Kiss at Your Own Risk (24 page)

Reina nodded. “Smart decision. I wish I could take you with me, but I can take only dead souls. Jarvis’s car is outside—”

“No time. I’ll call my mom.” Trinity hurried over to the potted palm she’d been careful not to touch when she’d arrived. She grabbed a branch and brought it to her mouth. “Mom,” she whispered. “You there?”

Reina linked her arm through Trinity’s.

“Trinity!” Olivia’s frantic voice crackled through the plant, like a bad cell phone connection. “Are you okay? I was so worried when my kidnapper was reported dead! Did you kill him?”

Blaine turned sharply at the sound of her mother’s voice. “Everything okay, Trin?”

“Get us out of here, now!” Trinity whispered.

Blaine swore and charged her. “Don’t you dare—”

“Blaine.” Trinity reached out for his hands even as she began to disappear. “I swear to you, I’ll be back. I’m not abandoning you—”

And then they were gone.

And she had no idea if he’d heard her.

And if he had, would his past allow him to believe her?

Blaine stared in disbelief as the ticket to Christian’s survival shot him a sympathetic smile and then blinked out of sight. “You have got to be kidding.”

He sprinted across the room and passed his hand through the air where the girls had been. Nothing. Just empty space. She wasn’t using a cloaking spell.

She’d actually ditched him.

Unbelievable. He’d trusted her, and she’d bailed. She’d sat there, looked his dying friend in the eyes, and sworn she wouldn’t betray them. That she would save him.

And she’d been lying. Just like his mother had.

Déjà vu party at the bar, guys.

Anger surged inside him and he whirled around. Turbulent black smoke billowed from his pores, so thick he could barely see as he strode back across the room. Blaine set himself on fire, and let the flames reach up toward his beautiful ceiling. Charred marks immediately marred the crown molding. Shit. How could he let Trinity’s actions affect his control like that? He immediately pulled the heat back just enough that it didn’t touch anything that mattered to him. “Sprinklers,” he commanded. No freaking waterfall was going to ruin his place.

Nigel unleashed a dozen tiny blades, and they lodged in all the sprinkler heads. “Disabled.”

“Where is she?” Jarvis was looking at the couch where the women had been sitting. “She go to the bathroom to fix her makeup? Angelica’s almost here.”

“She left.” Blaine felt the pain knife in his chest, and he shut it down. Trinity Harpswell no longer counted as a human being.

Jarvis swore and let his sword drop to his side. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. We’re going solo.”

Jarvis fisted his sword and glanced out the window. “You insane? We’ll be in chains in the Vessel of Pain within minutes.”

“We’re not on Angelica’s turf. We can take her.”

Nigel walked back toward the balcony. Palms smoking. Daggers out. “You slept with Trinity, didn’t you?”

Blaine stood beside him and fed more power into the flames. “Yeah.”

“Worth it?”

Blaine looked across the skyline and thought of Christian. “Not so much.”

Jarvis strode up beside him. “Are you really thinking of taking on the Queen of Torture?”

“No.” Blaine knew they couldn’t kill her, and the fact he was pissed beyond reason wasn’t going to affect his battle senses. “We trap her, then we go find the black widow and bring her back to finish the job.” And when he found Trinity Harpswell, she was going to see exactly how ruthless he’d been taught to be.

Nigel swore. “And yeah, that’s gonna be a piece of cake to immobilize a level ten black witch who pretty much controls every cell in our bodies. Hell, you won’t even need me. Might as well go paint.”

“Oh, come on. It’ll be fun—” Blaine tensed as the patio chairs began to bend, as if someone was melting them. Son of a bitch. “I know for an absolute fact that I ordered the graphite ones, not the stainless steel—”

The chairs leapt into the air and attacked. The glider hit him square in the gut, and he swore as the rocker sliced through his shoulder. “I’m demanding my money back on these suckers.”

The two side tables got into the action, and he had to set aside the dissatisfied customer complaints for later, along with the “find Trinity Harpswell and make her pay” plan. But as soon as the patio furniture was contained—

And then he heard a high-pitched yapping.

“Oh, come on,” Jarvis said. “Not Lassie.”

But it was the dogs. Again.

***

“You know, it would be really nice to have another cross-stitcher in the family. That was always a great sadness of mine, that you didn’t inherit my creative gene.” Trinity’s mom was peering at an enormous tapestry in the gilded foyer of Death’s McMansion. “You have no appreciation of how beautiful this is, do you? It must have taken years.”

