Death's Lover (11 page)

This was an ancient. It was in his face. He bore the knowledge of history past. The tanned leather of his flesh crinkled with age. There was wisdom written upon his brow.

“That so,” he said with a bored tone and returned to working on Eve. Cian knew the truth of who he really was hadn’t been revealed. There’d been a question burning in those bronze eyes, but Mingan had kept the curiosity to himself. His lazy, tranquil posture indicated he thought Cian no threat for the moment.

But there was also a barrier erected. To an outsider, the old man’s hunched shoulders and bent head might be taken as a sign of concentration only on the task at hand. When in truth it couldn’t be more opposite. Tension, like thick dredges of sludge, filtered through the narrow room, making it feel smaller. More cramped, confined. If Mingan could growl right now, he would. He didn’t trust Cian.

Fine. He hadn’t come to make friends.

“Do you have a tattoo, Cian?” Eve asked. Her eyes were wide and acutely aware of the strain in the room.

He shifted on his seat, clearing his throat. The question caught him off guard. He answered honestly. “One.”

“You’ll have to show me someday.”

He gave a noncommittal shrug.

She closed her eyes and turned her head, giving him free rein to inspect her closer.

The flesh Mingan was inking had long, tight whorls. Scars from her accident, no doubt. And yet the skin was smooth. He wanted to know, but wouldn’t ask. She’d never told him about the accident and to reveal he knew that would also expose him. Not a good idea.

Her design glistened with color. The drawing of the woodpecker was elaborate and detailed. Its body was alternating shades of white, black, and gray. On its head was a scarlet crest and its eyes were a deep-hued gold. Not just a gold pigment, but gold. It glittered as the light struck it at odd angles with each up-and-down motion of her breaths.

The bird began at her left shoulder blade and wrapped around, down her ribs. He’d never seen anything so lifelike. It didn’t just look like a painting on skin, but almost as if the bird were ready to take flight. Its proud beak lifted high in the air, its wings spread.

He’d always assumed he’d hate any marking on the body. In some ways he loathed the fae and all their trappings. The marks on their body revolting to him, and yet, looking at this proud bird resting on Eve’s back, he thought she was beautiful.

E
ve and Cian strolled down the pier, the crowd long since gone, and a purplish thread coloring the sky. Shops began to open, pulling up the steel gates they’d closed and locked the night before. Sea lions were silent save for the whistling of their breaths as they slept. There was a soft lapping of water against the rocks, it was soothing, the setting as if from a dream.

The sharp, intoxicating scent of saltwater taffy was redolent in the air. Eve inhaled, savoring its richness and wishing she could pop a chewy piece into her mouth right now. Goddess, she had a serious sweet tooth. Not a figure-friendly pastime, that was for sure.

It was strange how fast time had flown by. Mingan had seemed possessed, not stopping to talk for the rest of the night. After a while the initial pain had died down to a dull throb and she had lost herself in the needle and Cian. He hadn’t talked either, just watched with such a fascination that she’d swear he’d never seen a tattoo being done before.

It had felt weird to have those intense eyes studying her like she was a rare specimen, but in a way that was oddly endearing.

She gazed at Cian from the corner of her eye. He was leaning over the wooden railing, his eyes shifting around, looking at everything and anything. As if he was searching for someone, or something. She frowned and peeked behind her shoulder.

With the exception of a few lazy seagulls winging through the air, they were pretty much alone on this stretch of pier. A rarity that wouldn’t last.

Was she that boring that he kept looking at everything but her? She cleared her throat and said, “Thanks for coming along. I had fun.”

Finally his gaze rested on her face. The intensity so sharp she felt numb and rooted to the spot. Yet he still radiated a thread of anxiousness, as if he wasn’t comfortable being outside. And then he smiled, making her forget.

“Me too. Does it hurt?” He grazed her clothed back with his finger. Dull pain bloomed at the contact.

She grinned, masochistic enough to not want him to stop. With the pain came the excitement of his touch.

“A little, but it was worth it. It’s finally done, and I’m happy.”

Again he looked away, his gaze flicking to that spot where water met sky. An orange hue crested the horizon. The sun was about to come up.

Disheartened, she twisted her lips. Probably why he kept glancing away. She was selfish enough that she didn’t want him to leave, not yet. “I guess you have to go, huh?” she asked.

“Soon. But…how about breakfast?” He turned to look over his shoulder at a saltwater taffy store. “There. You pulse with pleasure every time you glance at it.”

“That obvious, huh?” She narrowed her eyes and cocked her head. “I thought fangs couldn’t tolerate food.”

He coughed into his fist, a clearing-of-the-throat sort of thing. Then he gave her a weak grin and said, “Not for me, only you.”

“Won’t that make you a little queasy to see me eating?”

“I can’t see why.”

“Well, put it that way. I’d swear you’re reading my mind, Cian. I love taffy.”

