“I’m enjoying myself,” he protested, and gestured toward his penis. “I wouldn’t be hard if I wasn’t.”
“There’s enjoying yourself, and then there’s having flame eyes. You are allowed to help, you know. I say we start over.” I crawled up his body, and decided that perhaps the reason he wasn’t as hot and bothered as I wanted him to be was because I wasn’t paying him enough attention. There was no reason why I shouldn’t kiss his chest, why I shouldn’t fondle and taste those parts of him that didn’t trigger my anxieties. So I did so, kissing his belly, nibbling on the wonderful line of muscle that sat on his flanks, using my fingers and mouth to map out all the contours of his stomach and chest. By the time I reached his tattoos, his chest was heaving beneath me, a fact that pleased me greatly. I discovered that I liked him breathless. “Mmm. You taste…indescribably good. I like this a lot.”
“I really am going to require equal time with chest torments,” he said, taking my breasts in his hands. I leaned into them, which allowed me to kiss his nipples. After a moment’s thought, I licked one, then gave it the gentlest of nips. He groaned. I repeated the action with the other one, then nipped his chin and scooted higher until I could kiss him properly. His hands were on my hips now, sliding back to my butt cheeks, caressing them while his mouth opened to welcome my tongue. For some reason I couldn’t begin to explain, I found exploring his mouth a wonderful experience. Maybe it was the slightly spicy taste to him, maybe it was the heat that seemed to be contained in him, or maybe it was just that the feeling of his tongue stroking mine fired up pools of heat deep inside me, but tasting him didn’t set off one single “Danger! Contamination!” warning in my head.
“For someone who has an oral aversion,” he said, in between kisses, “you certainly know how to use your tongue.”
“I know.” I grinned down at him, reveling at the flames that licked the outer edges of his irises. “It’s the weirdo in me. Other OCD sufferers might freak out at it, but it’s the one thing I’m okay with. Shall we give this another go?”
“I will be very unhappy if we don’t,” he said, and this time when I sank down on him, he helped by pushing his hips upward, until we worked out a rhythm that had my focus narrowing down to that moment in time and space, of Ian’s body moving with mine, and of the fire that he stirred inside me, building in intensity alongside my orgasm until I felt myself going over the edge into the burning inferno of ecstasy.
Literally burning, as it turned out. I had collapsed down on his chest, his shout of completion still echoing in my ears when I realized that he was on fire.
“Eek!” I shrieked, and scrambled off him despite my body’s desire to stay exactly where it was. Ian’s tattoos were alight, fire merrily burning along the thick curves and swoops of the designs. “You’re on fire! Should I get a towel? A blanket? Where’s your fire extinguisher?”
He tried to look down at his chest, but the tattoos were too high up. “It’s nothing,” he said, patting at his upper chest and collarbone.
“Seriously, I know you’re a dragon and all, but that’s fire. Real fire. You, Ian, are on real, actual fire.”
“Did I miss any?” he asked, trying again to look down at the tattoos.
“Yes, there’s a bit under your chin.”
“Take care of it for me, would you?” he asked, tipping his head back.
“Are you insane?” I gawked at him openmouthed. “I’ll burn myself!”
“It’s dragon fire, Veronica. You are a dragon hunter. It won’t hurt you.”
“You don’t know that,” I said, utterly irrationally; then with an annoyed tsk at myself because he did, in fact, know, I tentatively reached my hand toward the bit of flame burning in the center of his collarbone.
Oddly, it gave off no heat. I ran a finger quickly through it, but there was only the mildest of sensations. Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and quickly patted where the flames burned along a tattoo.
There was no sensation of fire, just a pleasant warming.
“Now, that is interesting,” I said, sitting back on my heels to examine my fingers. “It didn’t even feel like fire. I’ve run a finger through the flame of a candle, and this wasn’t even as hot as that was.”
“Dragon fire,” he said, and padded into the bathroom, assumedly to remove the condom. When he came back, he stifled a big yawn and got back into bed. I was reminded it was the middle of the night, and I’d just had what was literally the best sex of my life, and by conventional standards, I should now be snuggled up next to him enjoying my endorphins, the sensation of bonding after sex, and some mild pillow talk.