Trinity was pacing the lobby restlessly, waiting for Reina to return from tracking down Death. As expected, Trinity’s mom was delighted at the prospect of saving her husband without sacrificing her daughter’s soul. Making a deal with Death? A brilliant idea.

With great glee, she’d transported the three of them to the Castle of Extreme Opulence that Death had called home ever since he’d made his first big contract after taking over the job from the Grim Reaper. Reina had gone off in search of Death. (She’d recommended that they
not
wander around the halls just in case Death was in one of his moods, whatever that meant.)

Trinity had never been in the McMansion before, and normally she’d be sort of curious to check out the lair of the most powerful being in existence (at least from some perspectives), but now? Not so much.

She was actually feeling a little cranky. Must be that massive guilt complex at leaving Blaine behind when she’d promised to help him. She was not feeling the self-love right now, and she doubted there’d be any positive affirmations about her inner goodness coming from Blaine after today.

Which was fine, right? It wasn’t like she was first in line for “girlfriend of the year” awards anyway. But still…

She felt like roadkill.

Olivia brushed her finger over the tapestry. “Does Blaine know embroidery? It would be really fun to have someone to sit with in front of the fire while you and Dad clean up after dinner. I wonder if he does his own designs.”

Trinity slumped on a golden bench. “Mom, he’s not going to marry me. I betrayed him big-time, in the worst way possible.”

“Blaine will appreciate you leaving instead of killing him. Just explain you were saving his life.” Olivia knelt and began plucking at the Oriental carpet in the foyer. “My goodness, the workmanship on this rug is extraordinary.”

“Yeah, because that’ll go over well with him. Nothing like insulting a man’s ability to stay alive around you to interfere with his sense of manliness.” Trinity jumped up. “I can’t wait anymore. Let’s go find Death. I have to deal with this.”

Olivia looked up sharply. “I don’t think running off by yourself is a good idea—”

“Reina went this way.” Trinity ran down the hall toward a set of double doors. She grasped one of the lemon-sized crystal doorknobs (please tell her that wasn’t a diamond), but the door opened before she could turn it.

Trinity jumped back as a beautiful woman peeked out.

“Hello. May I help you?” She had gorgeous blond hair piled artfully on top of her head, and she was wearing a necklace of so many emeralds that Trinity was surprised the woman was still vertical. Her smoky eye makeup was impeccable, and she was wearing a gorgeous black strapless dress that Trinity was pretty certain she recognized. “Isn’t that the gown that was designed for Meryl Streep to wear to the Oscars? The one that disappeared from her dressing room five minutes before she was supposed to present?”

The gal smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. “You are so right. I saw it, I had to have it, and my darling got it for me.”

“He’s not
your
darling,” a voice said from behind her.

The woman ignored the interruption. “My name is Isabella Fontine. Are you here to apply to be one of Death’s HoneyPots?”

“Um, no.” Was she? What if that was the deal? “What does a HoneyPot do?”

Isabella winked. “Whatever he wants us to do.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Izzy, stop being rude and let them in.” The door opened wider, and another woman walked up. She was wearing a luxurious cranberry pantsuit and a plethora of jewels as well. Sexy, but in the most classy, most beautiful way. “My name is Linnea Nogueira. I’m Death’s executive VP. Won’t you please come in?”

Trinity hesitated. “We don’t have time to socialize. We really need to talk to Death. It’s urgent.”

“He’ll be here in less than a minute.” Linnea smiled. “I’m scheduled for his nine fifteen personal gratification session, and he’s never late for his orgasms.”

Well, wasn’t that handy? Nothing like timing her visit with a personal gratification session. “You’re sure we won’t intrude?” Not sure she wanted to be around for one of those. Or maybe she did. Might be educational.

“Oh, no problem. He always makes time to meet with women.” Linnea waved her hands. “I’m just waiting for my nails to dry. He prefers a French manicure when I’m going to give him a hand job in a Dolce and Gabbana suit. Versace always requires a nude finish. You know how it is.”

Trinity cleared her throat. “Yeah, sure.” She knew exactly how it was to try to dress to keep nice guys from noticing her. Wasn’t so experienced on dressing in a way that might turn them on. Interesting thought. How hard would it be to tweak Blaine’s—

No. She had to let him go, at least until she could get back there and help him. God, she hoped he was okay.

Isabella held out her hands as well, showing red fingertips. “He likes Crimson Fire for this dress.” She pursed her mouth. “See how it brings out the tones of my lips? My makeup artist and I spent hours trying to find which ones went together the best. He’s very discerning in his tastes.” She stepped back and gestured for them to enter. “Please do come in.”

“Great. We’ll wait for him.” Might be best to chat with him
after
the sex. Men tended to be in better moods afterward. “How long does a session take?”

