Deceiver's Bond: Book Two of A Clairvoyant's Complicated Life (26 page)

Once again, he wore his amused expression, which now had me wondering whether it was the one he used exclusively when conversing with insipid, weak-minded women.

Standing here for a reason, Lire?

I glanced down at the forgotten measuring tape, dangling from my right hand. “Oh. Right.”

Deciding distance was the better part of valor, I used my mind to manipulate the tape while I jotted down each measurement. Red was pleased to see me using my TK and commented that it would help my control. I did my best not to grumble.

For his part, Kieran seemed to take everything in stride and hardly flinched when I asked him to remove his belt. There was a metal ornament at one side that I couldn’t get around with the tape. When we were all done, I issued an audible sigh of relief.

“Okay, let me make a quick call. Here’s the remote for the television. Red can show you how to pick something to watch.” I shoved the remote into his hand and escaped to the kitchen with my lukewarm cup of coffee. I gulped it down anyway.

I called my good friend Claude. Not only was his taste in clothing impeccable but he also worked at Mario’s downtown.

“Lire, I have missed you of late.” His French accented voice purred through my phone’s receiver. “When do you plan to make time for me? You missed our last
soirée
. I have yet to prepare for you the much adored chocolate martini.”

I laughed. “I know. I heard all about it from Duran. Next time, I promise. Hey, I was hoping you could do me a huge favor. Are you working tomorrow?”

”
Oui
, until five, but after I am yours. Anything,
ma chérie
. What do you need?”

I leaned my left hip against my kitchen’s built-in desk and stared absently at the pile of unsorted mail at my fingertips, remembering at the last second not to touch it without gloves. “Actually, I have a guest who needs clothes. It’s a long story, but he’s only got what he’s wearing. Can you put something together for me? I’ll give you my card number. If you could bring the stuff over when you get off work tomorrow, that would be great.”

He clicked his tongue. “
Chérie
, from you I hear things most
fantastiques
. Yes, of course I will help.
Un homme
, you say? How old is he? What of his hair color?”

“Yes, a man.”
Of sorts.
“He’s, uh, well he looks early thirties, maybe. Long black hair. Lean athletic build. Tall.”

”
Bon
. Tell me his needs.”

“A wardrobe to last at least a week. Mostly casual—jeans and maybe a couple pairs of khakis. Wash and wear if you can manage. And, Claude, contemporary and chic is fine, but don’t go overboard.” I lowered my voice. “I’m not worried about the money. This guy’s already hotter than an Armani suit. I’ve had enough attention. I don’t want him standing out in a crowd any more than he already does.
Tu sais ce que je veux dire?
”

“Oh,
mon amie
, we have much to discuss,” he said conspiratorially before adding, “
Oui
, I understand. Chic. Nothing flashy. I will do my best, of course.”

“That’s why I called you.” I added, “Oh, and make it psi-free if you can. I’ll be the one doing the laundry.”

”
Bien sûr
.”

“I’ll text you his measurements in a bit. He’ll need socks and shoes.” I sighed. “And … boxers or something. I’ll have to measure his boots. The stuff he’s wearing is handmade. He doesn’t know his American sizes. I’m sorry, Claude. I know this sounds totally crazy.”

“Think nothing of it. Tomorrow, I will ring you with the final amount.”

“Okay. I’ll give you my card number when you call.
Merci beaucoup.
Have a nice evening, Claude.”

After clicking off, I turned around and immediately ran into Kieran. I gasped and pressed my hand to my chest. How long had he been standing there?

He looked far from happy. “I need not accompany you in public if you are so embarrassed to be seen with me,” he growled.

“Embarrassed? What are you—?” I frowned. “I told you, I think your tunic is beautiful. I was being honest. And I wouldn’t be embarrassed to be seen with you wearing it. It’s just … it’s not the style here and with my troubles lately, I don’t want to draw more attention to myself than necessary.”

“That is not what you said to this …
Claude
. You claim I’d stand out in a crowd regardless, even in a … Moni suit?”

“Moni?” I frowned before realization dawned on me. “Not Moni.
Armani
. But I never suggested—” I stopped short when I remembered what I’d said to Claude about the Armani suit.

Good Lord. How do I end up in these ridiculous situations?

“Didn’t your mother teach you not to eavesdrop?” Cheeks burning, I forced myself to hold his gaze, refusing to feel as though I’d been caught passing love notes in history class. “It was a compliment, not an insult. All I was saying to Claude is that I don’t want him dressing you like a runway model, otherwise we’d never be able to walk anywhere without drawing the stares of every woman—and probably a few men—in a fifty mile radius.”

He frowned, obviously trying to puzzle this out.

“If you want more of an explanation, you can go ask Red. I … have cookies to make.”

Ignoring his perplexed and still somewhat angry expression, I escaped to the laundry room to retrieve my stand mixer. I still had to figure out his shoe size and text Claude, but I wasn’t about to ask Kieran for anything right now. Maybe he could get by with the boots he was wearing. They didn’t stand out as much as his elaborate tunic and leggings.

Kieran was leaning against the counter nearest the coffee maker when I came back with the mixer, sipping from the mug I’d set aside for him.

He pointed out, voice tight, “I do not eavesdrop. You offered coffee. I came in to prepare a cup.”

“Fine. My mistake.” I gave him the briefest of glances before fetching my recipe box. “When you’re done with your coffee, I’d appreciate it if you could measure the length and width of your boots. Then I can text Claude with all your measurements.”

I removed the bright-yellow cloth measuring tape from my pocket and tossed it onto the countertop next to him.

He narrowed his eyes. “This … Claude. Is he another of your lovers?”

Lovers …
plural
?

And—as if that wasn’t aggravating enough—he had the gall to stress the word ‘another.’ All while sounding so superior.

