Heart Choice (10 page)

She dropped it on his lap. “Send it to Drina's room.”

Since she was in a dangerous mood, and he sensed she might just walk out on him and the job, something he didn't think he could bear at the moment, he did so.

Looking down at the little cat, Mitchella said, “Residence, how clean is Drina's room?”

“A deep housekeeping spell has finished. Molecular cleaning—”

Mitchella said, “That can wait until later. Drina, why don't you inspect your room and see if you want any of the current furniture?”

Did that mean Mitchella would stay on the job despite his lack of control? Straif sucked in his breath and shifted on the seat.

Drina sniffed, but glided to the door. She threw a glance over her shoulder as if she expected Straif to open it for her. He grunted, but didn't move. With a flick of her tail, she teleported away.

When he looked for Mitchella, he saw her behind the desk again, her carrycase tucked under her arm. Her face was still flushed from passion, but now her gaze was cold.

He didn't like the look in her eyes, but he kept his mouth shut.

“I don't want you to kiss me again. I want no more incidents like the one on the twoseat, you understand?”

Straif stood. It was difficult to saunter with an erection, but he managed. Her gaze didn't drop below his face. He admired the professionalism of that, even though he wished she'd show she wanted him.

When he reached the desk, he stopped. “I understand, but I don't agree.”

“If you don't agree, then I must resign from this project. You have a HeartMate and a duty to your Family. I will not be a simple fling for a bored noble.”

Anger shot through him, and he clenched his fists but kept his voice quiet. “Nothing about you is simple. An
affair
with you would not be simple, but deep and passionate. I promise to cherish you as long as we are together.” He needed her.

She bit her lip. Her gaze scanned the room. He felt her Flair probing the Residence. When she met his eyes again, a hint of vulnerability showed in them, and his gut tightened with the need to protect her.

She took a deep breath, and he struggled to keep his gaze on her face. A lovely face, mouth swollen from the wild kisses they'd shared.

“I need this job,” she said.

He didn't like that she thought of it as a job.

His face must have changed, or she read him better than most, because she lifted her chin.

“More, I believe the Residence needs me. I think I'm the best person to restore it.” She touched fingers above her left breast and Straif couldn't help it. His glance fell to watch her gesture, and he stared at those large, full breasts that he hadn't really gotten his hands on yet, let alone his mouth. At the thought of suckling her breasts, saliva pooled. His body, which had begun to ease, tightened again.

Her nipples peaked under her tunic at his stare, and he suppressed a groan.

“No more passionate interludes.” Her tone was a little unsteady, but the resolve behind it firm.

He met her gaze. “I can't promise that.” His hands itched to touch her, so he hooked his thumbs in his belt. “I want you.” He needed her—everything she was. “There's desire between us; has been since we first laid eyes on one another.”

She dropped the carrycase on the desk and started unloading all her work. “I'll leave you my notes and bill you for the time I spent on them.”

He set his teeth. “I can promise not to put my hands on you.” He could last until she broke, he hoped. “Not to put my mouth on you.” This wasn't helping him keep cool. “But if
you
put your hands on me, I won't stop. We'll be lovers, and not one-night lovers.”

“That could jeopardize this project.”

It wasn't life or death. What could happen, the place could look tasteless, bad? No worse than now. Another reason he needed her. But she took her work seriously, so he just nodded. “I accept that.” He wanted her more for a lover than for her skills, now.

Her lips thinned. What a shame, flattening a mouth like hers. She should never do that, but he wasn't about to tell her. Hesitation flickered in her eyes.

“It will be your decision, Mitchella. It is always a lady's decision.” Nothing wrong with trying to tempt her, though. Her passion was hot. He wondered what experience she had with resisting temptation. Not much, he fervently hoped.

He held out his hand with a charming smile he'd learned from his mother, a Holly. “You're a professional. I respect that. We can deal with each other professionally. Sign the contract.”

She stared at his hand. “No fraternizing outside the project.”

He could work around that. He lifted his brows. “I think restoring my Residence to its former beauty will take up most of our time. We'll be working closely together. I repeat my promise, I'll keep my hands to myself.”

Mitchella's stare fixed on his mouth.

“And my mouth.” He wiggled the fingers of his outstretched hand. “You'll be the one to make the first move. Everything will be in your hands.”

She grabbed his hand and shook it, once, stuffed the papyrus and holostones back into her carrycase. With a scowl, she looked him up and down. “You don't think I can resist you?”

He was praying she couldn't.

“The Residence needs both our best efforts,” he soothed.

Looking around again, she sighed. “Yes.” She signed the contract, glanced at a timer that wasn't working, then at the one on her wrist. “I'll purchase everything for Drina's room this afternoon and have it delivered. Drina can supervise the placement of the furniture.” Mitchella's lips curved. “The bedroom in the model used the top line of furniture from my family's factory, from Clovers. If you object to giving them business, let me know. I assure you everything will be completely honest—no inflated prices.”

For the first time since their kiss, she met his gaze, her own earnest.

“And I trust you completely,” he said, wanting to bend the short distance to put his lips back on hers. He already missed her taste.

She pinkened at his compliment and smiled fully, openly. It caught at his heart.

“We'll do right by you,” she said with a middle-class sincerity that charmed him.

“Of course.”

“I'll be back in the morning with an excellent Flaired wall tinter. We should be done with Drina's room in a couple of hours.” Then she turned and opened a door in the full-length, multipaned glass windows that he hadn't even known was there. Spine stiff, and her fine bottom moving nicely beneath her clothes, she left.