“Sorry. I have to take a shower. It’s nothing about you; it’s just one of my weird quirks.”
“By all means,” he said, yawning again as he waved to the bathroom. “Help yourself. There are fresh towels on the rack.”
He was asleep by the time I was clean and returned to bed, and as I carefully pressed myself against his back, relishing the heat and reassuringly solid feel of him, I allowed a cautiously hopeful thought to echo around in my head.
Maybe we were meant to be together. Maybe we were immortal soul mates, destined to live our lives intertwined. Maybe I would fall in love, and live happily ever after, even if that meant centuries rather than decades.
Maybe life was, just this once, giving me a break.
Chapter Eleven
“I DON’T FEEL RIGHT ABOUT THIS AT ALL,” IAN SAID, shifting uncomfortably in the seat of his car.
“You’re just being precious,” Sasha said, making a face at herself in the mirror affixed to the pull-down visor. She had changed her hairstyle three times in as many minutes and was now trying a fourth.
“I am not precious,” he said, irritated by her new latest favorite word. Last week it had been “dude.” The week before, it was “douchecanoe.” He supposed that given those last two choices, he really had nothing to complain about. “I simply do not like doing things in an underhanded manner. Where did you put it?”
“Pencil jar on her desk. How do you feel about hair coiled into circles over the ears? Is it too medieval? Would mortals gawk at that look? Would it make me look too precious?”
“It would make the geek population happy,” he said, wondering how to explain the phenomenon of Star Wars movies to someone who had never experienced them. There were so many ways Sasha was an innocent, and yet she knew more than he could even imagine. “How good is the range on that microphone? I don’t hear anything.”
Sasha dug through the enormous bag she’d taken to carrying and pulled out a pair of oversized sunglasses, slipping them on before judging her appearance in the mirror. “That’s because no one is there yet. If you look closely, you’ll see the lights are off in the chicky’s office.”
“Chicky?” Ian was aware that he was unusually prickly this morning. He very much wished he could spend the day with Veronica, but she had claimed a prior commitment and dashed off before he could persuade her that time with him was a better use of her day.
Then there was the fact that he needed to find the courier and rescue the esprits before Falafel found them.
“Chicky, yes. You know, the one who works there.”
“The Witness, you mean?”
Sasha waved an airy hand. “Whatever she’s called.”
Ian wondered briefly how someone could be so old and yet have so little grasp of the beings of the Otherworld. “Witnesses are what we call those members of the Church of the Mortified Flesh of the Anguished Witness.”
“Hmm.” She studied her reflection. “The magazine you got me said I should add highlights to my hair for the summer in order to set off my healthy bronzed complexion. How do I get these highlights? Is there a pen or a wand or a glamour, or something?”
“You go to a store like a normal person, and shop in the hair care aisle. Beyond that, I don’t know. I’m going to give it five more minutes, and then go. I can’t wait here all morning.”
“I think you should stay.”
Sasha’s voice was muffled since she all but had her head in the bag while she dug out something else. It turned out to be a headband with two long springs that wobbled in all directions, topped with golf ball–sized blobs of red and yellow yarn.
“Why?”
She shrugged.
Ian had a feeling she was keeping something from him, and not being a man who suffered in silence, asked, “Do you want to tell me the real reason you want me here?”
She pursed her lips and played with one of her deely boppers. “You’re so suspicious. Honestly, Ian, I don’t know why you took me on as a partner if you don’t want to listen to my advice.”
The look he gave her was one of pure outrage. “I didn’t take you on as a partner.”
“Maybe not, but you didn’t stop me when I showed up on your doorstep, just like you didn’t stop it when people dumped all those animals on you.”
“The animals are yours,” he said with stony indifference.
“You had all those animals except Chicken and Duck when I got there. Admit it,” she said, nudging him with her elbow. “You’re a big softy, and you just can’t stand anyone knowing the truth.”
“To what purpose is this conversation?” he asked, admitting no such thing. It would be a lighthearted day in Abaddon before he indulged in introspective contemplation.