He shrugged. “I figured you might.”

Eve gripped her brown paper sack in her fist, sucking on a peanut-butter-and-jelly-flavored taffy. The slightly salty, sweet treat gummed up the roof of her mouth. She wanted to groan, it was so delicious. Cian had even helped her pick out a few. He’d looked at the Neapolitan-flavored taffy with such longing it almost made her feel guilty for buying it.

Almost.

“So,” she said after swallowing the last bit of taffy, “I guess you should be heading back soon.”

He twisted his lips and looked toward the ever-brightening horizon. They were about fifteen minutes away from full sunrise. Not really a problem for vamps, since they could travel at the speed of light. But she had to admit that, in a very small corner of her heart, she’d enjoyed his company more than she’d thought possible. So much, in fact, that she was going to have to make it through this workday on about three hours of sleep.

Not that she had any regrets.

“It would seem so.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you out so long. Well, maybe just a little…” She shrugged when he laughed. “…but when Mingan is in his trance, there’s no rushing him.”

He grabbed her wildly swinging hand, his thumb grazing her knuckles. Fire sizzled through her pores.

“I had a good time tonight.”

Her heart jumped into her throat, and she couldn’t do more than nod.

“Come on, Eve.” He still held her hand and dragged her behind him. “I’ll walk you home.”

“Maybe I’ll lead, since you don’t know where I live.”

His lips twitched. “Sure.”

She led him away from the business district and deeper into the brickwork jungle of homes, toward a three-story Victorian. The outside was a rich ivory. Ivy clung to the siding, its green fingers sliding up toward the triangle-shaped roof. People often described her place as a gingerbread house, which was a fitting description. Horizontally narrow and vertically long, with the customary chimney on top.

“Well, this is me.”

They stopped and she stepped up on the stoop, facing him. “Big house.”

“Yeah. I wish I could say I own the entire thing, but it’s been renovated into three separate floors. I live in the middle.” She hooked a finger behind her shoulder. Refractive light from a teardrop crystal hung in the window.

He nodded.

“So…” She bit her bottom lip, hoping he’d say something to break the gathering uncertainty. The silence became strained and more uncomfortable as time wore on. A golden wash crested the sky; the warm rays of sun were beginning to descend over the San Francisco Bay.

What was supposed to happen now? Shouldn’t they say good-bye and move on? It’d been so long since she’d dated. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do anymore. Where minutes before she’d felt alive and sexy, bewitching, now she was beginning to feel more and more unsure, like a young girl who’d just glimpsed her first flash of naked flesh.

And speaking of naked flesh…

She peeked at him. A five-o’clock shadow framed the rugged contours of his face. The startling blue of his eyes looked down the street. His shirt molded to the curves of his lean, muscular chest. Memories of him holding her against his body filled her with aching clarity. The slide of muscle against her breast as he’d inhaled, his sharp scent of leather filling her nose.

Her nipples beaded up, pushing against her bra almost painfully. She was hot and achy, her flesh tingling with expectant hope that he’d lean over and kiss her, tongue her, right here in public for all to see.

This was bad. But good. But oh so bad.

She couldn’t help it; she glanced at his cock and wondered what it would look like. Would it be long and veiny, thick, and smooth? A wet tide of desire slammed between her thighs and she squeezed them together. Her heart fluttered a rapid tattoo in her chest.

A small groan spilled from her lips and when he turned his gaze to her, they were wild. The pupils dilated.

Hot pulses of energy flowed from her veins. She knew she was projecting but didn’t give a hot damn. Goddess, she had to be the easiest lay in the world; no man had to wonder where she stood with them. And she wanted Cian now. But she wouldn’t ask. She still had some pride left.

His eyes bespelled her. She was drowning in them and at the same time wondering whether vamps really could hypnotize with just a look. “I had a great time. I, ah, have work tomorrow, well, today…” She smiled. “…but later, of course. After I wake up. But if you want to come up for a drink, I’ve got a nice blush I’ve been saving…”

I’m babbling.
The worst part was, the more nervous she got, the worse it became.

“Oh god, of course you don’t drink wine. Blood, right? Duh. And I don’t want you nibbling on me.” She gave a nervous start. “I mean…”

She rubbed her neck, her face heating scarlet.

He glanced at her feet, his lips twitching. She wanted to groan. The most humiliated she’d ever been, bar none.

Then he stiffened, his gaze shooting past her shoulder. It was creepy, watching his eyes narrow, his nostrils flare, and his pupils dilate.

An eerie feeling, like cold fingers running along the back of her neck, made her turn. Elms waved gnarly branches in the wind. A dog yowled, keeping up a steady stream of high-pitched barks. A normal San Francisco day.

She could see by the look on his face something wasn’t normal. Another feeding vamp maybe, a were feasting on some bones? What?

“You okay?”

