Then his mouth was at her throat again, that spot so close to her jaw. His hand hooked around her other leg, and he lifted her up so that the weight of his body kept her pressed against the wall, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held on.
She rocked forward, trying to get him deeper inside. Her head echoed with the fever heat of his arousal and the sense of something else working its way through her. She closed her eyes and all she saw behind her tightly closed lids was blue. Dark, dark, fathomless blue.
“That’s it,” he whispered. “Let’s get lost in this.” Iskander lifted her up, pulled out, then set her down so her feet were on the floor. He faced her to the wall and spooned his front to her back. She saw his palm press flat to the wall. His other hand grabbed her hip. With a knee, he pushed her feet apart, and his hips were hard against her behind, and he tangled his fingers in her hair. He thrust inside her again, his pelvis and belly tight against her while his penis hit exactly the right angle. She braced herself hard against the wall so he could thrust harder and then harder again.
“Upstairs,” he said, pushing her down the hallway toward the stairs.
He picked her up before she was halfway there. The next thing she knew, she was flat on her back on a bed—his bed—and he was covering her, sliding inside her. He pushed up on his hands.
His face was intent, and, God, she could just stay lost like this forever. “More,” he said. His eyes were changing from blue to green, and she had the impression, quickly gone—hidden from her?—that he wasn’t entirely in control of himself. “Paisley, I want more. Damn. Harder.” He let out a gasp. “Please.”
She wrapped her arms around him and then her legs and arched toward him. Iskander lowered himself to her, curled an arm around the top of her head, and they locked gazes. He wasn’t smiling anymore. The look on his face was purely carnal, his mouth tense at the edges, his eyes blue-flecked green. He slowed his thrusts into her for a while, perfect, just perfect. With his weight on one arm, he traced a finger down the midline of her body. Heat settled into her where he touched her. His hips moved forward and stayed there. She wrapped her fingers around his upper arms and squeezed.
He dropped a kiss to the top of her shoulder. His lips stayed soft on her skin, and his tongue, Lord, his tongue traced a lazy circle toward her neck, and every so often he drew his hips back, then pressed slowly in again, and that went on, driving her mad. He slipped farther into her head, too, into her consciousness, and it was like touching a part of him he kept from everyone else. A groan ripped from him, and she had trouble distinguishing her pleasure from his.
He moved so they lay on their sides, facing each other, her outside leg over his hip. With his upper hand, he traced more lines along her body, and this time she was sure she saw tiny sparks leap between them. Her skin heated where those sparks fell.
When she blinked, she saw blue and green behind her eyes. Her sense of him in her head got bigger, and he made a sound deep in the back of his throat, and it was like he was flowing into her, enfolding her, and she knew him. She knew the oath that bound him to Nikodemus, the dark and terrible hole Fen had left behind, and the stark fact that he had willingly made oaths that required him to die if that’s what it took to keep her safe.
Her arms tightened around his body. “No,” she whispered, even though her throat was thick with tears. “Promise me you won’t let that happen.”
He kissed away her tears, and he made love to her, even if that wasn’t what he called it. Iskander wrapped her up in pleasure and brought her with him when he came.
The next day, 4:00
P.M.
,
Paisley Bakery and Café
P
aisley was in the back when Iskander walked into the café. The space was small, but it smelled great, like fresh bread. The young woman behind the counter gave him a long once-over before she left to tell Paisley he was here. He figured Paisley already knew.
The cashier came back, grinning. “She said to give you something to eat, no charge, and tell you she’ll be right out.”
“Thanks.” The woman was good-looking, but he didn’t have the slightest urge to hit on her. The old Iskander, the before-Paisley Iskander, definitely would have hit on her. “How about a couple of coffees to go? An extra strong cap for her, macchiato for me.”
Today was the party at the home of Paisley’s friend and mentor Ashlin Lau, given in honor of Paisley’s ex-boyfriend Urban Drummond. The party was being filmed for his cooking show. Since he wanted to make a good impression on her friends, Iskander had turned to Durian for advice about what to wear. The assassin had come through for him in a big way.
He wore black pants, black loafers, and a blue V-neck cashmere sweater that Gray swore matched his eyes. Durian had hooked him up with a tailor to fit the pants and his suit jacket, and even he could tell the difference it made. He’d wanted to look good for Paisley and her friends, and he did.
The cashier placed his two coffees on the counter, and he fixed Paisley’s cappuccino the way she liked it. He’d already downed half of his drink when Paisley came out from the back. She did a double-take that made him smile.
Thank you, Durian.
“Hey,” he said.
“You look nice,” she said. She walked into the customer area and put a hand on his chest. “Wow, Iskander.”
He gave her a light kiss on the lips. Nothing hot, but not a
we’re just friends kiss
either. He’d done the right thing, getting dressed up, because Paisley had, too. She wore a pair of slim trousers and a green blouse that brought out the green in her hazel eyes. “You look great, cupcake.”
Her assistant baker came out of the back carrying some of the supplies for the party. He directed her to his truck. The Chevy was parked right in front of the bakery, and he helped load the boxes and the rest of the supplies. When he came back from that, Paisley was drinking her cap and had her coat draped over one arm.
“Let’s go,” he said. “I don’t want to be late for all that food.”
