by Tessa Blake
She’d been more than a little wistful when it came time to pack up her things.
But, wistful or not, no matter how amazing the trip had been, or how much had changed, she had a life to get back to.
She eyed Gabriel over the rim of her wine glass and reached for a nibble. Raw ahi tuna with blood orange, capers, and a speck of colatura di alici—not bad for someone who’d been eating lukewarm happy hour pizza rolls at an Irish pub an hour before they’d met.
Crazier still to realize that had been less than a week before, and she might well be back to pizza rolls before the week was out.
“If I’d known the food was this good,” she said, “I’d have taken a demon lover sooner.”
He shook his head, helped himself to a bite of beef carpaccio. “You’re taking this … very well,” he said. “Far better than I expected.”
She shrugged. “How do people usually take it?”
“I’ve never told anyone,” he said. “But I imagined it would go poorly, and there would be a lot of questions about my sanity or honesty.”
She shrugged again, ticked items off on her fingers. “One: I saw, with my own eyes, what you did to those guys in Vegas; I make a habit of believing my own eyes. Two: I’m now in possession of some kind of weird mystical tattoo-thingy that appeared solely as a result of sleeping with you. Three: It explains my behavior around you, which up to that point I couldn’t explain. And four”—here she smiled at him—“I watch a lot of television.”
“Expecting Sam and Dean to show up and save you?” he asked mildly.
“I’m really more of a Crowley girl,” she replied, and went back to texting Miri.
21
She astonished him. She understood what he was and she didn’t care. She didn’t care. It was really that basic, and that amazing.
Her mind was fascinating—limber and agile, able to expand and accept within minutes something most people would still have been denying days later. She could talk all she liked about believing what she saw, but the fact was, most people didn’t believe anything unless it fit into their already-established worldview, no matter what they saw or experienced. His mother was frequently indiscreet about exercising her powers in front of people, and at first it had concerned him, until he’d realized most people just shrugged it off and went about their business without questioning.
Lily hadn’t. You’re not human, she’d said to him, as if it was the only possible explanation for what she’d seen in Vegas. And he supposed he’d wanted to tell her, or he’d have made more than a token attempt to put her off. He could have done better than to blame the lighting, when she told him his eyes were glowing. He could have lied about knowing some kind of martial arts, when she said he was inhumanly strong. He could have, as a last resort, compelled her to believe him—though, given that she seemed to have some innate resistance to him, that might not have worked.
But no matter. He was glad he’d told her, glad she’d accepted it. Glad was a paltry word for it, really. He’d resigned himself to an existence like his mother’s, and it had seemed a lonely and miserable future, to be sure. Now, it looked like he might have escaped that fate. And that was … well, he’d have called it a miracle, but he didn’t suppose miracles were intended for the likes of him.
He studied her as she tapped out a message on her phone. She was wearing a little sundress in pale blue—there seemed no end to her supply of little babydoll-length dresses, and something about the sweetness of them combined with those lush, womanly curves drove him just about out of his mind. Her feet, bare but for pearly pink nail polish, rested on the edge of the low table between them, which meant he had a straight line-of-sight up the backs of her thighs to her panties—a flash of hot pink there, and lace edges. Whenever he got her out of her clothes, which he had managed to do at every available opportunity this last couple of days, what was underneath was always frilly and pretty, like a little present for him to unwrap.
She made a sound, a little throat-clearing noise, and he looked at her, realized she’d been watching him watching her. He wondered, idly, how long he’d been staring. “What are you looking at?” she asked.
“I can see up your dress.” He smiled and watched, delighted, as she went beet-red and thumped her feet onto the floor. “At this point, you’ve got nothing I haven’t seen,” he reminded her.
“Then you don’t need to be creeping your eyes up there like a dirty old man,” she said pertly, glaring at him.
“You said I couldn’t touch you,” he said. “You never said I couldn’t look.”
She looked like she might have a retort, but seemed to think better of it, and returned her attention to her phone.
After a moment, she propped her feet back up on the table.
He said nothing, just sat back to enjoy the view.
She scooted forward a bit on the chair; now there was considerably more view to enjoy.
Still he said nothing.
Absently, as though she wasn’t even aware she was doing it, she reached down and scratched her leg, right where the hem of her dress fell. To no one’s surprise, the fabric slipped further up her thigh, revealing a great deal of creamy white skin.
“You’re doing that on purpose,” he said.
She kept her face tilted down to her phone, looked up at him through her eyelashes. “Am I?” she asked, but a smile ghosted around the corners of her mouth.
“If you expose so much as one more inch of yourself over there, I’m taking you in the back,” he said. “Punching be damned; I’m not afraid of you.”
Slowly, deliberately, she set her phone down on the table and then stretched, arching her back and reaching toward the ceiling. Her whole dress shifted, settled; the buttons on the front waged a valiant battle to keep her contained. They won, but it was a hard-fought victory.
He stood, took the two steps that brought him to her, and plucked her out of the chair effortlessly, then swung her into a fireman’s carry and headed for the bed alcove.
