The Charmer (8 page)

Jasmine grit her teeth and gripped his
shoulders, stiff with willful desire. He grazed his cheek against
hers once in acknowledgment and then slowly slid his mouth to her
own. Invisible sparks flew as their lips touched softly. Her mouth
parted a little of its own accord, and Keilor sipped, drawing
delicately on the soft, damp interior, dragging his lower lip
across hers. Her heart thumped like a piston as she slid her
fingers into his dark hair, instinctively finding the clasp and
freeing the silken strands.

So caught up was she that she failed to
remember their audience until Jayems said with amusement, “Do you
think we should leave him to her mercy or have pity and toss water
on them?”

With a groan of heartfelt reluctance, Keilor
ended the kiss and set her back. Aching, Jasmine scooted off his
lap and felt her way back into her chair, her eyes still too
dilated to focus properly. As her left hand connected with the back
of her chair, she heard a clink. Dropping down heavily, she opened
her hand to investigate and flushed. It was Keilor’s hair clip.

“Keep it.” He mimed a kiss. “A memento.”

The tide had definitely turned in favor of
the men, and Jayems and Keilor kept stealing the ladies’ drinks in
the name of sharp senses, though the liquor had little noticeable
effect on them.

“You must be cheating,” Jasmine muttered,
eyeing the pile of shells in front of their opponents with
suspicion. They were on their last hand, and her cards were good.
Almost unbeatable. As time went on she became less willing to take
the chance of losing again. As it was she started trembling just
thinking about the consequences of defeat.

Still...It was a lot of money. Maybe enough
to get them home again. Could she afford to lose this chance when
the odds were so completely in their favor?

Keilor raised the bet and Jayems folded.
Wiley was already out, and Jasmine couldn’t cover the bet. Taking
the last shot straight from the bottle for courage, she cleared her
throat and asked huskily, “Would you be willing to take a
promissory note on a game of strip poker for my ante?”

Wiley drew in a shocked breath of protest,
but choked on her own saliva. While Jayems thumped her on the back,
Keilor regarded her intently. “Strip poker?”

Jasmine looked down and tapped her finger on
the table, her nerves jangling a warning. And whether she liked it
or not, a dangerous thrill of anticipation. Would it be so bad to
lose?

Mentally chastising herself for daring to
think such a stupid thing, she said, “I’ll tell you after the cards
are on the table.” If things went as planned, it wouldn’t matter
anyway, because she wouldn’t be in a position to pay up.

He looked skeptical, but one look at Wiley
frantically waving, “no, no!” and shaking her head at Jasmine and
his expression turned speculative. With a graceful gesture, he
tipped his cards onto the table.

“Heh, heh!” Jasmine gloated as she tossed her
own hand down and raked in the pot. She threw back her head and
hooted. “Whoo, hoo!” Jumping up, she did a little war dance, then
grabbed Wiley in a headlock and rubbed her head with her knuckles,
chortling. “I win, I win!”

“Is she always like this?” Jayems demanded in
disbelief, watching Jasmine dance a jig around the room.

Wiley snorted. “Only when she wins.”

Breathless, Jasmine came back to the table
and began raking coins and shells into the drawstring pouch. Keilor
dropped his hand over hers, pinning it to the table. When her
startled eyes met his he asked, “What did I just lose?”

Pinned at an awkward angle over the table,
Jasmine had nowhere to hide her hot face. “Ah…” Heat licked at her
from his touch, making her tongue thick, and for a moment she felt
a pang of regret. Losing might have been the smartest thing she’d
ever done. She cleared her throat. “Strip poker is played in
private. The ante is...the player’s clothes.”

Keilor sucked in a breath and his fingers
tightened. He slowly let her go and leaned back, contemplating the
ceiling with a resigned expression. Somewhat subdued, Jasmine
finished collecting her loot and then helped to clear the table.
With everyone working at once, everything was quickly put away. As
soon as it was done, the ladies took their winnings and left.

Keilor poured them both another drink and
then saluted Jayems. “A greedy man would regret letting them win
that last hand.” Their people had brought the game from Earth long
ago, and cards were a popular pastime among their people. The
ladies should have been more suspicious when they found the cards
in Jaymes’ room.