He helped her into the truck. With her looking all hot with her hair down and him in his fancy clothes, they were like any normal couple heading out for a date. Almost. There was no sign of Rasmus, and if there were any magehelds, Paisley would have let him know. He went around to the driver’s side and started the truck. The engine turned over with a roar like the enormous 1968 Chevy motor it was. God, he loved this truck.
“Where to?” he asked.
She gave him Ashlin’s Kensington address in the East Bay.
“Rasmus lives in Berkeley,” he said while they headed for the Bay Bridge.
“I know.”
“This isn’t going to be Nikodemus’s territory. Technically, Nikodemus’s rules don’t apply there. Magekind can do whatever the hell they want there.”
“What about us? Can we?”
“You can. But not me. The kin don’t mess with humans the way we used to back in the day. If something comes up, you do what you need to. And then so will I.” With a clunk, the driver’s side window fell down into the door. Air rushed through the cab. He looked over with a smile and raised his voice. “Ah, the air conditioning is on.”
She sank down on the seat and pulled her coat around her. “My wrist hurts.”
“Head?” Fucking Rasmus was still messing with her.
“The pressure’s back.” She touched her temple. “Like someone’s trying to break in.”
“I have never wanted to waste anyone the way I want to waste Rasmus right now.”
Traffic always sucked this time of day, so it took longer than if the daily commute wasn’t in full swing. But they made it. He found a place to park that wasn’t too far from the house. Ashlin Lau, a tiny woman of Chinese ancestry, whose hair was just starting to go gray, opened the door to Paisley’s knock. As he learned, she lived with Julia, her partner of the last thirty years. The guest of honor, Urban Drummond, famous chef and Paisley’s former boyfriend wasn’t here yet, but the television crew was.
Iskander handed a bottle of wine to Julia and bent to give both women a European-style kiss on both cheeks. They seemed to approve. He noted with some relief that his clothes fit in with what the other guests were wearing. He and Paisley transferred her supplies to the kitchen and then, with him holding her hand, they went to say hello to the people she knew. He reminded himself to keep a lid on his habit of saying whatever came to mind. These were vanilla humans. Not only did he need to pass, he wanted them to like him. For Paisley’s sake.
Paisley made the introductions with Ashlin or Julia doing the honors for people she didn’t know. The gray-haired man was a lawyer whose wife was a freelance food critic for the
San Francisco Chronicle.
Some of the people she knew from the days before she opened the bakery had new significant others, and there was also Renegade staff hired since she left the restaurant. Iskander thought he did a good job making small talk with them. He was good at passing for human.
The guests were gathered on the flagstone patio in the back, drinking wine and sampling cheeses and a series of canapés that kept appearing from the kitchen where everyone was taking turns sending out amazing food. Pretty soon Paisley would need to go inside to prep her desserts.
Before that happened, Urban Drummond arrived with a pretty brunette on his arm who didn’t look like she ate enough food to sustain her basic caloric needs. She was also a witch. What the hell was the guy doing here with a goddamned witch?
Iskander took an instant dislike to Chef Urban Drummond, and it wasn’t just because he used to date Paisley or that he’d walked in here with a witch. He didn’t like the way everyone applauded like he was some fucking big deal. He didn’t like the way Urban smiled. He didn’t like the way he ogled Paisley when he thought no one would notice. And he didn’t like the way the guy obviously thought he could have any woman he wanted, including Paisley. The prick.
“I see parking is still impossible,” Urban said after the round of applause at his entrance.
The asshole was handsome in a hearty way that made Iskander want to drop a wrecking ball on his head. Urban walked around and pressed flesh and slapped backs like he was running for office. The whole time he kept one arm around his date’s tiny waist and his eye on the camera crew.
Iskander walked over to Paisley and took a stuffed mushroom off a nearby salver. “Oh, that’s good,” he said. He looked over his shoulder, then back at her. “So that’s him?”
She nodded.
“He’s pretending he doesn’t see you yet.” Iskander moved closer and lowered his voice while he took three more stuffed mushrooms. “Is the witch a screamer?”
“Yes.”
She still had feelings for the guy; he could tell that from the way she was staring at him and the way her body tensed up when he looked her way. Iskander had the other humans blocked out, but he made eye contact with Urban, a second was all he needed, to survey the man’s psychic state. He didn’t make enough contact to put him afoul of Nikodemus, just enough to get a feel for the guy without breaking any rules.
No question about it, Urban was a confident bastard. He was basking in the attention, taking it as his due. What Iskander didn’t get, which was a relief, was any sense that he was under a compulsion from the witch. Good. But he didn’t like it at all that Urban had walked in here with one of the magekind. This had Rasmus Kessler all over it.
Paisley distracted him when she put a hand on his arm and told him she needed to go inside to get to work on her desserts. He gave a curt nod and touched her forehead. “Let me in? I’d like to be in contact even when I can’t see you.” She gave her agreement, and he made his link with her. It felt good. Right. “If you feel any magehelds, come get me, text me, call, yell, do something. I’ll probably already know.” He stroked his thumb across her forehead, viciously aware that Urban was watching him. “Just in case I’ve dropped out.”
“I will.”
He kissed her. Nothing over the top, just a brush of his lips over hers. When it was over, he had the satisfaction of seeing Urban acting like he hadn’t been watching the whole time. The asshole.