“Depends on how much time he has.” Linnea picked up a small hand fan and turned it toward her French manicure. “Usually about three minutes.”

Olivia raised her brows. “He can satisfy you in three minutes? Can I watch?”

“Mom—”

“Oh, no,” Linnea said. “It’s not about us. It’s about him.”

Olivia snorted. “What century are you ladies from? It’s always about the woman, and any man who ignores the woman’s needs is just a jerk.”

Linnea raised her eyebrows. “Or the richest and most powerful man in the universe.”

Olivia gave a nod of acknowledgement “Well, there is that. Is he handsome?”

Isabella and Linnea exchanged knowing smiles. “Of course.” Isabella winked. “You may not have come here to become one of his HoneyPots, but you won’t want to leave until you are one.”

“I have an MBA from Stanford and graduated number one in my class.” Linnea picked up a small laptop from a nearby table. “I came here to run one of the most up and coming businesses in existence, and I’ve helped take it to a world dominating enterprise.” She began to mouse through some files. “But I do my share to keep him happy. We all do.”

“Is it your choice?” Trinity wasn’t liking the direction of the conversation. Was Reina a HoneyPot as well? She’d never mentioned personal gratification sessions before. She really hoped Reina hadn’t been lowered to that.

Linnea and Isabella exchanged looks again, and something silent passed between them. “Of course it’s voluntary,” Isabella said. “Death would never force anyone. Not an efficient use of his time.”

“And apparently neither is taking time to satisfy his woman?” Olivia snorted. “You all should get some standards when it comes to orgasms, you know.”

Trinity left her mom to the sex talk and strode into the office, hoping to catch Death before he dove into his PGS.

The ceiling was at least twenty feet high, and gorgeous dark mahogany beams crossed the smooth plaster above her head. Built-in carved mahogany bookshelves stretched to the crown molding, and they were packed with thousands of hardcover books. A ten-foot desk camped across one end of the gorgeous handwoven carpet. It was clearly his office, and it was beautiful.

But the most interesting thing was the beauty salon at the far end of the room. Well, if you could call it a beauty salon. It was more like what she’d imagine a spa for the Hollywood royalty would be. A dozen women in expensive dresses were working on six beauties. Nails, hair, and foot scrubs were all going on. Expensive plants and soothing music filled the room.

“He often enjoys seeing us primp for him,” Linnea explained, gesturing at the bustling activity. “The salon is portable so that if he’s not in the mood to see us, we can relocate in less than thirty seconds. He likes us to be perfect, so I run the salon 24/7. I require everyone to get touched up twice an hour to make sure we haven’t smudged our makeup.”

“Well, that’s ridiculous.” Olivia set her hands on her hips. “What man is worth that kind of time?”

“I am,” said a deep, cultured male voice.

Trinity turned toward the door. The moment she saw the tall, well-dressed testosterone factory, she knew that coming here had been a huge mistake.

And not because of the HoneyPot risk.

It was much, much worse.

***

Angelica stepped out of the Ferrari just as a stainless steel deck chair crashed to the sidewalk beside her. She jumped, and then was immediately embarrassed at how edgy she was. Damn Napoleon for interfering with her calm, confident demeanor.

Mari opened the door and stepped out. She shaded her eyes and looked up. “You really trust the schnoodemgons not to hurt Trinity?”

Angelica raised Trinity’s tulip, and it spun around, pointing south. “She’s gone.” By all that was slippery and elusive, how had the girl vacated so fast? “I knew I should never have let her back into the world.” Smutty’s tulip started to vibrate, and she tensed. “He’s in trouble. We have to go help him.”

“But what about the men?”

Angelica looked up again. She so desperately wanted to go up there and claim her boys, but Smutty took priority. “My puppies will keep them occupied until I can get back. A little suffering will benefit them anyway. Let’s go.” But as she got back into the car, she couldn’t help but hope that the boys were up to the challenge.

She’d made some adjustments to the schnoodemgons since the escape, and she hadn’t had time to test them. She wasn’t sure the boys would survive them.

But that was okay, right? If they weren’t strong enough to defeat a few puppies, then they weren’t worthy of her girls. A loud yell made her skin prickle, and Angelica leapt out of the car. Teal-colored smoke was pouring out of the roof deck of Blaine’s building, and the air was pulsing with dark energy. “Dear Patron Saint of Torture,” she breathed.

Mari leaned out the window. “I’ve never seen smoke that color. What is it?”

“It’s Blaine.” Angelica pressed her hand to her heart. “He’s dying.”