Jayems smiled faintly. “Caught you by
surprise with her offer, did she?” Keilor swore softly and gulped
his drink, making Jayems laugh. His expression sobered. “How else
am I to give them an allowance? Rihlia won’t accept anything from
me.”

“Hm, well, she seemed to be accepting your
kisses well enough at the end.”

A half-smile curved Jayems’ mouth. “And
Jasmine yours.”

Keilor took a deep breath as desire flashed
through him. “Bite me, I didn’t think I’d survive much more of
that. The charmer had to win, and swiftly.”

Jayems chuckled and poured them both another
drink. “To women,” he proposed, raising his glass.

“To relief.” Keilor countered wickedly, and
clinked his glass to Jayems’. A thought occurred to him and he
cocked his head, causing the loose strands of his black hair to
brush across his shoulders. “How do you intend to let the charmer
spend her allowance? It’s not as if she can wander through the
markets.”

Jayems frowned and propped his chin on his
fist. “I hadn’t thought of that. I suppose I’ll have to invite the
merchants to bring their wares here.” He brushed his thumb across
his lower lip, squinting. “What sorts of things do you think two
women raised on Earth might be tempted by?”

“How should I know?” Keilor waved a hand in
dismissal. “Females seem to wallow in silks and satins. Send for a
dressmaker. Arrange for fittings. Find a perfumer and
jewelers

any merchant selling fripperies
should do.”

Jayems shook his head at him. “Such promising
husband material,” he mocked. “Yet so ugly.”

“Tell that to Jasmine.” He preened. “That
woman couldn’t keep her hands off me.”

Smirking, Jayems pointed out, “She was
drinking. You might have been a stag for all she knew.”

Keilor’s smile flashed. “I certainly felt as
randy. Too much more of her and we would have both disappeared
under the table.”

“And Rihlia would have been after you with a
knife…”

Chapter 7

“There is no justice,” Jasmine grumbled the
next morning when she entered Jayems’ suite and saw her chipper
poker companions. Her head felt ready to split and her mood was
rotten. She felt as if she’d had ten shots instead of just
three.

Wiley’s lips twitched as she poured them both
a cup of tea. “Pain killer hasn’t kicked in yet, huh?”

Her answer was a grunt as Jasmine rested her
elbows on the table and pressed the heels of her hands to her
eyes.

“I should have warned you,” Jayems told her,
contrite. “Haunts are notoriously difficult to inebriate. Our
liquors are made strong to compensate. I did not remember at first
that you might become ill.”

Jasmine stirred herself enough to glower at
Wiley. “Scruffy alien. Should have known all these years that you
were cheating.”

Wiley chuckled.

Slitting her eyes, Jasmine peered at Keilor,
who was dressed casually in loose trousers and a dark green, long
sleeved shirt. His hair was loose today, and he looked better than
she could bear to look at so early into a hangover. “What’s the
occasion? Are all your uniforms in the wash?” she asked nastily and
then winced when her head throbbed in rebuke.

He raised a brow. “Our family is arriving
today, and I’ve taken the day off.” He nodded at Wiley. “Her
mother, Lady Rhapsody, will be here in time for dinner.”

Wiley blanched.

Jasmine jerked upright and hissed and at the
crushing pain. She grabbed her head. White lights flashed behind
her eyes and she grit her teeth, panting. Someone picked her up and
carried her to the couch. Something sweet and cloying was waved
under her nose, and then she was out.

“She’s better off asleep until the medicine
kicks in,” Keilor explained in a business-like manner as he capped
the vial of dream flower oil.

Rihlia was still pale, and Jayems touched her
shoulder in concern. She knocked his hand away and turned her back
on him. “I don’t want to see her.”

“Rihlia—“ Jayems began, concerned. He hadn’t
seen her this upset since before Jasmine arrived.

”My name is
Wiley
,” she snapped
viciously, “And I won’t see her!” Her eyes took on a dangerous
golden glint.

Undaunted, Jayems tried again. “She’s your
mother,” he said, his body tense. “She’s waited almost twenty years
for the chance—”

Wiley’s answering response raised the hair on
the back of his neck. No one should say such things about their
mother. Shocked momentarily dumb, Jayems watched her storm off and
winced when she slammed the door to her room. There was a moment of
silence.

