Pandora's Box (12 page)

“Jeez, I’m not an ogre, Riordan. No, I don’t mind. I’d stay out here longer, if it weren’t for the skanky pj’s.” She glanced
down at herself.

He gave her a slack-jawed doggy grin.
I think I like your
mom.

“Gee, there’s a shocker.” She rolled her eyes at him, then stood. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” As Riordan trotted up
the steps beside her, she frowned and rephrased. “Don’t do anything a real dog wouldn’t do.”

Got it. I’ll be a perfect dog.
He dropped to his haunches in front of her on the porch, a picture of doggy obedience. Except for the mischievous glow in
his eyes.

She smiled ruefully. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

Twenty minutes later, showered and dressed, she stepped out onto the porch to find Riordan barking his fool head off at the
mailman. “Riordan!”

Would you rather I bite him?

“Oh, good grief.” She restrained him, one hand on his collar, and smiled an apology at the mailman. Poor man all but tossed
Mina’s mail in her face before retreating to the relative safety of his vehicle.

Hey, I had no choice. You wanted me to be a dog, so I channeled
dog, and no dog endures the mailman, right? I thought I was doing
well.

“Right. Fine. I’m going in for breakfast.” She eyed him. “Do you eat?”

He paused. “Not like you. Not in a long time.”

“Well, come on, then.”

Uncharacteristically quiet, he followed her inside.

She led him to the kitchen. “So let’s give this a shot, then, shall we? Just remember . . . dogs don’t talk. The contractors
are right outside.”

All right.

She swung open the refrigerator. “So what do you like?”

Anything you like.

“Gee, that’s awfully agreeable. Still, I’m in the mood to take you at your word.” She opened the fruit drawer. “Just tell
me you’re not a strict carnivore. I have fruit here and that’s what I was getting for myself.”

I like fruit.

“Great.” She pulled out a bag of red grapes and carried them over to the counter. She broke off two big bunches, rinsed them
in the sink, then set them in two bowls. She glanced out her one unbroken window, smiled a little when Teague caught her eye
and waved to her. She waved back, then hesitantly turned back to Riordan. “Maybe we’ll take these into the living room. Just
in case.”

Again Riordan followed her, oddly obedient and even more oddly quiet.

Mina sat on the couch then paused, unsure of procedure. “So, are you eating these doggy-style?”

Hey, I like how you say that.
Still, it was a half-hearted jab, as though the puca were deep in thought.

“Let me guess. You haven’t eaten a bowl of grapes in as long as you haven’t rolled in the grass. Am I right?”

He plopped down on his butt in front of the low coffee table and watched as she set them in front of him. Hesitantly, ears
cocked up and eyes only on the glistening fruit before him, Riordan carefully plucked a grape with his teeth. It fell. With
an audible groan, he tried again. Same result.

“Problem?” Mina delicately inquired.

“Well . . . I haven’t eaten solid food in a couple of millennia now. And even way back when, I generally dined in human form.
Doggie jaws . . . I dunno.”

“I see.” Mina stood up, drew the blinds, locked the front door and carefully closed the kitchen door. “Okay, go ahead. Do
the morph thing so you can eat.”

His gaze on Mina, Riordan flash-shimmered and suddenly a man sat on her couch. The same faceless guy—minus ears and tail—who’d
disarmed her just the other day.

I caught on to the ears and tail. It just took a while. Your little
joke on me, huh?

Somehow, she had the impression that he was nervous. “What’s up, Riordan? They’re just grapes. Nothing poisonous in there
for me—and nothing that would hurt you, right? Is that the problem? You don’t know?”

They won’t hurt me.
He slowly reached into the bowl and plucked one of the grapes. Then, hesitantly, brought it to where his mouth would be if
she could see it.

Mina blinked. The grape was there . . . and then it wasn’t there. Just disappeared into the blurred maw of his face. Then
she saw his jaw move, pause, then move quickly, efficiently. His throat worked as he swallowed. He didn’t say anything, then
leaned back in the couch.

“What’s wrong? Are they sour?”

I wouldn’t know.

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t taste it.”

“You mean because it’s a grape or . . . You can’t taste
anything
?” Mina was horrified. “Oh, because of your face. Okay, well, hey, you just morph back into the dog thing and . . . and I’ll
cut them for you. That might make it easier.”