His gaze rolled to her, and he smiled though she knew it was forced. The light didn’t reach his eyes. He rubbed his hand down her arm. “I’m fine. But I’ve really got to go.”

He grabbed her hand and dropped a scorching kiss on her knuckle. It was long and hard with smooth, firm lips. The heat from his mouth transferred to her flesh, raising goose bumps and her temperature.

“Of course you do,” she hissed and leaned closer. An inch stood between her burying her nose in his hair and rubbing herself against him like some horny cat.

Move that kiss farther north or south
, she thought wickedly,
and I’d be one happy woman
.

“See you around, Eve,” he said, then turned and walked away.

It wasn’t until he was out of sight that it hit her. He’d never asked for another date. She’d practically thrown herself at him—
okay, who am I kidding? I
did
throw myself at him,
practically begged for some monkey lovin’, and he walked away.
She was lubed and ready for the pounding of her life.

Eve groaned. She had an itch that needed to be scratched and nobody to do it for her. Frustrated, she growled. “What were you thinking?”

She thunked her head against the door, lifted up, and thunked again. Except this time her head didn’t contact with wood but air. Losing her balance she took a step forward and tripped over the last step. She was falling, and fast. The polished wood floor loomed before her like a specter out of a nightmare.

Throwing her arms out she braced for the fall, a muffled yelp trapped in her mouth, her heart in her throat and a death grip on her bag of taffy.

Thin, surprisingly strong arms grabbed her.

“What the…”

“I got ya. Didn’t know you were standing outside there, Eve. Woulda been more careful opening the door.”

Nervously she patted her hair down and waited for the jackhammer stutter of her heart to subside. Dark chocolate eyes stared into her own, a spark of something burning in their liquid depths.

Her smile slipped with the nervous flutter of wings in her stomach. He looked the same, but the eyes. The eyes, something about them felt wrong. Unconsciously, she took a step back.

An agitated meow echoed in the brightly lit stairwell, breaking her from her trance.

“Mr. Lovelace, oh jeez…” She rubbed a hand across her brow. “You scared me. I was leaning against the door and—”

The bold ebony of his skin crinkled with laugh lines as he adjusted his tweed jacket, brushing out the wrinkles.

The uncertainty that had squeezed her heart to the point of pain vanished. This was Curtis. Just Curtis.

Tired. That’s what it was. Still, the taste of weird still settled on her tongue.

“You know what”—she swiped her hand through the air and gave a shaky laugh—“never mind. It doesn’t matter. Thanks for the rescue.”

Last thing she needed to do was tell her neighbor how much of a donkey’s butt she’d made of herself.

His smooth, easy grin made her smile in spite of herself.

“Happy to do it when they look as pretty as you.”

“Oh man. Nice. That was smooth, really smooth. Bet you say that to all the ladies. Tell you what, if I were thirty years older…” she said, falling immediately into the easy banter they’d always shared.

“Pft.” He waved his hand. “No way. If I were thirty years younger, you’d never stand a chance. Pretty charming in my day.”

She cocked a brow. “Is that so?”

“Mmm. Yes, ma’am. All I had to do was play a few licks on my Gibson.” He demonstrated for her, his nimble fingers playing the air guitar. His pink tongue was sticking out the corner of his mouth, head bopping to music only he could hear. “Oh, I swear. I was a player. Had dolls lining up around the corner to hear ol’ Curtis play the strings.”

She laughed. “I bet you did. Wouldn’t hurt that you’re a witch, probably enchanted them with a little love charm, eh? Admit it.”

Eve walked to the silver mailbox affixed to the wall and checked her mail. Nothing but bills. She rolled her eyes, shoved the envelopes underneath her arm, and returned to her conversation.

“Well. Gotta use our goddess-given talents. Whatever they might be.” He winked and played with his white goatee, then his eyes took on a faraway look. The memory, whatever it was, must be nice, because a slow, soft smile crept over his features.

The honesty on his face made her feel a little voyeuristic, like she was glimpsing something private. She shifted on the balls of her feet, wondering if she should walk away and leave him to his thoughts.

Meow.

A tabby cat slid between her legs, rubbing the length of its body along hers with a contented sigh.

“New cat?”

“Sure is.” Curtis bent over and picked up the feline. “This is Samhain. Orange color makes me think of the season.”

“Hello, Samhain.” She scratched the furry head between its ears. The cat closed his eyes and purred. For some reason the reaction made her think of Cian. Thinking of him brought on a new rush of fire through her limbs.

She cleared her throat. Goddess, she really needed to get control over herself.

“So this makes what, cat number seven?”

He nodded. “One can never have enough cats.”

She yawned, walking toward the base of the stairwell and planting her foot on the bottom step. Exhaustion was finally beginning to claim her and blurred the edge of her vision.

“Spoken like a true witch.”

He smiled and tipped his cap to her. “Well, g’day, Eve. I’m taking Samhain to the park.”

“Yes, you too, Mr. Lovelace.”