She needed the job. Nice of her to tell him. He wondered why, but he'd find out. He could certainly use the information.

Straif inhaled, drew her scent deep within himself. With unfocused eyes, he studied interweaving aura-trails—Mitchella's, his deep silver-blue-green, Drina's dainty light blue mincings. Near the twoseat, and on it, were huge streaks of red so hot it nearly seared his eyes. He grinned. He'd used his tracking Flair all his life and never seen anything like that red.

Who could resist passion like that?

 
 
Briskly, Mitchella walked down the long gliderway, a
thousand plans for the Residence flitting through her head. It was always this way with a new job. And what a project this was! It would definitely bring her fame and fortune. There was nothing she couldn't do with a “no-expense-spared” budget.

Looking around, she saw she was out of sight of any scrystones, and no one was around. She did a whirl and a dance and sang. No one in the world ever wanted to hear her sing, so it was always a solitary pleasure. She pirouetted up the path, enjoying this moment of sheer triumph. Later would come the hard work and sober thoughts. This was a time of happiness.

But the joy faded incrementally as a shadow fell over her mood, an itching started between her shoulder blades. Again, she stopped and looked around, and again she saw no one in the lush tangle of greenery, though she
sensed
someone. Her Flair wasn't great, and mostly involved charisma—a salesperson's Flair—but still . . . She slowed and kept her gaze sharp. Nothing but a steady feeling of oppression.

She reached the greeniron gates and let herself out, hurrying away from the estate and along the avenues of Noble Country, but the tension didn't diminish until she joined others at the public carrier glider plinth. Holding her bag tight, she studied the people at the stop, then relaxed as she eased into conversation with them. No one odd.

As the huge glider pulled up and she boarded, she realized that was why she was spooked. Not only did she think someone was watching her, but she thought that someone wasn't quite right.

She shook off the feeling. No one had been on the estate today, but in the past a mind-linked Triad gang—Antenn's brother's gang—had fought there; perhaps their madness lingered. There was no curse on the estate, on the Residence. She'd have felt that easily enough. She wouldn't let such an idea enter her mind. This project was going to make her career, and she wouldn't let anything stop her from doing it right.

Not even her most unprofessional desire for Straif T'Blackthorn.

 
 
To ease his hot blood and tight body, Straif walked his es
tate. Let Mitchella restore the inside, he'd take care of the grounds. Outside there would be no horrible memories of sickness and death. Instead of remembering his mother and father wasted with hollow cheeks and dull eyes, he'd see them as they stood strong and proud officiating as the Lord and Lady during Family Rituals. Instead of the sharp image of his sister's curled husk of a body, he'd remember her vibrant laughter as she played hide-and-seek with him.

Long grass, bushes, and trees grew dense in the gardens; the walls were solid except for a small broken door. There he sensed old fear and rage and evil. The gangs had used that door, particularly the Triad that had challenged T'Ash. His jaw set in anger that his estate had been invaded, used as a battleground. Following the years-old trail, he found where every Downwinder gang member had died, noted the traces of his cuz Tinne Holly and T'Ash. Hands on hips, Straif decided he'd need a priest and priestess to cleanse the ground, in addition to his own ceremonies. He strode up to an odd circular area and into the center before he realized it was clear due to strong sex magic.

Seven

As soon as Straif stepped into the cleared circle he was
hard again. More than sex magic—
loving
Flair, and it was so strong because it was tied to Passage magic.

Passage—the times when a highly Flaired person's psi overcame them and the power was mastered or the person shattered. The strength of the energy was doubled—someone had experienced two Passages at once. A female.

Wild emotions rushed through him—lust, loving, fear of loss. Traces of the other emotions that came with Passage were blessedly little more than echoes. But still vivid images came to his mind, framed by what
he
wanted instead of the actual past. He saw Mitchella's body in moonlight, curved and waiting for him, passion on her features, beautiful arms reaching for him. He was naked and aroused and ready. He groaned and pulled away from the vision, walked away from the circle of influence, knowing his nights would be restless until he had Mitchella.

Waiting on the verge was Drina, her tail curled around her paws and pink nose lifted. She curled her tongue in the additional cat sense and said,
T'Ash and D'Ash mated here.

That answered the who. Now free from the sizzling desire, he could see T'Ash's Flair trail.

“Right,” Straif said. “I'm going back to the broken door in the wall and setting a sealing spell on the wall section.”

“Yes. More than I want.” Didn't he have enough pain associated with his estate—the death of his Family—without coping with the destruction that others had brought to his land? That tasted bitter.

Drina trotted beside him.
Much sign of kin-to-you in fight, and a hunting cat.

The tension in Straif eased a little, he sharpened his Flair-sight. “Tinne Holly, and Passage Flair from him, too.” Straif sighed. “No doubt that triggered many of the events that transpired, but I wish the whole thing had taken place somewhere else.”

You can ask T'Ash for the whole story tonight.
Drina sniffed, placed a paw on a curvy line that shone emerald to Straif.
Sign of My sire, Zanth. He still hunts here.
She glanced up at Straif.
Maybe you should forbid him
.

“Huh.” Like forbidding a cat would be anything but futile.

They reached the wall, and Straif summoned as much energy as he could to say the spell to seal the wall. When he was finished, a fine slick of sweat covered his body, but as he looked at the tall brick wall, there was no door. He managed a crooked smile. This was a small thing, but vital. His estate would never be breached again from that door. It was also the first new spell he'd done to restore his home. It felt good.