You’re just saying that because you’re a phoenix.” I stepped away from him, shivering at the loss of contact. I wasn’t the only one who ran hot.
“Have you showered yet?”
“Yes.” I gestured to my charred, sweat-stained, blood-soaked outfit. “Then I put this back on for fun.”
He chuckled. “Go shower. I have something to show you.”
That got my attention. “And it requires me to be in a towel?”
“I wish,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “Wear something nice. No sword.”
I gripped the hilt of my baby. “I’m sorry, I didn’t understand that last part.”
“You won’t need it.”
I always needed it. I never went anywhere unarmed. My sword was enchanted to return to me, but there was a limit to how far I could be. I didn’t want to risk being out of range. “Still don’t understand.”
He rolled his eyes but didn’t stop smiling. “We have my magic to protect us.”
“And my nice, shiny sword.”
“It’ll get confiscated.”
I wiggled my index finger at him, watching the pink sapphires sparkle in the light.
He hooked his finger with mine. “Please?”
I pursed my lips. Gorgeous men with a cute, playful side were my kryptonite. I’d just have to smuggle in my throwing knives. “How nice?”
“Any chance you packed a dress?”
“Yeah, for all those dinner parties I attend on the job.”
“Your record shows you’ve been a bodyguard at high class events.”
“They didn’t make me wear a dress. Not after the time with Mrs. Worthington.”
“The old lady?”
“You know her?”
“She’s my new neighbor.”
I tried to picture what the estates around hers looked like, but all I could remember was that they were huge. At least now I had an excuse to never visit his house. Not that I had plans to visit him. After this job, we were never going to see each other again.
“The nicest things I have are my pajamas. And no,” I said as he opened his mouth, “they aren’t lacy, see-through, or anything else you’re thinking.”
He laughed, loud and warm. “Fine. I take it back. Wear whatever you want.”
“You said nice.”
“I realized it doesn’t matter.”
Suspicion tugged at me. “Why?”
He looked me over again, his eyes darkening. I felt the urge to cover myself. “You always look nice. No matter what.”
Blood rushed to my cheeks. My heart stuttered as my Fire screeched like a little girl at a Justin Bieber concert. I was a gigantic mess. My clothes were ruined, my body was bruised, my face was a mess, and my hair looked like tumbleweed.
But he still thought I looked nice.
“So—” I tried to keep my voice steady “—I can go like this?”
“Yes.” He unhooked our fingers. “Or stick with your towel idea.”
“What if it falls?”
He grinned, showing off every one of his perfect white teeth.
I slammed the door in his face.
I couldn’t pr
onounce the name of the restaurant Adam led me into, but I could tell an appetizer here cost more than what I spent on food in a week.
Everything was decorated with gold and crystal, spread around the room like the world’s prettiest minefield. The marble floors were so shiny I was afraid I’d slip. I scanned it over, making sure I wasn’t tracking dirt and monster guts across their pretty white floors.
My eyes landed on the hole in the knee of my leggings. I figured they were more dressy than jeans, but I’d forgotten about the tear. They were still better than my muddied jeans or the back-up pair with a patch I’d had to sew on. Based on the scandalized stares of the diamond-encrusted clientele, they disagreed.
Adam walked through the place like he owned it. Unlike me, he was perfectly comfortable with his jeans and t-shirt. A part of me wondered if he’d dressed down to make me more at ease, but I didn’t want to get my hopes up.
“Monsieur Pierce, how lovely to see you again,” the host said. His tuxedo didn’t have a single crease, and his dress shoes were shinier than the floor. “Your usual table is ready. Shall I escort you there now?”
At Adam’s nod, the host led us to a booth in the corner. It was one of those singular, curved ones, so we had to sit side by side. Still, I appreciated that Adam chose a spot where both our backs were to the wall, and we could see the front door. Plus, booths were awesome. I could sit with my legs criss-crossed.
Adam raised a brow as I tucked my legs underneath me. I held his gaze. “My feet barely touch the floor. This is more comfortable.”
“You are pretty tiny,” he said, sliding in next to me. “It adds to your terrifying demeanor.”
Worked for me.
A tall older man with a thin mustache came over and handed us our menus. Not wanting to be rude, I began unfolding my legs, but Adam pressed a hand on my knee to keep me in place.
“Good evening, Monsieur Pierce.” He smiled at me. “Mademoiselle. It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Laurent. I will be your waiter tonight.”
“Hello.” The hand on my knee was too distracting for me to say more. I took it, feeling his knuckles press against my palm, but didn’t push it away just yet. For such a hard man, he had surprisingly soft skin.
Once he finished telling us about the insanely posh-sounding specials, Laurent asked if we wanted wine. “We have a lovely Château Pétrus, if you’d like.”
I squeezed Adam’s hand. What was morse code for no? The wine I drank came from a box. And that was only when I wanted booze but was too lazy to put on pants and visit Ollie for a cocktail.
“Mademoiselle?”
Crap. They were both looking at me. “I don’t drink on the job.”
“One drink won’t hurt,” Adam said. “But maybe not wine.”
“Your usual Corona?”
My brows shot up. Adam noticed and squeezed my knee. “What? It’s my favorite.”
“It’s true, mademoiselle,” Laurent said. “When they were younger, he and his brother spent an entire week coming in here trying out beers, much to their father’s embarrassment.”
Adam shrugged. “He could’ve taken us somewhere else. Preferably somewhere with more beer.”
“Indeed.” He chuckled, turning to me. “And for the lady? A cocktail? Since it is a romantic evening, perhaps a French Kiss?”
Before I could reply, Adam said, “That sounds perfect. We’ll need a moment to decide on the food.”
Once Laurent walked away, my pleasant expression dropped. “I don’t need you ordering for me.”
