Spent (Wrecked #2) (6 page)

“God can’t hear you here. Even if he could, I think he stopped handing out body butter a few centuries back.”

“And the handcuffs?”

One corner of Sol’s mouth lifted, kicking up the mischievousness in his gaze. “I’m well stocked.”

Bailey shook her head, attempting to chase away the spell he weaved over her. “I don’t doubt it. Now, even though I’m impressed beyond words, I’m still dying to see what’s next.”

“You make my heart race.”

Of all the responses in all the world, Sol chose that one. It was as if he always knew the exact thing to say to leave her completely speechless. He reminded Bailey of every instance when she’d been on a date, wondering what the man was thinking, and hoping it was something amazing. Every sweet response she could dream up rolled from Sol’s tongue without the least bit of thought or effort.

“In a good way, I hope,” Bailey said, trying to keep her thoughts from spilling out.

“Yes,” Sol said, holding out his arm like a gentleman. When she accepted, he steered her deeper inside. “When you’ve lived as long as I have, it’s unique.” His claim sent Bailey’s curiosity into overdrive. Sol’s choice of words said more than she thought he intended. Whatever he was, and she had her ideas, he was alive—not dead like her, but something else entirely. “You’ve gone quiet.”

Instead of mulling it over, Bailey chose to be as open as Sol had been. “If I asked you a question, would you be honest with me?”

“I’m always honest, unless I’m not.”

Bailey shook her head. Sol was a mess. “Fair enough. Should I be afraid of you?”

A door appeared before them. Sol pulled her to a stop and met her gaze. “You should be terrified.” Without breaking her stare, Sol reached past her and opened the door. Bailey couldn’t look away from his eyes. He was serious. She should run.

Bailey searched her heart and came up empty. “I’m not.”

Sol’s features transformed, becoming sinister. “I know.”

“Why should I be afraid?”

His hand found her cheek. The heat of his skin seared her. “Sometimes cruelty and mercy look so similar we can’t tell the difference any longer.”

Bailey’s mind stuttered to a stop. She’d heard those words before. Her brain scrambled to remember where. The memory was just out of reach, like the wisp of a dream. Before she could grab hold, Sol nodded toward the room, reminding her of their errand. She glanced inside and every worry disappeared. Books filled the entire space. From floor to ceiling and wall to wall, leather bound copies of everything imaginable packed the room. The smell was even better than the flower’s. She loved books, especially when they were old, and Sol’s obviously were. The only furniture other than shelves was a large wooden desk and two chairs.

As if its pages called to her, Bailey moved to a book sitting open on the desk. She could feel Sol following on her heels, but she couldn’t resist the pull of the tome’s power. The words were handwritten. Ink stained the pages yellowed by time. The tips of her fingers skimmed the indentations of each letter. Odd shapes surrounded by scribbled notes filled every corner. It took Bailey a minute to realize what she was seeing.

“It’s spells.”

Sol’s hand found the small of her back as he leaned over her shoulder. “Yes. Some as old as time. Which reminds me… give me a moment. I need to gather a few things.”

Without waiting for her response, Sol disappeared. While she waited, Bailey flipped through the pages, attempting to discern what she read. A few symbols with notes, naming them as meant to reveal hidden objects, caught her eye. Her hand hovered over the page. An idea snuck in. Perhaps this was her ticket to freedom—at least, as much as she’d ever be free here. Before her mother’s death, Bailey had witnessed the power of magic. She didn’t know what she was looking for—exactly, but Bailey knew she had to find a way to escape Lucien. As much as she still loved him, they’d be one-sided for all of eternity if she couldn’t find a way to even the playing field.

Sol reappeared, arms laden with different herbs. He dumped his haul on the desk and set to work. Bailey spent a minute tapping her fingers on the book, trying to make up her mind while watching Sol chop and mix. Coming to a decision, she went out on a limb.

“May I borrow this?”

Sol didn’t bother to glance up from the concoction he was making. “No offense, but I don’t loan my books. The spines end up creased. People dog-ear pages, spill food on them, or simply disappear. My books are like old friends. I think about them from time to time and wonder where they’ve ended up after they’re gone.” He finally met her gaze. “Feel free to read it here, if you’d like.”

Taking him at his word, Bailey snatched up the book and ran to the chair. With her feet tucked beneath her, she balanced it on her knees and flipped through the pages.