He was already shaking his head.
It will be the same. I
managed to bite into one of those grapes before I dropped it. No
taste. I’d hoped I was mistaken, but . . . it’s something else Akker
took from me when he . . .
Riordan broke off and looked away. She had the impression there was more he could say, but he’d chosen silence.

Probably devastated, poor guy. She sat next to him. “I am sorry. That must really suck.”

He gave a low, humorless laugh.

“There’s nothing I can do for you? How do you eat, then? Don’t you eat?”

“I don’t have to. A body needs food. I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m sort of suspended between body and not body right
now.”

“You didn’t tell me that before.”

He shrugged. “I’m as new to this as you are, and Akker spoke his curse and conditions long eons ago. I’m still putting things
together.”

“I’m sorry. And this is just a tease, isn’t it?” She looked at the grapes. Big and red and pretty—and probably sweet. “Maybe
I should take these into the kitchen and just eat there.”

“That’s not necessary. In fact, if you don’t mind, I’d like it if you would eat here. Maybe I can smell them or something.”

“Maybe, ” she murmured doubtfully. Still, she picked up a grape and, instead of popping it into her mouth, deliberately bit
it in half, carefully holding the remaining half between two fingers. She offered it to him.

Hesitantly, he bent toward her hand, sniffed. Bent closer, sniffed again. Then he pulled back and sighed.

“Nothing?”

He shook his head, then halted a moment, his attention obviously caught by something on her face.

“What? Oh, juice, right?” She fumbled for a napkin, but Riordan was already dabbing his fingers along a juice trail down her
chin. Startled, she contracted her fingers reflexively, squeezing more juice from the half-grape to run down her hand. “Oh—”
She popped the remainder of the grape into her mouth and licked at her palm.

His hand still on her jaw and throat, Riordan froze. “Mina!”

“What?” She finished chewing. “I know. Great table manners. Sorry.”

“Never mind that.” He seemed so intense. “Do me a favor. Eat another grape.” He still held a hand to her neck, his fingers
splayed over her chin and throat.

She frowned, wondering. “Like this? But—”

“Please. I’m begging you. Just like this. Another grape.”

Moving hesitantly and feeling awkward, she reached into the bowl for another grape and brought it to her mouth.

Riordan seemed to stiffen, and she could almost swear she saw a familiar glow of yellow in the depths of his blurred face.
“Go ahead, ” he whispered. “Put it in your mouth.”

She did so, closing her lips around the fruit. She bit into it, feeling the grape’s skin burst and the juices and soft flesh
bathe her tongue. Riordan groaned, his fingers caressing her face as she manipulated the fruit with tongue and teeth. Slowly,
she chewed, watching him all the while. After an uncertain moment, she swallowed the grape and licked juice from her lips.

“Another?” He sounded like a little kid begging for candy.

“Um, question first. This isn’t a sexual thing, is it? Because I have a few inhibitions and, well, performing food kink with
a guy who was a dog two minutes ago really rubs up against some of them.”

“No. Not sex.” He rubbed her jaw, his fingers trembling a little. “I can taste the grape. Through you. Somehow, some way,
when you eat that grape and I’m touching your mouth or your jaw or your throat . . . I can experience some of it with you.”

“You’re eating vicariously?” She eyed him in bafflement. “Seriously?”

“In a way. It’s like an echo of the experience. I can feel it, like a ghostly grape in my own mouth, the flavor faint but
there. I don’t know if it’s the mind link we have or if it’s just my imagination . . . no, I swear it’s not my imagination.
Could we do it again? Please? I have to know.”

Intrigued, Mina picked up another grape and popped it into her mouth.

“Slowly. Please.” He groaned. “Oh, yeah. That’s good.”

Her eyes widened, glancing at the door, she spoke with her mouth full. “You’re making sex noises. Keep it down.”

“Sorry, ” he whispered, still sounding enraptured. His chest heaved just a little with his breathing, and he kept caressing
her face, her neck, her jaw.

Mina edged back, just a little. She would not, would
not
think what she was thinking. Grapes grapes grapes grapes . . .

“Think whatever you have to think. Just eat the grape. Please.” Riordan hummed a little when she popped two grapes into her
mouth, cheeks bulging as she tried to chew without spraying all and sundry.

