Shadow's Pleasure: The Shadow Warder Series, Book Two (A Paranormal/Urban Fantasy Romance Series) (15 page)

Chapter Eight

Sorcha stared in the mirror over Kiernan’s dresser, trying to decide what to make of the figure looking back at her. Still a little unsettled by her jealousy at the bar, she wasn’t sure how she felt about wearing a dress not much longer than the tiny skirt the hostess had on. If Sorcha bent over in this thing, she’d give the world a very close look at the tiny lace panties Kiernan had bought. Just the thought of wearing underwear he’d purchased for her sent a blush to her cheeks. Kiernan wasn’t the first man to buy her lingerie, but he was the first to make the gift feel like foreplay.

After hearing a little about Cameron and the exclusive nature of the club he ran, Sorcha had put more effort than usual into getting dressed. Not that she was trying to accomplish anything other than fitting in. She definitely wasn’t trying to be more attractive to Kiernan. Or any man. But wearing this dress and shoes, she’d look odd if she didn’t also do something with her hair and makeup. It had been years since she’d taken any real time with her appearance.

One of the best things about her talent with heat, aside from her glass art, was what it meant she could do with her hair. With little more than a thought, Sorcha’s hands became highly versatile styling tools. In only a few minutes, she’d transformed her long, thick, red hair into a loose mass of curls with a few tighter spirals here and there for drama. Makeup took longer. She hadn’t bothered with more than eyeliner and blush in ages. But after a little experimentation, she managed to put on deep purple shadow and smudged black liner. Against her pale skin and red hair, the dark, smoky eyes were dramatic enough to go with her dress. She left her lips alone. Lipstick always ended up wearing off in weird spots or smearing. Since her lips were naturally pink against her light skin, they’d do well enough as they were.

The dress Kiernan had chosen for her was the sexiest thing Sorcha had ever worn. It was extremely short, but too well cut to be trashy. Not much longer than mid thigh, the black silk clung to her hips and rear end, then flared out just a bit. The result was a sleek line when she stood still, and a seductive tease when she moved, the fabric floating up to give brief glimpses of her upper thighs. The top of the dress was equally deceptive. A deep cowl neckline, it draped her in beautiful folds of fabric that didn’t show much. However, when she shifted position, the fabric slid to reveal the swells of her breasts. The back of the dress rose just high enough to cover her tattoos, but left the rest of her skin bare to the narrow strap of the cowl around her neck. If Kiernan used his hands to guide her around as he had been, he’d have his palm on the thin silk of her dress all night. Or worse, if he placed his hand just a little higher than usual, he’d be touching the skin of her back. Hours with his distinctive brand of heat flowing all over her body…

Sorcha shook it off. Partners. Friends. Nothing more. His hand on her back wouldn’t mean anything.

Turning from the mirror, Sorcha decided she was ready to go. She teetered a bit on her heels. She hadn’t worn heels for at least twenty years. And even then, they’d never been this high or narrow. There were times, many times, when her weak Tk came in handy. While her power wasn’t strong enough to be a truly viable weapon, it helped when she needed to guide a badly thrown calix. Or when she needed to keep herself from falling on her butt while wearing insanely high heels. Setting part of her talents on balance watch, she strode from the room, braced for the sight of Kiernan dressed to kill.

Bracing didn’t work. Kiernan was devastating in a charcoal suit. Sorcha didn’t know that much about men’s clothing. Most Shadows didn’t put a lot of thought into fashion. But she knew enough to tell the wool suit had been expertly tailored. It fit Kiernan perfectly, outlining his broad shoulders, showing off his lean torso. The dark gray against his golden hair and skin created a striking contrast. His white button-down shirt, worn without a tie and the first two buttons undone, slouched open casually, revealing the tanned skin of his chest and a sprinkling of dark blond chest hair. Sorcha’s heart skipped a beat. How could a man be this handsome? If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was using spell craft. But she would have felt the irritating buzz if he had been. So all this was just Kiernan. A thick wave of hair fell over his eye. Fighting the urge to brush it back, Sorcha clasped her hands behind her.

