Kiss at Your Own Risk (12 page)

Then he walked up to the door, braced his palms on it. The magical protection prickled at his palms. It was strong, powerful, but there was no pain when he touched it. It was white magic, not black. Since all his mutations were the result of black magic, he was powerful against black magic. Against white magic, the poor cousin? It was like putting out a match with a tsunami. Good luck to the match.

He heard the women murmuring behind him, and tension prickled down his back. Instinct told him to turn around, not to take his attention off them. Hah. He was so much tougher than that. Instead of doing the damaged-wimpy-male thing and turn around, he focused his fire into his palms. Heated the door until the wood was smoking, and he could feel the magical shield buzzing. He shifted the color of his flames from blue, infusing some tendrils of white to match the tenor of the magic that had been used. “
Hasta la vista
, baby.” He lifted his hands off the door, then slammed his palms against it.

The door incinerated instantly, and ash floated down around them. He grinned and stepped back. “Impressive, huh?”

Trinity set her hand on his back with a small sound of relief, then she rushed past him, not waiting for the ash to settle. He watched her go, his back still burning from the way she’d touched him. She’d said nothing, but that touch… yeah… that had said all he needed.

He tossed a grin at the other women, but they shoved past him, crowding the doorway to see inside the room. His smile faded at their lack of appreciation, and then he watched Trinity race toward her target. The sight of her reaching her goal was all the reward he needed, and he folded his arms over his chest to watch. Yeah, he was responsible for this, for getting her in there. He was the man.

In the corner, below a painting of Amazon warriors, a young woman was huddled, her knees pulled to her chest. Her head was down, her eyes were closed, and her aura was a muddy mix of crimson, black, and brown. A woman in bad, bad emotional shape.

He was suddenly glad that Trinity was going to help her. She might be female, but she was clearly a victim, and he had a thing for helping those who’d been jerked around by someone else. As Trinity fell to the carpet beside her, whispering gentle words of reassurance, he was struck by a memory. Of a woman kneeling beside him. Being kind. Her hands gently rubbing his back? His mother—

And then the memory was gone.

***

“Oh, thank heavens!” Trinity’s heart leapt when Cherise raised her head. “You’re alive.”

Cherise lifted a white linen napkin. “Mister Fancy just died.”

“Mister Fancy?” Trinity looked down and saw a rainbow colored fish cradled in the ivory cloth. “Your fish?” All this was about a
fish?
Not that she didn’t like scaly water-dwellers but dear Lord, she’d thought Cherise was dying.

Suddenly too exhausted to sit up, Trinity slumped against the wall next to Cherise and draped her arms over her knees. “A fish,” she repeated wearily. Her dad was in danger of dying. She had a witch to kill, a hot guy to hate, and she was here on account of a fish?

“My fish.” Cherise leaned her head back against the wall. “It’s over. It’s done. I don’t know what to do.”

“About what?” Trinity looked up as Reina and her boss, Elise Parsons, slipped into the conference room. Elise’s auburn hair was in a tight bun, as always, and her blue eyes were worried.

Elise had opened the Jamboree five years ago after she’d left her sex-addicted husband (who was, unfortunately, addicted to sex only with females to whom he wasn’t married. Females of all sorts… ahem…). After getting hammered by people who tried to convince her it was a mistake to leave the only man who was big enough to make a six foot four woman like her feel petite and girly (you know, the same helpful souls who liked to point out that if she kicked him out, the only sex she’d ever get again would involve mail-order appliances) she’d decided that women who took control of their lives needed a champion, and the Jamboree was formed.

And yes, there was a Friday night class once a month on appliances. Nothing wrong with self-love when the mood strikes.

Reina sat in a nearby chair, and Elise knelt beside Trinity, her long legs elegant in her narrow, black skirt. “Your friend did a nice job on the door, Trinity.” She let the question hang in the air as to what exactly Trinity had been thinking bringing a man with her, but she didn’t press it. That would be for later, when Cherise was no longer on the edge of whatever precipice she was about to leap off of.

As for Trinity’s friend? That wasn’t exactly how she would have described Blaine. More like an unfairly hot, arrogant jerk who was going to either save her soul or make it implode. Trinity peeked over her shoulder and saw Blaine standing in the doorway. He had an odd look on his face, as if he were confused. Like he’d just seen something he wasn’t sure about. Something that had bothered him. She started to rise to her feet to go to him, to see what was wrong.

