Disenchanted (5 page)

The tingles turn to a slow caress as his lips curl upward and he nods, lifting his drink in my direction. Breathing becomes less automatic. I have to remind myself in and out as the walls begin to crush. This has gone past the creeping me out stage moving on to scared stiff. Why do I want him when it’s beyond obvious that something isn’t right with the whole situation? I mean, shit, besides the fact that he has beautiful hair what do I know about him? I don’t know if Dara’s claws digging into me, the chorus of my name repeated, or him breaking eye contact brings me back to the real world. Doesn’t matter, I’m just glad to be back.

“Geez, Keely, way to pay attention,” says Rey. “What could have been more interesting than us?”

“They are.” Nyssa points toward Brand and his companion then fans herself. “I’d say they are way more interesting than us. So hot.”

She’s right, they are both damn good looking. Brand’s friend is the photo negative of golden boy. With midnight hair and pale skin, he’s a male Snow White in the form of a döckâlfar. He’s far from dainty, or even wiry like Brand, a strange combination of pretty and muscle. Visions of the
dog
with Brand outside my window flash and I wonder if they are one and the same.

A slow creeping itch rides the surface of my skin, their chemistry pulling more than my attention toward them. Damn elves, I wish they’d dial back the sexual attraction. With as gorgeous as they are, they don’t need to amp it up. Practically any woman in here would take them home, hate to admit it, myself included.

Rey snorts, “Sure, if all you want is eye candy. Why bother when you have me?”

“Oh sweetie, that’s like comparing
Hershey’s
with
Godiva
.
”

“Everybody likes a
Hershey
bar.”

Nyssa rolls her eyes. “Uh...yeah right...like anyone would pick that over fine chocolate?”

“I would,” says Jenny. “I like
Hershey
bars.”

“See?” Rey slips an arm around Jenny. “Thanks, darlin’.”

“And
Godiva
is too expensive.”

Nyssa laughs, slapping her hand against the table and Rey drops his arm.

“What?” The look on Jenny’s face is beyond priceless.

I shake my head. “Do yourself a favor Jen, let it go.”

“But...”

“Seriously, they aren’t making fun of you. It’s just the two of them playing with sexual innuendos.”

“Oh, oh!”

Sometimes I can’t believe she’s that naïve. I mean really, in this day and age is it possible for anyone of her age to be that innocent?

“This next set is for my stylist and her crew,” announces the DJ as the first strains of a song from my favorite band blare from the speakers.

A spotlight swings toward our table and we shield our eyes and wave. Damn, this is turning into a regular town celebration not to mention some awesome free advertising.

A path clears and I’m feeling the whole celebrity vibe as we enter the dance floor to a flood of applause and cheers. Little flashes twinkle around us as cell phone cameras snap unflattering pictures. I mean really, those things are not only an annoyance, but take the worst photos ever. I’d rather a phone do what it’s meant to do, make and receive calls.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you The Meadow’s one and only four and a half star salon, Fey Creations,” he announces before cranking the volume.

The adoration fades into the beat of the music. We’re all, but forgotten in a sea of gyrating bodies. There’s nothing left to do, but run for the hills, or join. I choose join. Even Dara’s mood lifts as our little group lets the music move us. Reminiscent of high school, small groups of girls dancing together—the only exceptions, we have a boy, and he and two of the girls never went to high school.

One song slides into another and I find myself face to face with Ric Brand. He slips his hands around my waist so smoothly, I barely notice until I feel the gentle pressure of him guiding my hips in time with the music.

It’s one of those songs that’s slow and yet up–tempo. Sensual, like my partner. All the lust I felt while cutting his hair comes flaring back. The feel of his chest under my hands. The music throbbing through me. Our bodies moving as one. Is this heaven? No, just The Meadows.