No touching. They weren’t headed out on a date. This was part of the mission. Hands off the Warder, she told herself. Kiernan stood on the other side of the loft, still staring at her. He hadn’t said a word since she’d walked into the room. Sorcha thought she looked okay, but she was starting to get a little worried.

Kiernan finally spoke, after a long moment during which she fought the urge to fuss with her hair and tug on the hem of her dress.

“Come here, Sorcha,” he said, eyes intent on hers.

Unable to stop herself, she took the few steps that separated them, aware of a rising sense of danger. The expression on his face was nothing she’d seen before. Bordering on aggressive, it was hungry. Proprietary.

Despite her years in the field and her position as one of the Shadows’ most powerful empaths, Sorcha had the feeling she’d wandered in far over her head. This was unchartered territory. Trying to hide her unease, she stood before him, her eyes focused on the charcoal wool covering his broad shoulders. It seemed like the safest place to look. His burning eyes, the bared skin of his upper chest, his lush lips. None of those would help her keep her mind on the job.

Distracted, she jumped at the heat of his fingertips on the back of her neck. Heavy, cool metal draped across her skin, pulling tight to her neck. Curious, she drew back to see what Kiernan had in his hands. Thick, square links of solid gold spilled over his palm. A necklace. The precious metal gleaming in the light. Every link was polished to a high shine, connected by smaller squares of brushed gold, a round cabochon emerald set into each square. The necklace wasn’t flashy. Didn’t qualify as bling. But every man and woman who saw it around her neck would know the jewelry for what it was. A collar. A mark of ownership. Thrown, Sorcha didn’t react as Kiernan fastened the gold and emeralds around her neck. A matching bracelet wrapped her wrist. Then, a gentle touch to one ear, his knuckles brushing her skin.

“When did you get these?” she asked, her voice high and tight.
Please don’t say you already had them
. Knowing she was being stupid, Sorcha didn’t think she could stand wearing jewelry he’d bought for another woman.

“After we found the dress. I saw them while you were looking at shoes.”

Kiernan’s breath was hot against her cheek. He smelled like mint and man. Sorcha closed her eyes, absorbing the feel of him. Contradictory instinct told her to both step away and rest her weight on his chest. Confusion held her frozen. He fastened the other earring.

“They match your eyes,” he said, so close his lips grazed her cheek.

Lungs tight in her chest, Sorcha pulled back as soon as he released her earlobe. The tiny piece of flesh burned from his touch. “You can’t buy me jewelry,” she said, aware it was a stupid comment. Kiernan could do whatever he wanted to do. And what did it matter if he bought her jewelry? He’d bought everything she was wearing. Even her barely-there lace undies. Sorcha reminded herself that she was paying him back as soon as this was over, so it didn’t matter what he paid for. She could afford it. Resolved, she turned on her toes and strode for the elevator, giving thanks for the Tk that kept her from falling down. Wobbly knees and skyscraper heels were a terrible combination.

Kiernan followed her in silence, giving her space. His ability to read her mood was almost annoying. Ill at ease over her response to him, Sorcha found herself unable to settle down. Emotions swinging wildly, she wished for just a moment that she’d never gotten into this. If not for Caerwyn and the girls, she might have run home. Funny how the agony of Madoc’s spell crafted ink hadn’t sent her reeling, but a gift and a touch from Kiernan had her shaking to her bones.

Of course, he led her to the Maserati. Forgetting everything else for just a second, Sorcha itched to drive the sexy, elegant sports car. Surrounded by butter-soft anthracite leather, the glow of the dashboard illuminated crisp numbers and the distinctive Maserati trident symbol. Sorcha wanted to snatch the keys and take off, the powerful engine at her command. Had Kiernan been serious about giving her the car if they lived through the next few weeks? Aware that there was no way Kiernan was going to let her drive, especially not to an exclusive gentleman’s club, Sorcha settled back into the contoured seat of the passenger side and enjoyed the ride.