I slammed down the recipe box.
“Not that it’s any of your damned business, but I have exactly one boyfriend. Vince. The man your bitch of a partner abducted.”

“Then you have incurred a debt on my behalf.”

“Just what kind of debt do you think I’ve incurred?” Certain that I didn’t want to know, I just folded my arms and added for clarity, “Claude is a good friend. He’s a talented warlock, lives here in the building, and also happens to work at a high-end clothing store. I’ve never asked him about it, but he’ll probably get a commission on my sale. And even if he doesn’t get a commission, he’d do this for me anyway because we care about each other. We’re friends. Friends help each other.”

He nodded stiffly and replied, “Of course.” I thought he might say something more, but he reconsidered. He drank from his mug instead, dark eyes considering me.

I flicked open my recipe box and jerked through each card until I found my quarry—oatmeal chocolate chip.

The nerve of this guy. Was he trying to make himself feel better about Vince’s abduction? As though Vince was just one of many lovers who I could afford to do without? Or was he a misogynist SOB? It was just fine for a male sidhe to go out and indulge in having as many partners as possible, but God forbid a woman might do the same.

I slapped the recipe card down on the countertop and closed the box’s lid hard enough to elicit a bang that echoed through the kitchen.

“I have made you angry.”

“Yes.” I glared at him. “Slut-shaming pisses me off.”

He looked bewildered. “I did not accuse you of being promiscuous, I simply wish to know the nature of your relationship in order to determine whether a debt is being incurred on my account.”

“You asked me whether Claude was
another of my lovers
. Your tone made it pretty darn clear what you think.”

He put his mug down on the counter, his jaw tight. “If the half-breed was so important to you, why did you not bond?”

“Stop calling him that,” I snapped. “His name is Vince. And there you go with the ‘bonded’ stuff again. What are you asking? Are you asking me why we’re not married?”

He nodded dubiously.

“Because we just met a month ago. He was one of the detectives assigned to the Circle Murders case. And before you even think to ask, no, I did not jump into bed with him at my
earliest convenience
as you seem to think all us insipid, weak-minded women do.” I threw up my hands. “Why am I even bothering to justify myself to you? Why should I even care what you think?” I turned to face my kitchen island and gripped the edge of the counter.

He answered, sounding almost astonished, “I don’t know. It seems I’ve given you ample reason to despise me.”

“Yes,” I forced out between tight lips, “You have.”

“And yet, you would offer me shelter, food, and clothing. Why?”

“I don’t know,” I blurted, before pacing in front of my kitchen island and ranting, “Because I’m an idiot. Because Michael asked me to. Because I’d feel guilty knowing you were sleeping on the floor. Because I know how I’d feel if I were stranded somewhere with just the clothes on my back and not a friend in the world. Because, even though you’ve been a complete
jerk
, there’s something about you that seems honorable. I’d hoped by showing you that I’m not petty and vindictive and worthy of your respect, you might do the right thing and help me get Vince back.” I stopped, breathing hard, and glared at him. “That’s why.”

He regarded me for a tick, eyebrows raised, apparently stunned by my tirade.

Real smooth. Give him more reason to think you’re an over-excitable dimwit.

He spread his hands. “Returning Vince to you is an obligation I cannot meet, regardless of my deference to you. I’d be negligent if I allowed my service and regard to provide you false hope.” He stepped closer. “Maeve and your lover will bond. I am powerless to halt or alter this eventuality. If your hospitality is contingent upon such aid, I cannot, in good conscience, continue in your service or allow you to incur debt on my behalf.”

“You act as though their bonding is a done deal. But it’s a joining of their souls, which means it has to be mutual. Vince has to allow it. So how can you be so sure it will happen? She can’t force him, not even with glamour.”

“She will not need to.”

“Vince cares for me. He’s not going to dump me just because she’s beautiful and wants to sleep with him.” I sounded unsure.
Great
.

“His feelings for you are immaterial. You are not sidhe. Even among my kind, there are few unbonded men who would resist her charms once bestowed.”

“And how is that not by force?”

“Because her lovers go to her willingly.”

“When someone can’t resist, it sure doesn’t sound willing to me.”

He looked at me as though I were an obstinate child. “I have no wish to hurt you. It may be that you will not believe until you hear confirmation from your lover’s own lips. Until that time, you have my service, however meager. But if you wish me to depart, I’ll do so without rancor.”

His incessant formality and constant worry about debts and obligations set my teeth on edge. I didn’t want these complications. I just wanted Vince home. I wanted to feel his strong hands holding me. Most of all, I wanted him to love me. Demonstrably. Unequivocally.

I turned my back on him, wilting against the counter. “I appreciate your honesty,” I forced out, although I’m not sure my voice sounded convincing. “Please … stay. Even if there’s nothing you can do about Vince, I wouldn’t feel good about sending you away.”

“Thank you.” His words were tentatively spoken, as if there was more to say. After a moment, he added, “I don’t feel additional shoes are necessary, but I’ll provide you with the measurements.”

I nodded. “I left my notes on my desk. Just write the numbers there. Make sure you’re using inches, not centimeters.”

Behind me, I heard the scraping of chair legs against my maple floor and imagined him sitting down to measure the bottom of his boots. He was probably sitting in Vince’s chair again.

One step at a time, Lire.

I focused on my task, making Claude’s cookies. When Kieran left the room, my churning mixer covered the sound of his footsteps.

Somehow I made it through the rest of the evening without burning the cookies or stepping on any verbal landmines—a feat, considering how fried my brain felt. Having Red on hand to help direct the conversation helped. By the time I made my way upstairs after setting up the couch for Kieran, I was both mentally and physically exhausted.

If Paimon decided to visit my dreams, I could only pray I’d be capable of rational thought.