Seduced by Crimson (6 page)

He felt his face flush again, and he allowed himself to be pushed back down on the table. What was wrong with him? He'd made passes at women before. He'd even seduced a few. His old best friend, Jason, used to call him a lady-killer when they were boys. And yet now, when it was vitally important he be smooth and accomplished, he was practically barfing on his shoes.

Xiao Fei began the treatment again at the base of his skull, her fingers moving in slow, wonderful circles. Patrick closed his eyes, relaxing into the heat, the pleasure of the moment. Then he heard the scrape of a lighter flint and smelled the acrid scent of smoke. She was likely lighting one of the zillion candles set about the room.

"Don't set me on fire, okay?" he joked.

He heard humor in her voice. "I've never lost a patient yet. Their hair, on the other hand…"

He almost jerked upright, but she held him down, her small hand a strangely powerful force against his shoulder. "I'm kidding. Your hair is out of the way." As proof, she tugged slightly on his braid. She'd flipped it over the top of the table, well out of harm's way. "Doesn't long hair get in the way of your surfing?"

He frowned. "How do you know I surf?"

"Your body tells me. Good tan, but dry skin from the water." She trailed her hands across his shoulders, down his ribs, and all the way to his tensed buttocks. "The broad shoulders of a swimmer, but a generally lean build," she continued. "A tight bottom." She paused, giving a gentle push to help him unclench. "
Very
tight." Was there a purr in her voice? "And thick, corded legs with calluses around the ankle for the leash. You have to be a surfer."

"Er… right." If he blushed any more, he was going to go up in flames. "Good deduction."

"That, and your underwear advertises sex wax."

He glanced over to the corner, at where his briefs had tumbled out of his jeans along with his Chap Stick and car keys complete with a wooden surfboard and mini bikini-clad surfer. Xiao Fei had returned to his shoulders, pressing and kneading the muscles there until his skin tingled with awareness. The tingling expanded as she again trailed her hands down his lower back to his bottom. But instead of a soft pat there, she used both hands and began to knead with a vengeance. He had to admit, it felt really, really nice.

Her voice interrupted his mellowing feelings. "So, how good are you?"

He suffered a full-body clench and squeaked, "Excuse me?"

"Surfing. Remember? We were talking about surfing."

"Oh, right. Sorry." He scrambled for an answer. "A few tournament wins. Nothing too exciting. I was pretty good in my teens when I had nothing else to do. But now… I just do it for fun." He abruptly added, "The surfing, I mean. I do the surf—"

She cut him off. "I get it." Then she stopped massaging him and stepped back from the table.

It took a little mental nerve for him to crack an eye at her after his last babble-fest, but Patrick had to know what she was thinking, even if it was that he was a total ass. So he looked at her, and his heart immediately sank to his toes. She had her arms folded across her chest, and her face was tight with stern disapproval.

"Okay, Mr. Professor. Confession time. Why are you really here? It's not acupuncture."

He attempted an innocent look. "What do you mean?" She arched a single well-sculpted eyebrow. Yeah, well, he'd always sucked at lying. He groaned. "What gave me away?" he asked.

"You've obviously never had treatment before, and you really don't want it—your mind isn't on what I'm doing. And you're clearly not just trying to get it on with the stupid Asian chick," she added.

He was startled enough to push up from the treatment bed. "What makes you say that?"

She smiled. "If you've been trying to seduce me, you're doing a really bad job."

Ouch.

She frowned as she continued speaking. "Still, you knew about the plant order. Who are you really?"

He made to swing his legs off the bed, but she stopped him with a sharp look. "Don't move! Those needles are in pretty deep."

Needles? He twisted to look over his shoulder. Sure enough, there were four long spikes sticking out of his butt. He reached up a hand to his neck and shoulders and found four more.

"Careful. They're hot."

They were. The ones on his shoulders had smoldering herb packets attached. "I didn't even feel them go in," he murmured. Turning back to her, he was jolted to see her pulling his wallet out of his back pants pocket. "Hey!"

She glared at him and snapped, "I said, don't move! You tense those muscles and the needles'll break. How're you going to surf with two-inch spikes up your ass?"

He stared back at her. It couldn't be true. It wasn't true. And yet the very thought had him frozen in place. She flipped casually through his wallet.

"Okay, Professor, it seems you have the right credentials," she said at last. Holding his school ID and driver's license up to the light, she slanted him a glance. "Or at least appear to."

He flopped back down on the bed in disgust. "Why would I lie?"

"I dunno. Why would you?"

Because he was out to close a demon gate and doing a really bad job, apparently? He grimaced and decided on the truth. "I don't know, either. I'm a really bad liar."