As promised, she punched him, right between his shoulder blades—but it was clear her heart wasn’t in it.
And when he turned his head and nipped at her, right there where the edge of her frilly panties met the back of her thigh, she sighed and went all soft and pliant against him.
They didn’t make it back to their seats until it was time to buckle in for landing.
22
The plane touched down on one of the shorter runways at La Guardia and gently bumped its way over to a small terminal building. Lily waited until the pilot gave the okay, then unbuckled her safety belt and gathered her phone and purse, feeling loose and relaxed in every limb.
Gabriel left his seat and came to hers, offered her a hand up. She took it, and smiled when he used the opportunity to pull her against him and run his other hand over her hair. She had no real objection to him jumping her bones at every opportunity, but moments like these, when he was tender with her, tugged just a little bit at her heart. She wasn’t in love with him—she barely knew him—but she could be. She could see, for sure, how she could be.
She stayed put for a couple of minutes, just smelling him and enjoying the floaty way his touch made her brain short out. Then, tipping her head back, she kissed him, just a quick, soft kiss on the underside of his chin.
“Let’s go,” she said.
He preceded her down the steps and she paused at the top, saw they hadn’t bothered with any of the actual terminal gates; instead they were just pulled close to the building, where the limo waited. Whether that was privilege because Gabriel had too much money, or just standard procedure, she didn’t know.
The pilot and driver were loading her bags into the trunk of the limo, which was parked but running. The limo—not a stretch but a very nice, understated Audi with two facing bench seats—that was the very definition of privilege. She could get used to riding around in limos, and having other people carry her things, that was for sure. For that matter, she could get used to a lot of the perk
s that came with her new … boyfriend? She squinted down at him where he stood waiting for her. Yes, she thought. I guess I’ve got a boyfriend. It’s been a while.
And she smiled a little at the absurdity of calling him such a thing.
“What’s so funny?” he yelled up to her.
“Nothing,” she said, and descended the stairs, linked her hand with his. “Just feeling fortunate.”
“Then that makes two of us,” he said, and kissed her lightly.
23
Gabriel handed Lily into the limo, enjoyed the view as she got herself settled. Slamming the trunk, the pilot returned to the plane; the driver moved to the other side of the car, set his hand on his own door handle, and looked at Gabriel over the top of the car. “Where to?” he asked.
“My place,” Gabriel said.
The driver nodded and got in; Gabriel followed suit, taking the backward-facing seat across from Lily.
“Glass of wine?” he asked, and she nodded. He selected a bottle from the mini-fridge—a rich Pinot noir he thought would delight her—and uncorked it.
“What are we having?” she asked.
“2004 was a rough year, weather-wise, for Chile and for this particular grape,” he said, “but what they did manage to bottle was exceptional.” He handed her a stemless wine glass and poured a generous serving.
“Thank you,” she said, and took an exploratory sip. “Oh, my.”
“You’re welcome.” He found himself pleased that he’d chosen well for her. She had a good palate, had only needed a little exposure to start understanding what she was tasting. He poured a glass for himself, settled back. “Might as well settle in; we’ll be a while.”
“How long’s a while?”
“Better than if we’d landed at JFK,” he said, “which is why I pay the ridiculous landing fees at La Guardia. But it’s still going to be a good forty minutes; we’ve managed to arrive during rush hour, like a couple of morons.”
She shook her head. “Uh-uh. No way. I didn’t plan any of this. I’m strictly along for the ride.”
He smiled. “What a ride it’s been.”
“Yes, and only going to get weirder, I imagine.” She slipped her sandals off and tucked her feet up on the seat beside her. “Tell me about your mother.”
“How Freudian.”
“Ha, ha. Seriously, though, if I’m going to meet her, maybe I should be forewarned. What’s she like?”
“Well, you must have seen her, that day at Abaddon.”
“The day we…?” She flushed a little, didn’t complete that thought out loud. “In that little control room?”
“The light booth, yes. She was there.”
“I saw nothing but the floor, Gabriel,” she said. “And couldn’t even tell you what it looked like, I was so embarrassed.”
“I can tell, as you’ve gone a lovely shade of beet.”
“Shut up and just answer my question.”
He held back a laugh as she scowled at him. Honestly, it was charming that she could be so free and full of abandon in bed, and so prim and easy to embarrass once out of it.
What was his mother like? He looked up at the roof of the limo, though there were certainly no answers to be found there. “Well,” he said, slowly. “She’s formidable.”
“Is that a compliment, or…?”
“It’s neither a compliment nor an insult,” he said. “She’s just a force to be reckoned with, when she wants something—and she always wants something, always has an angle.”
“What do you think her angle will be on me?”
He hesitated, not sure of how much to say. He hadn’t yet told Lily that his mother already knew about her. Vivienne wasn’t likely to be thrilled with their new connection when they told her, but they didn’t have a choice. Lily had his mark on her, and, unfortunately, his mother was going to be the best source of information about what it was and why it was there.