Eyes closed, I feel a finger lift my chin and his lips brush against mine. That finger moves along my jaw line until all his fingers slide behind my neck twining in my hair. There is a searing flash of light behind my eyelids and the heat of a ninety–degree day against my flesh, the smooth sweetness of honey on my lips. A path of warmth follows his lips as they trace along my jaw to my ear, gently grasping the lobe.

“My immaculate dream,” he whispers, before sliding down my neck, pausing at the pulse point, his hand massaging the back of my neck. The other hand slides from my hip, resting on my lower back, pulling me against him.

Not that my body needs any help, or encouragement. What’s not to like? He’s a good dancer, sexy and knows the words to one of my favorite songs.

My blood throbs, pushing away all thought, leaving only sensation. His lips move back to mine, crushing, insistent, his tongue like candy invading my mouth. The hand at my neck slides upward, cradling the back of my head. His other hand moves lower, persuasively crushing me against him.

My hands rest on the sides of his face, my lips devouring his. His hand and hips, guiding mine to the beat of the music. I so want to take this off the dance floor, right back to my place.

The fluttering in my stomach becomes a chunk of lead and the hair on my neck stands up with something other than desire. All the heat built up between us turns to ice as something sharp and pointy grazes my bottom lip.
What in Hel’s Realm
? So much for wanting to take him home.

The music changes as fast as my mood, from slow and sensual to loud and chaotic. I give him a push. His confusion the last thing I see as I shove my way through the bump and grinders. Pressing palms against temples as his voice invades my brain, questioning, pleading. I hustle to the exit—not bothering to apologize as my elbows connect—lowering my hands only to open the door, stumbling into the warm stillness of the night.

CHAPTER SEVEN

I know the secret he and Dara share. I should have figured it out long before the feeling of fangs on flesh. He’s been mesmerizing me. The desire. The attraction. The need to touch him. Not just tonight, but also at the salon and even my dreams.

If my own heart hadn’t been beating so damn hard I would have noticed the lack of his. I could have sworn I’d felt his beating as hard as mine. And speaking of hard. Sweat breaks out on my upper lip. I can still feel him pressed against me.

My body does a little shimmy as I recalled the trail of warmth left by his lips and hands. How is this possible? Another mind game? Dara’s hands are always chilled unless she’s fed recently. Maybe that’s it. He had a snack before I had contact with him. Probably the strangest is his ability to be out in the sun. Sure, he wore those dark glasses and kept his skin covered.

The thing that bothers me most is the how I felt. Not the kiss, but what broke that kiss. A swirling mix of pleasure and pain rides me as my tongue touches where his fang grazed my lip. I sway as a wave of dizziness hits me and I end up back against the wall concentrating on breathing. My tongue digs at the tiny nick as the pressure builds, throbbing between my thighs. Each movement torturous blend of pleasure and pain as cloth rubs against overly sensitive nerve endings. Pulling my lip between my teeth I bite down and end up on the ground huddled against the wall.

“Miss Fey, are you alright?”

A perfectly legitimate question considering I’m sitting on the sidewalk panting like a dog in heat. I nod, even though it’s clear I’m not.

Through a pre–orgasmic haze, I see a pair of black boots. Topping off those boots are jean clad legs, long legs, my eyes, of course, lingering inappropriately at what tops them. Swallowing I continue the journey, wishing a few more buttons were undone revealing the promise of rock hard abs. Skin as pale as mine—minus the slight greyish hue—peaks out above the open collar. Shaggy black hair frames a face lovely despite its ruggedness and eyes that match the deep blue of his shirt. Brand’s companion.

I can’t really wrap myself around the why of it, but those eyes and the curl of his lips hold a hint of disdain. Maybe he senses what’s wrong with me, or he’s upset because I ran out on his friend. Either way it would be rude of me not to take the offered hand. That and I need some help standing.

There’s a sharp intake of breath from both of us as a winter dry shock snaps when his hand wraps around mine. He pulls me up with enough force that I slam against his chest. Bracing electricity tingles through the thin fabric of my shirt and I see lust in those beautiful bedroom eyes as my nipples tighten.

