As soon as he went to the back door, Patches sprang out from under the table and ran to go with him. Aldair glanced back at Jillian, but she only gave a resigned lift of her shoulders. It appeared clear enough that she would not prevent him from taking the dog along on today’s explorations.
The air was still cool, and smelled of wet grass and damp earth. He inhaled deeply as Patches went bounding forward, apparently determined to anoint every clump of weeds he found. Being outside did feel better; the house had seemed heavy with the weight of words unspoken, tension thick as humid air.
Because he did not have any particular goal in mind, Aldair meandered, crossing from one side of the street to the other, going into shops as it pleased him. He could tell right away that no looting had occurred here; all the stores’ wares still remained where their owners had left them, nothing moved or touched or disturbed. The chief items for sale seemed to be jewelry, which surprised him somewhat, for he hadn’t thought a small, poor-looking settlement such as this would be able to support so much costly merchandise. But then he remembered how Jillian had told him this was once a tourist town, and so he guessed that most of these gleaming silver pieces were intended for people other than those who actually lived here.
Some of them would be very beautiful against the smooth skin of her throat, or wrapped around her slender wrists or hanging from her delicate ears. In the past, he had enjoyed giving gifts of jewels to his lovers, of seeing their personal beauty enhanced by the beauty of the jewelry they wore. Perhaps he should take something to Jillian, a sort of peace offering, even though she most certainly was not his lover.
Ah, but would you mind very much if she were?
He recalled how she had glared at him last night, how her breasts had heaved with the angry breaths she’d huffed out. There had been something almost magnificent about her rage, about her fearlessness as she faced him down. He might have expected such bravery from another djinn, for they would have been evenly matched in such a confrontation, but a human? Most definitely not.
And she had looked so very beautiful.
His gaze fell on a heavy necklace in one of the display cases before him. Fashioned of silver, it was set with turquoise stones of a clear, exquisite blue, almost the color of the sky overhead. If he hadn’t known better, he would have said those perfectly matched cabochons must have been mined in Persia, but he doubted that. Everything here looked as if it had been made in the Southwest, probably by members of the local indigenous tribes. They had been very skilled in silversmithing, from what he recalled.
Wherever the necklace had come from, it was beautiful, and would suit Jillian very well. He would take it to her, and hope she would understand the gesture.
And if she asks about your exile?
Then he would tell her the truth. She would probably despise him afterward, but at least he would not be keeping any more secrets from her.
Well, not too many, that is.
He slipped the necklace into a pocket of his robe and headed back to the house, Patches trotting along happily ahead of him. Although it would have required far less time to take to the air in the manner of his kind, Aldair walked instead, because of the dog. And also, there was something to be said about a good, brisk walk, especially on a fine summer morning such as this one.
Some part of him had feared that Jillian would not be there, would have taken the opportunity to flee, but those fears had been for nothing. She sat on a red-painted bench in the shade of the front porch, the same paperback book she’d been reading the day before open on her lap. As he approached, however, she closed it and offered him a tentative smile.
“Back already?”
Was that disappointment in her tone? No, he didn’t think so, more that, in an attempt to make inconsequential conversation, she had blurted out the first thing she thought of.
“It began to grow warm.”
“Yes, I guess so.”
They gazed at one another for an awkward moment. Today she had on another flowing skirt, this one in a warm red, although the pale brown top that accompanied it was closer to the type she’d worn when he first met her — sleeveless, of a fine knit that clung to her body. The contours of her full breasts were clearly visible.
He swallowed. “I thought you might like this,” he said, and pulled the necklace out of his pocket.
Her eyes went wide. “I — where did you get it?”
“From one of the shops in town.”
That reply seemed to discomfit her; her mouth pursed, and she glanced away from him. “Isn’t that kind of like stealing?”
A spark of anger flared in him. Here he had attempted to do something nice for her, and she was accusing him of being a thief? “Hardly,” he returned, voice cold. “The person who once owned that shop is long gone. There is no one left to inherit these pieces. So from whom, pray, am I stealing?”
“I — ” She shook her head. “Sorry. I guess that was sort of hypocritical of me. After all, I took these clothes from a shop here, too.” Setting aside the book, she rose to her feet and came toward him. “It’s very beautiful, Aldair.”
Yes, a definite olive branch. He knew she would take it. Anyway, he had the impression that her first response had been only an automatic reaction, that she hadn’t stopped to reason out what she was saying. Still, he wanted to see how far he might push things.
“Will you wear it now?” he asked, then undid the clasp and held the necklace up, end to end. He meant for his intention to be very clear — he wished to fasten the piece around her neck himself.
A long pause. She looked from the necklace to him and back again. Was that a shiver he saw move through her body? Perhaps. But then she nodded. “Of course.”
Only a few feet separated them at that point. He moved closer to her and draped the necklace around her throat, then pushed her heavy hair out of the way so he could fasten the clasp. As he did so, a shiver of his own touched him. How soft her hair was, so thick and sweet-smelling. In that moment, he wanted nothing else but to bury his face in it and breathe deeply, then turn her around so he might touch his mouth to hers.