Cherise let out small a moan. “It’s Damian.”

“Your fiancé?” Trinity looked sharply at Cherise and sat back down. Damian was a much bigger problem than Mister Fancy. If Damian was the issue, then she was very, very glad she’d come. “I mean,
ex-
fiancé?”

Last she’d heard, Damian was in “ex” status, and they’d all been so hopeful that Cherise would be strong enough to stay away from him before he broke her.

Sometimes seeing the clients at the Jamboree continuing to go back to the men who treated them so badly almost made Trinity want to hand them her curse, just for the night, just to get them free.

Almost.

Cherise nodded. “He came over last night. He’d been out chasing foxes with his friends, and you know what he and the boys are like when they do the werewolf thing. The women, the drinking, and the farm animals.”

“Feeding on raw steak before he went out didn’t curb the need to eat sheep?” It had been quite interesting hearing all the women’s suggestions on how to successfully date a werewolf, but loading up Damian’s stomach had seemed like the best choice. Indulging his furry fantasies had evoked a resounding “No” from most of the women, though not all.

“It didn’t work. He still had wool in his teeth. I couldn’t make love to him. He had bone fragments and wool in his incisors, you know?”

Blaine raised his brows, and Trinity felt her cheeks heat up. It was one thing to discuss sex openly with the girls, but it felt different with Blaine listening. Especially when she could still feel his hands on her naked body when he’d plucked her away from Thor-the-Kidnapper, the way his palms had slid over her oil-slicked skin—

Ahem.

“Yeah, sheep remnants would be a major mood killer,” Trinity agreed, trying to focus on the conversation. Maybe dating a werewolf would help with her murderous tendencies. She’d always had an aversion to guys with hairy backs. A guy who had hair over every body part might be perfect for her.

She glanced over at Blaine again. Sort of wondered how hairy his chest was. Would he be smooth and bare, with just warm, lush skin taut over his muscle? Or would there be that curly dark hair, weaving a path downward toward his—

“So, anyway, when I kicked him out of my bed,” Cherise continued, “he got all pissed and started howling about his animalistic need for sex. You know, the whole ‘guys can’t live without it’ and stuff? How, as a dominant male, he’s naturally programmed to need to spread his seed and everything.”

“Yeah.” Trinity had to admit, on some levels, that it didn’t sound so bad. Having a man not be able to live without her? A real relationship, with commitment, bonding, and even too much sex? What if a man like Blaine couldn’t get enough of her body? Those shoulders, his biceps, that strong jaw. All day long, getting naked and sweaty? That hard-core male body wrapped around her—

Reina kicked her. “You’re staring at him,” she whispered. “Close your mouth.”

Trinity instantly averted her gaze from the way his jeans sat on his narrow hips, and tried to concentrate on Cherise.

“So when Damian stared to tear up my favorite pillow—like that’s going to make me want him—I got a rolled-up magazine and smacked his nose, like it said to do in this new
Fix the Problem Dog
book, and did it work? No! He growled at me, then he ran into my office and started eating my fish!”

Trinity suddenly understood what Cherise was saying. Cherise, the world renowned fish geneticist who had spawned seventeen new species of fish in the last eight years, had pet swimmers all over her house, but the ones in her office were a completely different story. “Your work fish? The new breeds you’re developing?”

“Yes! In one stupid, hairy moment, Damian set me back a year on my research. What kind of man eats your fish when you won’t sleep with him?”

“Werewolves, apparently.” Reina moved off the chair to sit beside Cherise. “Men who act like dogs are one thing, but guys who actually are canines are notoriously difficult to keep indoors. They’re best off chained up outside under the stars when you’re not using them.”

Trinity raised her brows. “Chaining him up? Isn’t that a little bit harsh? I mean, he is a man sometimes.”

“Oh, my sweet black widow, being chained up is one of the joyous pleasures of being in an intimate relationship.” Reina leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Have you never done the handcuff thing?”

Trinity rolled her eyes. “Are you kidding? The last thing I need is a guy getting more defenseless around me.”

Reina raised her brows. “What about
you
being handcuffed?”