“Do you believe in magic?”

It was Bailey’s turn to keep her eyes glued on what she was doing. “Of course. Not only was I born and raised in New Orleans, my mom practiced witchcraft and read tarot cards. Do you think any of these spells work?”

Sol chuckled. “Of course. I wrote it.”

Bailey’s head shot up. “Seriously?” Sol’s expectant expression made her wonder if he’d been waiting for her reaction. Obviously getting the one he wanted, Sol’s smile turned bright.

“Yes. Seriously. Now, whether they’ll work for you remains to be seen, but I’m not against you trying.”

“Too bad you won’t let me borrow it. There’s no way I can commit all this to memory.”

Without responding, Sol went back to his task. As she looked on, he pulled a small sachet from inside his desk and scooped the concoction into it before pulling the string tight. Sol stood and moved to her side. For a full minute, he simply stood over her, staring at her as if mulling over a problem.

“I said you couldn’t borrow it, but I never said you couldn’t have it.” Before she could ask a single question, Sol snagged the book from her lap and set it aside. “Here’s the thing,” he said, pulling Bailey to her feet. “If you want it, you have to do a few things for me first.”

Common sense stopped her from agreeing immediately. “What sort of things?”

A dimple appeared at the corner of Sol’s mouth as he visibly fought not to smile. “Don’t sound so suspicious. It’s nothing too horrible.”

While still clinging to Sol’s hands, Bailey squared her shoulders. “Okay, shoot.”

“First, tell me why you want it.”

She really didn’t want to. “I thought you said it was nothing too terrible,” Bailey said with a nervous chuckle.

Sol tightened his hold on her hands. “Nothing could be simpler. You can tell me anything. No judgments. I doubt there’s anything you can do I haven’t done times ten.”

With a snort, Bailey shook her head. “Ugh. I feel a little stupid, but I need to ward my home against unwanted spirits.”

Sol’s gaze moved over her face. “Once again, I need to point out that apartment isn’t your home, but if you’re determined, I’m sure you’ll find something inside to help you.” He took a step closer. His face darkened. Bailey fought the urge to take a step back. “Next thing, I’m about to kiss you again. I need you to brace yourself because I’m not holding back this time. My powers can be overwhelming.”

“Braggart.”

Sol covered her mouth with his before the taunt finished leaving her lips. His warning wasn’t enough. Not by a longshot. If the flames of hell were made of pleasure, then she was burning alive. She could feel each stroke of his tongue against every inch of her skin. Her channel pulsed in time with his exploration of her mouth. If she had a brain cell left, ordering her to kiss him back, it was only because she needed to drive him on. Bailey feared if he stopped for a second, death would follow.

She was certain she was climbing his body, seeking release, but Bailey couldn’t stop the out-of-control sensation trapping her. With her ass gripped between his hands, Sol hauled her against him. The instant his erection collided with her skin, Bailey exploded. Her orgasm took her knees out from underneath her. Only Sol’s hold kept her from falling. Pulling away, Bailey buried her face in the crook of his neck and fought for air. It didn’t matter that she didn’t need oxygen. Her body refused to give up the habit.

His fingertips smoothed her spine as she slowly regained her senses. Whispered words brushed her ear, but hearing failed her. Before she realized what she was doing, Bailey placed a light kiss against his throat. A sense of nostalgia rolled over her. The way he smelled called to something trapped at the back of her mind. She snorted.

“I’m almost afraid to ask what you’ll want next.”

Sol shook with barely suppressed laughter. The low chuckle vibrated against her ear, making her smile. “I want your name.”

His answer had her pulling back to see his face. “You know my name.”

Sol’s smile didn’t falter. “Your full name.”

Bailey shook her head in confusion. She didn’t understand why he wanted it, but it seemed simple enough. “It’s Bailey Leanne Dupart.”

“Bailey Leanne Dupart.” It didn’t sound as if he was testing the name on his tongue. More like, he didn’t believe her.

“You’re repeating my words again.”

Sol’s grin grew. “You’re lying to me again, but that’s okay. Come find me when you remember your real name.” Bailey wanted to argue. Sol didn’t give her time. “Until then, take this.” He waved his hand over the book. A duplicate appeared. While Bailey stared in awe, Sol handed it over, along with the velvet bag he’d put together, adding, “And this. You said your apartment wouldn’t let you leave some days. That doesn’t happen unless a dark entity casts a spell, trapping you there. When you’re ready to accept you don’t belong there, turn the tables on your captor by keeping him locked inside. All you need to do is spread this across the entryway.”