But he did not. He made sure the clasp had caught, and released her hair so it could fall down her back before stepping away.
This whole time she had held herself very still, as if to make sure that she would not move and therefore initiate any more contact than necessary. Did his touch repulse her? No, he didn’t think so. For some odd reason, he thought she was more afraid of her own reaction than his.
As soon as he was done, however, she stepped away, offering a smile he didn’t believe for one second. One hand went up to touch the necklace. The stones gleamed brightly blue against the tanned skin of her throat, and seemed to awaken an echo of blue in her eyes, although they had always appeared to be a pure, foggy gray until that moment.
She was exquisite.
“Thank you, Aldair,” she said, the words hardly more than a whisper. Then she went to the bench and retrieved her book, and fled inside.
He didn’t try to stop her.
God.
Jillian stood in front of the mirror in her bedroom, hand once again moving to touch the turquoise necklace she wore. Never in her life had she owned anything so expensive, except maybe the half-carat diamond Jack had bought her for her engagement ring — a ring safely stowed in a box at her home in Los Alamos, because she’d worried that the diamond would get hung up while she was wiring one of Miles Odekirk’s devices — but the costliness of the piece wasn’t what had her so unbalanced now. No, it was the memory of Aldair’s touch, the sensation of those strong hands moving her hair aside so he could fasten the necklace for her.
He’d done it on purpose, of course. Why, she wasn’t sure. To mess with her head? If that had been his intention, he’d done a damn good job. She shouldn’t be dwelling on the way it had felt to have him stand so close, to sense the heat of his body on the bare skin of her arms and neck. A few inches more, and he would have been pressed right up agai
nst her.
And some part of her wouldn’t have minded that at all. Not one bit.
You are losing it, she told herself. You can’t let yourself be attracted to him. No matter how gorgeous he might be.
Problem was, her mind might be telling herself these things, but her body just wanted more. Wanted him to pull her close so she could feel those amazing muscles pressed against her. Without even trying, she could recall the touch of his mouth on hers. Yes, at the time he’d only been giving her mouth-to-mouth, had been doing his best to keep her alive, but that didn’t seem to matter right now. She knew the shape of his lips, knew what it felt like to have his longish hair brush against her cheek as he bent close.
“Stop it,” she said out loud, glaring at her reflection. It didn’t help that right then she appeared dewy and aroused, perspiration gleaming on her forehead and chest. Damn it, she looked like — well, she looked like someone who really, really wanted to get laid.
She wouldn’t lie to herself. It had been a very long time, and even though she missed Jack every second of every day, from time to time she’d entertained the thought of having a one-night stand with someone reasonably attractive in Los Alamos, just so she could scratch that biological itch and get back to mourning. However, she’d never given in to that impulse, knowing she’d hate herself afterward. Her heart had to be engaged for her body to fully appreciate the experience.
So how did that explain the attraction to Aldair? She certainly wasn’t in love with him. She didn’t even like him very much. But for some reason, her body seemed to crave him the way an addict might crave another hit of heroin.
Wait, though…didn’t the djinn have the ability to make humans fall in love with them, or at least in lust? She’d heard rumors to that effect, although of course she’d never had a chance to have those reports proved one way or another.
Until now.
Maybe.
She wished this room had been built en suite like the master bedroom. That way she wouldn’t have to leave to go to the bathroom. Right then, she desperately needed to splash some cold water on her face.
Well, you can’t hide in here forever, she told herself sternly. You just need to get up and go out there like nothing happened. Nothing did happen. He fastened a necklace for you. End of story. You don’t need to act like he suddenly sent you into heat.
Problem was, it did feel almost exactly like that.
She pulled in a breath, then another, and opened the door. Aldair’s bedroom door stood open as well, which meant he was probably downstairs. Good. Maybe she wouldn’t have to bump into him at all.
Five steps down the hallway to the bathroom, and then she was safely inside. She plucked a washcloth off the rack, wetted it, and pressed it against her feverish cheeks and forehead. That did seem to help, so she repeated the process again, following up with a fresh application of lip balm from the little tube in the top drawer of the vanity.
After she had put the lip balm away, she opened the bathroom door. Aldair stood immediately outside, and she gave a little gasp.
“I am sorry if I startled you,” he said.
“No — I mean, yes, you did startle me, but that’s all right.” God, she sounded like an idiot. Also, it didn’t help at all that she was now in such close proximity to him once again. He towered over her, and it seemed like the more she tried not to look at the muscles of his chest and stomach, the more her gaze was inexorably drawn to that very dangerous region.
“I thought we might try something different tonight,” he said, and she raised an eyebrow.
“Different?” Damn, her voice sounded terrible. Just that single word had come out all strangled, almost cracking on the last syllable.
“Yes.” If he was amused by her discomfiture, she couldn’t detect any sign of it. “Will you have dinner with me at the Mine Shaft?”
“The bar?”
“The very one. A change of scenery, as they say.”