“I’ll be honest,” he said. “I don’t think she’ll like you.”
Lily raised her eyebrows. “Oh, really?”
He nodded, smiled at her. “It’s okay; I like you well enough for both of us.”
She took another sip of her wine, returned his smile, then set her glass aside in the molded cup holder under the window. “Is that so?” she said, with a hint of a challenge in her voice.
He looked out the back window a moment, watched an eighteen-wheeler pull out and around to pass them. “Don’t tempt me,” he said. “No one can see in, not even the driver.”
“I wasn’t talking about sex,” she said, on a laugh. “Is that all you ever think about?”
“I’m kind of wired that way,” he said.
She patted the seat beside her. “What are the chances you can come over here and cuddle with me without having sex?”
“Chances are excellent.” He switched seats deftly and pulled her against him, her back to his chest, her head tucked under his chin. They sat like that for a while in silence, both sipping from his wine glass and watching traffic.
He could feel her breath deepening, evening out, and wondered if she had fallen asleep, but eventually she sighed and shifted, turned her head so she could look up at him. “I honestly can’t thank you enough.”
“For what?” he asked.
“For an absolutely lovely couple of days,” she said. “For the fancy hotel stay I could never afford, and all the delicious food, and the crash course on wine, and … just for everything. I’m sorry to see the end of it.”
“The end of what?” he asked.
“This interlude,” she said. “Our little getaway. Back to the real world and all that.”
“I don’t see why going back to the real world is an end to anything,” he said. “It’s just beginning really.”
“In a way,” she said. “But in another it’s— Hey.” She sat up straighter and pointed at the exit sign as they passed it, twisted to follow it with her eyes as it disappeared out of sight in the back window. “We should have gotten off there.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Unless you want to hit every traffic light in Manhattan to get me downtown,” she said, “you should have broken off that way and headed for the Williamsburg.”
“Why would I be taking you downtown?” he asked, perplexed. She’d overpacked dreadfully for Vegas; she shouldn’t need to go back to her place for anything for at least a couple of days.
“I live there.” She squinted at him in that way she had, like he’d taken leave of his senses.
“Lived,” he said. “I imagined you’d move in with me.”
“Move in with you?” she said, and now she really did look like she doubted his sanity. “Why would I do that?”
“Why wouldn’t you?” he replied. “It seems like the most expedient and sensible thing.”
“On what planet is it sensible to move in with someone I met ten minutes ago?” she asked. “Have you lost your marbles?”
“Have you already forgotten you’re not living in the world you thought you were a few days ago?” he asked, tapping her between her shoulder blades.
It put her back up, almost literally; he couldn’t begin to fathom the reason, but she straightened her shoulders and scooted over on the seat so she wasn’t touching him anymore. “No, I haven’t forgotten,” she said. “I also didn’t ask for it, and I don’t intend to be governed by it.”
“What does that mean?” he demanded. He wasn’t asking that she be governed by anything. He was just being practical.
“It means I don’t really know you, Gabriel, and—”
“Of course you do.” He reached around her to set his wine down next to hers.
“No,” she said firmly, “I don’t, and don’t dismiss me like that. I’ve known you for a matter of days. That’s not long enough to decide to move in with someone.”
“You say that like we’re having some kind of normal relationship, like other people have,” he said. “I thought you understood we have a connection that can’t be de
nied. It’s right there, marked on your skin.”
“I’m not denying anything,” she said, “but I’m still my own person.”
“This is bigger than any one person.” He reached out and tucked an escaped lock of hair behind her ear—it was always escaping any attempt she made to tie it back, which he found oddly endearing.
“Okay, fine,” she said, and leaned her head into his hand for a minute. “This is big. I’m not an imbecile. And we’ll have to figure it out. But for tonight, I have a home and a life, and I want to get back to them.”
“I just assumed—”
“You shouldn’t have,” she said, but her voice had softened, and she covered his hand with her own, turned her head and kissed his palm softly, laced their fingers together. “Okay?”
“I didn’t think we’d come back and you wouldn’t want to be with me,” he said. He wanted her to want to be with him. It had become, somehow, very important to him.
“Don’t be dumb,” she said. “I love being with you, and I had a wonderful time. I’d like to come see your place, maybe tomorrow. I bet it’s pretty spectacular, and by tomorrow I’m sure to have started missing you.”
“Then don’t go home,” he said, a little surprised by how very much he wanted her to change her mind. “Come and stay at my place. No need to miss anything.”
She just looked at him for a moment, eyes shining, and he saw the shift in her, the moment when she thought, Screw it, and opened her mouth to say yes.
And instead she pulled her hand out of his, actually pushed his hand away and put her hand behind her back.
“What did you just do?” she demanded.
24
He didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked at her. He hadn’t done anything. Had he?
“Did you use your … you know, whatever, your mojo on me?”
He didn’t answer—couldn’t answer. He hadn’t intended to; he knew that.