Stern lips hover so close they draw me like a magnet and I brush mine against them. From flurries to blizzard, a low guttural growl deep in his throat as he sandwiches me between him and the wall. His hands braced on either side of my head, lips greedily consuming mine, icy cool, the first snowflakes of winter on the tongue.

One hand grips his hair pulling, his lips closer. The other meanders down a well-defined chest and around a firm waist, until it holds a muscular cheek in its grasp. That seems the invitation he needs to show me how much he likes it, like the battering ram against my stomach isn’t enough indication.

He pushes off the wall, grasping my arms to keep me from ending up back on the ground. I realize the pounding in my ears isn’t my pulse, but a techno beat, when the door swings shut and a group of partiers giggle as they pass us.

“Get a room,” one tosses over his shoulder, followed by his girlfriend proclaiming him jealous.

“Perhaps I should escort you home.”

A cruel chill wraps itself around me, no longer the tantalizing thrill of winter’s first touch, but the harsh reality of its dangers.

I nod, unable, or maybe unwilling to speak. Luckily, he keeps hold of my arm as I turn toward home. Knees of jelly do not good balance make.

“It’s only a couple of blocks.”

He nods. Maybe it’s his turn to be unable, or unwilling to speak. Guilt? He has nothing to feel guilty about, I’m the sleaze kissing two complete strangers tonight. Two very hot—well, one was hot, the other icy cool—strangers. Talk about polar opposites.

It’s a struggle, but I manage to keep from laughing when we come to the corner. School crossing guards come to mind as he bars me from crossing, looks both ways, then motions it’s safe.

He finally releases the death grip on my arm at the door leading to my apartment. There’s the slightest twist to his lips and that hint of aversion is back in his eyes as I fumble for my keys. He waits long enough for me to unlock the door and step inside, then turns and leaves. You’d think a girl you whose throat you just stuck your tongue down would at least rate a goodbye.

The protective wards prickle across my skin as I flip the locks. The big bad world is still out there, even in small town Iowa. Twenty years ago, I might not have given the locks a second thought, but not in today’s age. Why leave an open invitation? Even if I did forget, the wards would let me know if anyone not on the list entered, with something more than that minor prickling. My private space is invitation only.

Shadows cast by streetlights shining through the tiny window lengthened and twist along the walls of the narrow staircase. Ankle high lights illuminate the treads adding an eerie glow to the already horror movie–esque feel.

This is my home, my safe haven. The heavy revolving lump in my stomach should not be there. My feet shouldn’t be wavering between darting up the stairs, or back outside.

Gripping the handrail I pull myself onto the first step then another. My attempt at a calm, steady gait fleeting like the light the higher I go. I do a little hop, skip as the shadows reach further along the walls and steps. Feather light and slick, something briefly wraps around my bare arm. Shadows move. They’re supposed to move when they are cast by moving objects, namely me. They don’t reach out and touch you.

Deep breaths, meant to be calming become panting as I take the stairs two at a time, reaching my apartment in record time. Shaking fingers fumble the keys and my head smacks the door when I retrieve them. Finally, I manage to insert the key and turn both it and the knob. Stumbling inside I slam the door and lean against it shaking so hard it rattles against the frame. C.C. sits directly in front of me, eyes narrowed, ears back, tail twitching, staring.

“Yeah, I know,” I say, between breaths, “I should have turned on the hall light.”

I’ve never had to use it because of fear of the dark. I touch my forearm and the shaking intensifies. I’m not afraid of the dark, but what lurks in the dark is another story. Like shadows that reach out and touch you.

CHAPTER EIGHT

There’s nothing worse than the phone’s shrill ring ripping you out of bed. Except, maybe, an idiot banging on the door.

“Hello.” A little breathless after searching and finding the phone wedged under the chair cushion. Why is it you can never find it when you need to?