He chuckled just a little, the sound lazy and pleased.

Mina clapped a hand to her mouth, but found his hand already there. His fingers traced her lips, which strained not to part
under the pressure of an overfilled mouth. She chewed until the contents had reduced somewhat, then spoke against his hand.
“I’m a pig.”

“And all for me. I’m flattered, Mina.” His voice lowered. “And so grateful. Thank you.”

She continued to eat quietly, trying not to feel self-conscious as the big male hand hovered so gently over her jaw and throat.
Obviously too pleased to worry about inhibitions himself, Riordan thoroughly enjoyed every bite she took, humming and murmuring.
He relaxed bonelessly into the cushions, but for that one, insistent arm and the fingers handling her so gently.

His unconscious sensuality was unexpected. Lasciviousness she’d anticipated. He’d been nothing but a letch in stallion and
dog form. Like this, as a man with needs and expressing such honest appreciation for something so basic as the taste of a
grape, he was . . . disturbing . . . to her peace of mind. After she’d plucked the last grape and eaten it, she abruptly stood.

As his hand fell away, she averted her eyes, feeling like she’d kicked a puppy. “I’m sorry. I’m—I’m full now.”

He nodded. “I don’t suppose . . .”

“No, really. I’m full. I’d already gorged myself on a cereal bar before I remembered I had a puca on my porch.”

“Oh. Right.” He slumped a little in obvious disappointment.

Her heart turned over. “But I’ll have to eat later, right? Maybe we could try something else then?”

“Really?”

He sounded so unabashedly hopeful, she nodded enthusiastically. “Sure. I’ll even let you pick.”

“I’ll do you one better. You let me taste, and I’ll even cook for you.”

She gave him a doubtful look. “You cook?”

“I hung out in Gladys’s head for a good decade or two before she passed on. The woman cooked. And she liked to talk while
she cooked.” He mused, almost affectionately, “I think she was just trying to share her life with me, as simple as it was.”

“That was kind.”

He nodded. “So, I have some experience based on observation. Plus all those cooking shows . . . so I’m sure I can remember
some of it. And, if not, I’m sure you can clue me in.”

She nodded, then frowned. “Although maybe I’ll let you cook dinners for me instead. Unless the workmen go offsite for their
lunch.” She raised her eyebrows meaningfully.

“Oh. Right. Your boyfriend. You don’t want him to catch your dog or your faceless tenant making meals on your stove.”

“He’s not exactly my boyfriend.”

Riordan shrugged. “What else would he be?”

“Well, I only met the guy a few days ago. We could just say he’s Teague. Doesn’t have to be anything in relation to me.”

“You don’t want him to mean anything to you?”

“I didn’t say that. I said I just met the guy, and only a fool starts thinking in terms of relationships this early on. He’s
Teague. He and I are going out tonight. It’s no more than that. However, I don’t want to explain how my dog can talk and turn
into a faceless man, either. Makes for odd employer-contractor relations and really uncomfortable dinner conversation.” She
frowned. “Speaking of which, we’ve got to do something to keep you from blowing your dog cover.”

“Like what? Four legs, floppy ears, wagging tail—what else do you need?”

The yellow eyes. “Can you squint? And play mute?”

“You know, some people might be satisfied with my ability to shift shape, to bend time, space and matter and assume the form
of a different species. But you? Oh, no. The puca must playact as well. You’re so picky.”

“Yeah? Well, for a supposed dog, you have demon eyes and you can’t bark. That’s a problem.”

“Fine. I’ll be careful. Squinting and muting. Got it. So we’re going out—Oh,
steak
. You were going to have steak until you guys decided against a restaurant. Oh, pull-lleeeeeeeeease.” He sounded like an adolescent
boy who’d eaten nothing but broccoli for a week.

“Oh, give me a break. There’s no way I could—”

“Doggy bag. You could just cut your meat in half and bring home your leftovers to eat when we’re alone together.”

“That sounded really, really bad, Riordan. That whole sex noise thing? Now you’re making sex scenarios. Stop that.”

“Okay, okay. But let’s work on the steak scenario. Deal?”

She rolled her eyes, grinning reluctantly. “We can work on it. Another night we’ll broil steak or something.”

He whimpered.

“If you’re going to whimper, maybe you’d just as well zap yourself into Riordan the dog again.”