“After his suggestion, I figured there was a fifty-fifty chance you’d pounce,” he said, his thumb rubbing circles against my knee. “I was just trying to save his life.”
“Who’s going to save yours?”
“I don’t know. You? You seem pretty tough.”
“Not strong enough to resist setting you on fire.”
“I turn into a phoenix. I’m fireproof.”
So was I. We had so much in common.
He flattened his palm, covering more of my thigh, and moved closer until our knees brushed. “So, are there any other urges you’re not strong enough to resist?”
My stomach’s roar was loud enough to stop the busboy walking by. “…No.”
With one hand still on my knee, he chuckled and flipped open his menu. “We should probably order.”
I glared at him, but my stomach grumbled before I could say anything. Luckily, the menu was in both French and English. The last thing I wanted was to ask Adam to read me the menu like a five-year-old.
Except I would have to ask anyway, because reading the prices had blinded me. I blinked to clear my vision but the numbers remained the same. Yikes. Okay, new plan. I scanned through all the prices, trying to find something I could afford. Which left me with salad. I didn’t eat salad at home — I wasn’t going to do it now. Not for this price. Oh, soup! I did like French onion. How much—
I frowned. I didn’t like it that much. Maybe I didn’t need to eat. Cocktails were very filling.
“See anything you like?”
Don’t look at him, don’t look at him.
He squeezed my knee.
I looked at him. “Has your hand been on my knee this entire time?”
“It looked cold.”
“Like the look I’m giving you?” I said, narrowing my eyes.
“Nah. I’m feeling all warm and tingly right now.”
I jerked my knee out of his grasp, keeping it raised.
“An analytical person would say you’re doing that to block me,” he said. “Like raising a wall. A tiny wall.”
I ignored the tiny comment. “You are analytical.”
“And you are blocking me out.”
“Why are we here?”
“Dinner,” he said. “You do eat, don’t you? We can leave if you don’t see anything you like.”
“We’re not here for work?” Maybe if I kept suggesting it, he’d cave and admit there was nothing romantic about bringing me to a posh restaurant in freakin’ France.
He grabbed my knee and rested his chin on it. So much for my wall. “Have you looked at the desserts? They have great stuff. I love dessert,” he added happily as he flipped to the back.
My lips parted. “I love dessert.”
“You look surprised.” He chuckled. “We probably have a lot in common.”
Yeah, we’re both fireproof, like dessert, and…. “I doubt it. We’re from two different worlds.”
His smile wavered, but he didn’t move his chin off my knee. “What kind of dessert do you like? Cake?”
“You’re not planning on ordering an entire cake are you?” I flipped to the dessert section. Yowza. A slice of cake cost as much as the soup.
“I’m a growing boy.”
“You need to stop then. You’re barely fitting through doorways as it is.”
He laughed. His broad chest was pressed against my leg, and the vibrations shot through my entire body like a bolt of lightning.
“Your drinks,” Laurent said, placing our orders in front of us. I eyed the strawberry on my glass, trying to decide whether or not it’d be enough for a meal. “May I take your orders?”
“The rib-eye, please. Rare,” Adam said without lifting his head from my leg. He was getting too comfortable, but I didn’t push him away. I was getting comfortable too. Both men turned to me expectantly.
I swallowed hard at the thought of a nice juicy rib-eye. “A small French onion soup, please.”
“And?” Adam asked.
“And thank you?”
“No wonder you’re so thin,” he said, his voice heavy with disapproval. “Don’t mercenaries need to eat properly?”
“I’m not thin. I’m lean. That comes from being a mercenary and running around all the time. Besides, have you had French onion soup? It’s very rich.”
“The small serving?” Adam said dryly.
“Very, very rich.”
Adam sighed. “Get her the large.”
I
pulled my leg away. “No.”
“Do you eat seafood?”
“No.”
He eyed me suspiciously. “And a side of steamed clams.”
Laurent looked between us nervously. “And for dessert?”
“I’m going to need fuel before fighting her on that.”
“Of course, monsieur.” He bowed and rushed away before I could stop him.
Once he was gone, Adam went back to reading the dessert menu. When glaring didn’t affect him, I considered stabbing him with my forks. All three of them.
“If you’d like to replace the clams with steak, call him back,” he said without looking up. “What do you think about chocolate lava cake? Or has my brother ruined that for you?” he added, wrinkling his nose.
Nothing could ruin chocolate for me. “Why would I want to replace—”
“You almost swallowed your tongue when I ordered the rib-eye.”
“I’m a vegetarian and was offended.”
“You ate a salami sandwich on the plane.”
“I didn’t want to be rude.”
He didn’t look appeased.
“Fine,” I huffed, avoiding his gaze. “I don’t have enough money to eat at a place like this without having to eat ramen for the next month.” Not even flavored ramen. Just that crappy regular kind not even magic could make better. “Happy?”
“No.” He frowned. “I am most certainly not happy. Did you think I was going to make you pay? Order whatever you want. I’m paying.” He turned to a nearby waiter.
I kicked him, holding back a pained whine at the impact. “Don’t. You’ve ordered enough.”
He growled but waved the waiter away, reaching for the basket of bread in front of us. “Eat.”
“I—”
“If it makes you feel better, you can pay for our next date.”
I choked on my roll. He handed my drink over.
I drank, refusing to admit it tasted delicious. “This isn’t a date. We can’t even be on a date—”
“I figure the contract doesn’t apply overseas.”
“That is such crap.”
“Works in my favor.”
“Do you always disregard rules you don’t like?”
“Of course.” He smirked. “Is a date with me such a bad thing?”
Not at all. That was the problem. “Is a date with me worth nulling the contract?”