Suspicion she hated crept in. “Why are you helping me?” Because nothing was ever free, she knew.

“Who says I am?”

He looked a little too innocent for her liking. “I do.”

“This isn’t help, Bailey,” he said, leaning in and brushing his lips across hers once more before pulling away. “This is greed.”

“I’d like to think I’ll leave this place one day, but I’m not sure that’s true. They can unlock the door any day, but it won’t matter. I’m trapped in a prison with no chains or bars. It will always be that way.”

—Bailey’s Journal, B.D.

Chapter 5

Then…

Wednesday nights were the only night Masked Image closed. Joe, the shop’s owner, probably wouldn’t have chosen to shut down then either, if it weren’t for the severe lack of customers on those nights. Bailey was thankful for the break. What she needed more than anything, besides Lucien, was alcohol. Lots of it. She couldn’t stand another night of searching her mind and the net for any sign Lucien was more than a dream. Her sanity couldn’t take it. Two months. It had been two months since the last time they’d spoken. One night, they were together. The next,
poof,
he was gone. No amount of searching turned up a single thing. It was as if Lucien Sephtis was nothing more than a figment of her imagination.

Three shots in, and with a fourth in hand, a solid warmth pressed against her back. Without having to look, she knew it was Lucien. She knew his scent. The exact way he felt. Everything. It took every ounce of willpower she possessed to keep from melting into his hold.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

Bailey snorted. “I’ve been looking for you too,” she said before tossing back the shot. He had no idea how much she meant those words. This man, he disappeared like smoke every time she let him out of her sight. With the glass set aside, she pulled Lucien away from the bar where they could speak in private, and gave him her full attention before adding, “But look how easy I was to find. I wonder why that doesn’t go both ways.”

Lucien didn’t react to her taunts. His patient expression said he was willing to wait out whatever ridiculousness she had going on. Bailey sighed. He didn’t understand. Lucien would never get what he was doing to her because he didn’t know her past. The man appeared and disappeared from her life, leaving her wrecked from the loss. Sometimes, weeks passed without a word. Yet she couldn’t resist him when he returned. Internet searches of his name turned up nothing. She lied to herself, thinking his obvious foreign birth accounted for his lack of records. It was as if—when they were apart—he didn’t exist. The impact of him on her life couldn’t be denied. She questioned her sanity all over again every time he left. Perhaps he was only a dream after all.

“I went to your apartment last night,” she said, hoping to shake something loose. The shadow passing over his face could’ve meant anything at all. Bailey didn’t trust herself enough to decipher his reactions. “It wasn’t there. Like, the whole building. It didn’t exist.” His expression remained blank, making her suspicions grow. Anyone in their right mind would’ve responded to such a declaration. “You don’t seem surprised.”

“Sorry. I was waiting for the punchline.”

Bailey wanted to growl, throw her arms wide, and scream she wasn’t crazy. Unfortunately, she wasn’t sure that was true. Tears filled her eyes. Bailey tilted her head back, blinking against them. For the thousandth time, she reminded herself how little Lucien knew about her. That was her fault. She’d been incapable of saying the words aloud, explaining how much she’d lost in the past. Telling him would make it real again. Would he look at her the way everyone else did? Would she always be the woman who saw things that weren’t there—loved people who were only real in her mind?

Stamping down the pain, Bailey tried saving herself before she ended up institutionalized… again. “I don’t want to see you anymore.”

Lucien’s fist slammed into the wall next to Bailey’s head, making her flinch. If he drew any attention their way, Bailey missed it. She was too mesmerized by his fury. Even though Lucien kept his tone soft, he still spoke through clenched teeth. “Do you mind telling me exactly what the fuck I did wrong?”

Lucien’s smoke-colored eyes became almost iridescent in his fury. Bailey couldn’t move. This was what she’d been wanting. She needed him enraged. Maybe then he’d feel a quarter of the anger she did. Now that she’d gotten a reaction, she hated it. She was more alone than ever. Her throat swelled, making it hard to speak. She’d never seen him like this before. The crack in his indifference was her undoing.