Keilor touched his shoulder. “She didn’t mean
it, surely,” he said quietly.

“How can I keep Lady Rhapsody from her own
daughter?” Jayems asked in agony. “She’s done nothing to deserve
this.” He began to pace. “She’s coming here tonight, thinking she’s
about to meet her beloved daughter, not confront a waking
nightmare. This will kill her, Keilor.”

Keilor said nothing. Jayems spoke the truth.
Better that her daughter had never been found than to be returned
to her full of misplaced hatred. Worse, who could understand such
loathing?

His gaze fell on Jasmine, and his eyes
flared. “Our little gem,” he breathed, and grabbed Jayems. “What do
you see?” he demanded, pointing to the unsuspecting girl.

Jayems frowned. “A menace, usually.”

“A girl,” Keilor paused significantly, “who
knows Rihlia better than anyone alive. A confidant, a beloved
friend. Someone with untold influence over your wife. And if need
be, a bargaining chip.”

Jayems studied the girl. A slow, determined
smile lifted his mouth. “Perhaps the girl might be of some use
after all.”

Jasmine felt a great deal better when she
woke up. Sure, her mouth felt like dryer lint and her head was
fuzzy, but nothing hurt. She opened her eyes, feeling almost
optimistic, and turned her head.

Jayems and Keilor were staring at her.

“What?” she asked defensively. She scooted up
into an upright position. Keilor handed her a glass of cool water,
and she gulped it down gratefully.

“Why does Rihlia hate her mother?” Jayems
asked without warning, staring at her intently.

Caught off guard, she said the first thing
that came to mind. “Wouldn’t you be mad at someone who dumped you
in the woods and never came back?”

“That is not what happened!” Jayems snapped,
making her jump.

Keilor touched his arm, but he didn’t look
any happier. “We’ve told her that she was lost, not abandoned.”

Jasmine shrugged. “As if that matters to a
child.”

“She’s no longer a child,” Jayems argued,
looking like he wanted to jump up and pace.

She regarded at him for a long moment. “Wiley
never knew her mother growing up. Emotionally, when she thinks of
her, it’s with the feelings of a small child. She’s stuck in a time
warp, with no frame of reference to deal with the woman as an
adult.” Her thoughts turned inward. “You just don’t erase all that
in a day,” she finished softly.

“How can I do that if she won’t even talk to
her?” Jayems demanded. “How can she learn to get over this if she
keeps running away?”

Jasmine was silent. Mothers were not a topic
she ever cared to dwell on. Her own hurts were infected, painful
wounds, and she didn’t care to probe the hurts of others,
especially Wiley’s. Still, it was different, wasn’t it? Wiley’s
mother wasn’t going to drive her off.

Wiley’s mother wanted her.

Feeling a little sick, she wandered over and
gripped the back of a kitchen chair, very tight. Wiley’s mother
wanted her, and why wouldn’t she? Wiley was a wonderful person.
Anyone would be glad to have her for a daughter. And deep down,
past the pain and the fear of rejection, Jasmine believed Wiley
wanted to know her mother, too—needed to know her.

She walked over to the bedroom and knocked on
the door. “Wiley.” Her voice lacked enthusiasm.

There was a rustling noise inside. “I know
you can hear me, long ears.” No response. Jasmine slumped against
the door, feeling ninety years old. She braced one palm against it
and rested her head against the wood. She felt so tired. “You’re
going to see your mother, Wiley, because you’re not a coward. If
you need to hate her, at least have the decency to call her a bitch
to her face.”

A growl came from Jayems’ direction, but she
ignored it. Eyes closed, she said hollowly, “I’d do it for you, Wi,
but dealing with one mother in a lifetime is all I have the energy
for. Just get it over with.” Utterly drained, she shuffled off to
her room; not caring as much as she should’ve that others saw her
weakness.

Two hours later, she cared.

Keilor found her wedged in a corner behind a
wing chair in her darkened room. She was curled on a cushion,
nursing her sense of worthlessness.

He’d feared something like this, but a sense
of self-preservation and the need to keep Jayems from storming into
his wife’s room had stopped him from following her. Kisses were one
thing, but he was not ready for emotional intimacy with her, now or
ever.

The sight of her so broken pained him in
frightening ways. To preserve his distance and to maintain control,
he responded with callousness.