“Me?” Something pulsed deep in her belly at the thought of being restrained during sex. So she could enjoy herself and not worry at all that she could hurt the guy? She glanced at Blaine, and his eyes were nearly black, and his jeans were getting a little tight. “I never thought of being handcuffed,” she managed. “But I can see the benefits.” Amen to that, sistah!

One of his eyebrows went up, and his eyes got even darker.

“Hello?” Cherise waved her hand, and Trinity jerked her gaze off Blaine.

Good heavens! What was her problem? “Sorry, Cherise.” She could still feel Blaine’s gaze on her, and she fought not to look at him. But her shirt was suddenly itchy, and her bra felt too tight over her breasts.

“We’re talking about me right now, thank you very much.” Cherise glared at Reina. “I can’t believe you want me to chain Damian like he’s some husky.”

“I don’t date werewolves, so I’ve never been in your situation,” Reina said. “But if I did, and he started playing the pooch card as an excuse, I’d throw it back in his face and treat him like the dog he wants to be.”

“It’s a little late for that!” Cherise held up Mister Fancy. “I just got an offer to sell him for almost a million dollars. I was in the middle of negotiating it and then Damian ate him. Ate him!”

“Cherise.” Trinity took her hand and squeezed gently. “You need to start really thinking about whether he’s right for you. I mean, eating your research isn’t a great thing to do, regardless of what form he was in when he did it.”

Tears filled Cherise’s eyes. “I know, but he’s so cute when he gives me those puppy dog eyes and wags his really nice butt—”

“Cherise.” Elise finally spoke up. As always, she was letting her minions handle their own clients, and Trinity appreciated that. “Dating the wrong man is just trouble. We can’t all be like Trinity and kill them off when they hurt us—”

Trinity stiffened. “I didn’t mean to kill Barry—”

Elise waved her off. “You’re a wonderful example of taking control. We all admire you.”

Trinity’s gut tightened. Barry was as far from taking control as could be. He was the moment when she’d lost complete and total control.

Elise turned to Cherise. “If Trinity can be strong enough to kill the man she loved, surely you can find the strength to take out the doggie door. Then at least he’ll have to shift back to human form to get inside.”

Trinity shook her head. “I told you, I didn’t kill Barry on purpose—”

Elise shot her a sharp glare. “Try and be helpful.”

Trinity snapped her mouth shut. Yeah, Elise reminded her far too often that her greatest value at the Jamboree was to be that shining example of standing up for herself. Elise knew the truth about the curse, but she blew it off. She believed her job was to empower the women who came to them for help dealing with the vampires, werewolves, incubi, and other beastly men who were ruining their lives, and using Trinity as an example of getting out of a bad relationship was what she was going to do. If Trinity didn’t like it, she could get over her holier-than-thou attitude and get on board with being a liar for the greater good.

For Trinity, the rush out of helping others was worth the guilt over lying about her past, and Elise knew that all too well.

Cherise sighed. “But I love Damian—”

“You’re a city girl who waxes her entire body except for her eyebrows because you don’t like hair. Not a fit for a man who sheds and has to go on twenty-mile hunts at night.” Trinity set her hand on Cherise’s arm. “Damian’s trying to be the man he knows you want him to be, but he can’t do it. He’s a werewolf, not a Lhasa Apso. He needs his freedom, and if you don’t let him go, he’s going to keep eating your furniture, and maybe you.”

Cherise leaned forward, and her eyes sparkled. “But I like that part,” she whispered. “The fact that he might snap and bite me someday. I kinda like the danger.”

“Well, that’s easy.” Reina said. “There’s a lot of men who are inches away from killing you, who would fit in with fine china and an indoor lifestyle. Men who don’t shed.”

Cherise gave them a skeptical look. “Like who? A bad boy biker? That’s so cliché.”

Trinity couldn’t help but slide another look toward Blaine. He was leaning against the wall, arms folded over his chest, as he studied an angel tapestry. With his dark hair, his bulk, that motorcycle, and his fire thing… he was bad boy all the way.

Yeah, she could see the appeal of guys who were a little bit dangerous…

“How about demons?” Reina suggested. “They aren’t hairy.”

Cherise rolled her eyes. “They smell like sulfur when they get turned on. Gross.”