"You got that right." She smiled and started flipping through his pictures—both of them. "This your family?" she asked.

He nodded without looking up. Xiao Fei referred to a family photo from last Christmas.
The
last, he suddenly realized with a twinge of pain.

"Oh, don't look so tragic," she groused, misreading him. She drop his wallet back on his pants. "The needles won't break. They won't even set your hair on fire." She frowned. "Well, they might, but only at the very beginning."

"Just take them out," he growled. He lay forward and waited.

A moment later, he'd still gotten no response. He turned his head and saw her staring at him. She'd re-crossed her arms, but this time her regard was speculative.

"What?" he demanded.

"Nope."

He frowned. Had he missed something?

She clarified: "I'm not taking the needles out until I get a straight answer."

He cursed. Loudly. In Latin. Let her think he wasn't a professor now.

She actually smiled, as if it were all a big joke. "Just give me a straight answer. Why are you here?"

"For a date, goddamnit!"

She blinked. "You're kidding, right?"

"No, I'm not. My mother likes you. She said you were lovely. That's why she sent me to get the plant, and why she'll never give me any peace. Not until I do you."

"Do me?"

"Not do you," he backpedaled. "
Date
you. Dinner. Movie. Putt-Putt golfing. I don't give a good goddamn. I just need proof that we went out."

"I'll get my camera," Xiao Fei suggested. "We can take a picture here." She looked caught between amusement and annoyance.

"No!" He almost vaulted off the table.

"Stop, stop!" she cried, though it sounded like a laugh. "You'll rupture a vein." She put a hand on his back, and Patrick could feel her humor shimmering through the contact. "Relax. You have to relax for me to pull the needles out." She stroked her hand over where his fingers had a death grip on an herb packet. "Take a breath, Romeo. I swear this won't hurt."

"I'm just doing this for my mother," he said sullenly. God, could he sound any worse?

He didn't feel the needles slip out, but he heard them drop onto a tray. Out of his neck first. Then his shoulders. Then a long caress moved lower down and had him growling.

"Okay, okay." She lifted her hand off him. "But I couldn't resist." She leaned down to look him in the eyes. "You're lovely, too." Then she winked, and he heard four more needles hit the tray. "Rip over. We'll do the front."

"Not a chance in hell," he snapped.

She laughed. It was a real, honest-to-goodness laugh and not a mocking one. It was light and airy and sounded like freedom, whatever that meant. It just sounded
right
, and he would have given a whole lot to hear it again.

"Tell you what," she said. "While you get dressed, I'll get my purse. I know a great place for dumplings. It's perfect for surfer dudes who love their mothers."

He'd been staring at her after the laugh. Now he openly gaped.

"That's right, Professor," she added. She spoke really, really slowly, just so he understood. "I'm saying yes. You want a date? Well, yes, I will go out with you."

He nodded, thunderstruck. "Why?"

"Why not?" she shot back. Then she shrugged. "You made me laugh, Professor. And on today of all days, that is no small thing."

He frowned. "I don't understand."

"I've decided that I should go on a date today. What if the world ended tomorrow and I hadn't had any fun? What if the last guy I shared dumplings with was my father eight years ago? I don't want to die that way."

Alarm shot through him. Did she know about the demons? "Do you expect to die tomorrow?"

She looked calm. "I expect to start living, Professor. And if that means going out on a date with you tonight, then so be it. Any objections?"

"No! None at all, but…" His words faded away. She had already ducked out of the room. He stared at the closed doorway for a long moment before abruptly pulling on his clothes.

Wow. Who'd have guessed. Druid mojo did work.

From Patrick Lewis's journal

July 4, 1985

Jason'
s
tutoring me in math. Mom and Dad are paying him, but what the hell? He's my best friend. The butthead is such a money-grub. But it's okay, because algebra's easier when he explains it. It takes us five minutes, and then we look at magazines.

He wants a little red Corvette, the Prince wannabe. I told him he could get chicks on a good surfboard. A short fiberglass with a kick-ass tail and short wings. He's such a dork, though, he wouldn't even know how to wax it right.

Hour's up. Arcade time!

Who'd have thought regular life continued in a war zone? People still went to work, still ate dinner at restaurants, still had a great time munching dumplings with weird, funny professors of botany. Patrick was not only sexy, but he had Xiao Fei laughing at the bizarrest things, like the way the bao chef's eyebrows collected steam when he lifted the dumplings free, and the simple gusto with which a certain nearby toddler attacked his fried rice despite less than perfect chopsticks skills. He was never cruel in his observations, just aware of the details of his surroundings in a way that coaxed her to relax and enjoy. After all, he seemed to see everything around them. She could trust him to watch for danger even if she let her attention lapse.