“Well, I — ” Jillian floundered for a minute, then decided the suggestion sounded fairly harmless. When you got right down to it, the atmosphere in the dining room here at the house was far more intimate. The eating area at the Mine Shaft was quite large and sort of kitschy, with that mural on the wall behind the small stage, and all the dollar bills pasted to the walls next to and behind the bar itself. Why Aldair had asked her to go there, she had no idea, but it seemed safe enough. “Sure,” she finally replied. “That sounds like fun.”
“Fun,” he echoed, and nodded. “Yes. Will you come there at seven tonight?”
“Sure,” she said again. It wasn’t as if she could really respond any other way.
“Good. I will see you then.”
He turned away from her and headed back down the stairs while Jillian stared after him in some mystification. Even two days spent in his company had told her that he could be unpredictable, but she had absolutely no idea what he might have planned now.
She supposed she would find out in a few hours.
Chapter Ten
Patches tagged along with him to the Mine Shaft, probably because the dog seemed eager to seize any chance to get out and about. Aldair didn’t mind; he enjoyed the company, which was far less problematic than Jillian’s.
The idea to come to the Mine Shaft had occurred to him as he puttered around downstairs. They’d shared rather a scene in the dining room at the house, and he thought the atmosphere there might still be loaded with tension. The tavern seemed like far more neutral territory. At any rate, they had the entire town to themselves, so why not use those parts of it that might be appealing?
However, he had to revisit the “appeal” of the former restaurant and bar as he stood in the space that had once served as a dining area and the bar itself. And also a place for entertainment, judging by the small raised stage at the far end of the room. In fact, several amplifiers and a guitar remained there, covered in dust.
Not the gray dust that signaled someone had succumbed to the Heat in that spot, but only an accumulation of grime from being neglected for nearly two years.
Indeed, the whole place needed a good cleaning. For a djinn, that was only a minor concern — a flick of his hand, and unseen winds gathered up the dust and the cobwebs, and blew them out a side door. The mirror behind the bar sparkled, and the chrome on the taps shone as if it had been newly applied.
Much better. He thought there were far too many chairs and tables in the room, and so he had them stack themselves and then move outside, to be piled up under the remains of a large canvas pavilion. What purpose the tent had served, he had no idea, but it still provided some shelter, even though it was now stained and beginning to show rips and tears in the fabric.
He kept one table, setting it off to the side, near one of the windows, which overlooked a substantial porch. The room had already been hung with the sorts of small white lights mortals used to decorate for Christmas, so all he had to do was touch a finger to the wire to wake them up again. They came to life, lending a festive air to the space, for even though the sun still shone brightly outside, the bar remained rather dark.
During all this, Patches sat off to one side, watching as Aldair wrought his subtle transformations. But when his master went behind the bar to fetch himself a drink as compensation for his efforts, the dog cocked his head to one side and whined.
“I fear there is nothing here that I can give you,” Aldair said, pouring himself a shot of brandy. “But I do think there may be some table scraps to come later tonight.”
Patches’ tail began to wag at that remark, almost as if he had understood every word. Or perhaps all he needed to hear was “scraps” to realize that his reward would come, if he would only be patient.
Aldair, however, was thinking of an entirely different kind of reward. He’d seen the arousal in Jillian’s flushed features when he went to speak with her, knew that his touch had made her react in a way she probably found most unwelcome. But he wouldn’t let her reluctance deter him. He had been with far to
o many women not to recognize the obvious signs of attraction, no matter what she might do to push them away.
And indeed, although at first he had told himself he had no desire for her, either, now he knew better. Yes, she was a mortal. That did not matter, compared to her beauty or the fire of her spirit. She would realize soon enough that they were meant to be together, if only for a short while. Once she’d experienced his touch, she’d forget about the man she had lost. Such devotion was to be applauded, he supposed, but there was no reason for her to make a martyr of herself because of it, allowing her beauty to fade as the lonely years went on. She deserved better than that.
He smiled, and nodded as he downed the rest of his brandy. Yes, this would be a night that Jillian Powell remembered for a long, long time.
Ridiculous that she should be this nervous. Jillian glanced at the clock on the nightstand. Since the house didn’t seem to have lost power the entire time it was unoccupied, because of its solar panels, she guessed the hour must be fairly accurate.
Six fifty-five.
Aldair had said to be at the Mine Shaft at seven. It would probably take her about five minutes to walk down the hill and into town. She hadn’t seen any sign of Patches all afternoon, and so she thought he must have been with Aldair the whole time. She just hoped that he’d remembered to feed the dog.
Another brief glance in the mirror to make sure her hair wasn’t too much of a mess, and then she made a minute adjustment to the necklace she wore. All right. She couldn’t stall any longer, not if she didn’t want to be late.
No point in locking the front door, not when they were the only two people in town. She closed it quietly behind her and began to make her way down the drive, walking carefully on the loose gravel. The sun had just touched the hills on the other side of the small valley where Madrid was located, turning everything to burnished gold. Although the air was still warm, a light breeze had started to pick up, ruffling at her hair and playing with the full skirt she wore. It felt delicious, and right then she was glad Aldair had decided to move the venue for tonight’s dinner. No reason to stay cooped up in the house, especially on a fine evening such as this.
Forbidden (The Djinn Wars Book 6) Page 11