Faster than she’d expected, they slowed as they entered the valet loop of a sleek boutique hotel on the edge of downtown. Expecting Kiernan to pull into the entrance, Sorcha was surprised when he kept driving straight, peeling down a well-hidden, one lane road beneath the building. It looked like it might belong to a parking garage, yet no structure appeared. After a few hundred feet of dark, narrow passage, the car slowed before a set of heavy, wooden, deep red double doors. Covered in intricately swirled carvings, their pattern was sensual without depicting any identifiable scenes or figures.

A uniformed doorman stood in front of the closed doors, a valet at his side. Ahead, Sorcha just caught the taillights of another vehicle as it was driven away. Before she got her bearings, her door opened. The valet reached in to help her out of the car, but Kiernan got there first, smoothly blocking the valet from touching her. Giving the waiting valet the keys, Kiernan took her hand in a firm grip and guided her from the car.

As they approached the entrance, the doorman opened one side of the set of doors. The thumping beat of music drifted through. Kiernan leaned into the doorman and murmured something. Sorcha heard an answered, “Yes, sir,” before the door shut behind them.

His strong arm firmly around her waist, Kiernan led Sorcha down a hall papered in the same deep red as the front doors, and similarly patterned. Every few feet, black iron wall sconces shed dimly flickering light. Perversely, Sorcha found herself missing the feel of Kiernan’s bare palm on her back. She’d been anxious about it in this dress. And while his arm around her was nice, it lacked the heat and sense of connection she got when Kiernan touched her skin to skin.

Once again, Sorcha realized she was in over her head. She’d had a varied life so far, with the exception of the ten years she’d spent locked away in the unchanging Sanctuary. But she’d never been to a place like this. She didn’t have to leave the hallway to know she had no real idea what she was walking into. Her dress. The jewelry. Kiernan’s suit. The Maserati.

They reached the end of the hall. Sorcha caught a whiff of cigar smoke, the glare of a spotlight, the gleam of a body, before a bulky form blocked her view. Looking up, and up, she met the eyes of a tall, wide man in a dark suit. Indicating their direction with one hand, he said, “This way.”

Kiernan steered her behind the tall man with an arm around her waist. So they weren’t going into the club itself? She was a little disappointed. After the build-up of the secret entrance and the long, dark hallway, the thumping music and their expensive surroundings, Sorcha had wanted to see what it was really like. Why had they bothered to dress up when only the staff had seen them? Feeling a little disgruntled, she followed Kiernan’s lead as they approached an open elevator door. The interior was lit with a small crystal and gold chandelier; the walls were lined in black leather dimpled every few inches with dull brass tacks. What was with all the elevators? Did none of these guys use stairs?

The doors slid silently open onto yet another dark red hallway lined with flickering sconces. The tall, black-suited employee had left them on the lower level. Kiernan was apparently trusted enough to wander around unescorted. None of the men, aside from the valet for a brief moment, had so much as looked at her. Sorcha found their behavior odd. This was a gentleman’s club. Wasn’t looking at women the point? But the arm circling her waist made a clear statement. She wasn’t just a woman. Sorcha was Kiernan’s.

A few steps farther down the hall, Kiernan came to a stop in front of a nondescript black door on the left side of the hallway. A quick double knock with his knuckles and Kiernan opened it.

Inside, Sorcha was surprised to find an office. A huge, luxurious office, with a long black leather couch, a wide black-lacquered desk, and one wall, made entirely of glass, that looked down into the club below. It took Sorcha a moment to realize it was likely a huge two-way mirror. She only had a second to process the room before its occupant absorbed all of her attention. Of similar height and build to Kiernan, the man was Kiernan’s opposite in coloring. Pale skin, not unlike her own, but hair of a brown so dark it was almost black and eyes of the palest blue. He was strikingly handsome, with a high forehead, cheekbones like blades, and a straight, regal nose. Sensual lips curved into a smile as his eyes met hers.