She giggled. “I worry about you. What’s going to happen when I’m done being your apprentice? Who’s going to make sure you don’t give in to your demon side then? You need someone to keep you from committing heinous and horrible acts should your boss lady decide to make you do that.”
He ignored the familiar feeling of guilt and failure that plagued him whenever he thought of the past. “The fact that I haven’t given in to my demon side in the last few years aside, of course?”
She waved that away. “There’s more at stake now.”
He thought about that. She was right; there was more at stake now that Veronica had entered the picture. She must be protected, kept from Anzo’s knowledge. He was torn between wanting to do just that, and the knowledge that he had failed to keep his mother and Adam safe.
“You are seriously grumpy,” Sasha said suddenly. “And here I thought sex with Ronnie would have put you in a better mood. She sure was smiling when she left this morning.”
He said nothing, relaxing back into his seat, his gaze firmly affixed to the rearview mirror where the offices of Fuller Realty were slowly coming to life. It was clearly time for another change of subject. “We’re here, and that’s what you wanted, although I wish you’d tell me why.”
“You never know who might show up,” she said, twanging one of her antennae.
“That tells me nothing.” Ian wondered for the fifth time in an hour why he had let himself be talked into this plan when he could be teaching Veronica the joys of sexual playtime. Just the memory of her the night before had dragon fire burning hot within him.
Sasha twanged another antenna. “Sometimes nothing is everything. Ah, there she is.”
“Veronica?” Ian sat up from where he’d slumped back in the seat, his mind filled with the warmth of the woman who was fast bewitching him, but the figure in a red power suit who crossed the street behind them was not familiar. “Oh. I assume that’s the Witness?”
“That’s the chicky, yes,” Sasha agreed, and swapped out her sunglasses for a pair of zebra-striped ones.
Ian got out of the car, and froze for a moment as two women emerged from a VW Bug and hurried into the real estate office. “What is she…? Stay here,” he ordered Sasha.
“Are you insane?” Sasha scrambled out of the car and ran after him as he strode across the street to the office. “Wait up, your legs are longer than mine!”
He waved off the inquiry of a woman at a desk, and headed straight for the Witness’s office, opening the door to hear her say, “Yes, of course we have the names of people who rent the properties we handle.”
“Oh, good, then you can help us find Ronnie’s friend. We need the names and addresses of whoever moved into town in the last few weeks.”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t do that,” the Witness protested. “It’s against any number of privacy laws—excuse me, sir, but I am busy at the moment.” This last was addressed to him. Both of the women in front of her desk turned, identical expressions of surprise on their faces when they saw him.
“Hello,” he said, trying to come up with a reason why he should be there. His gaze went to Veronica, and moved over to her side, putting a possessive hand on her shoulder before leaning down to kiss her. “Sorry I’m late…darling.”
Her eyes widened a little as she stared first at him, then in amazement at Sasha. “Oh, we’re doing that again, are we?” she finally asked in a whisper.
“Yes. Play along.” He straightened up and gave the Witness a long, hard look. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Ian. Veronica and I are…” He let the sentence trail off suggestively.
“Shut the front door!” Teresita said, slapping her hand down on the arm of the chair. “I knew it! I just knew it! I could tell by the way Ronnie was all happy and giggly and so not like her normal self this morning that something between you two had gone down. I didn’t know it was your respective pants, but I highly approve of this.”
“Indeed.” The Witness smiled a smile that seemed to Ian to involve an impossibly large number of teeth. She reminded him of a former beauty queen, with teased red hair, a flawless complexion that probably came from a bottle, perfect makeup and nails, all swathed in a heavy floral scent that made his nose itch. “Well, Mr.…er…” She waited for a moment, clearly expecting him to offer his surname. He just raised an eyebrow slightly. “Well, as I told your partner, I’m unable to give her the information she seeks.”
“We understand that you can’t just give us the names of all the renters,” Veronica said, glancing upward at him before turning back to the Witness. “But surely it doesn’t violate any privacy policies to give us a list of what rental properties are available in the area? I believe that information is freely distributed to online real estate sites.”
“That is true,” the Witness allowed, dabbing her forehead with a tissue. She had a light sheen of sweat that struck Ian as being odd. Just at that moment, the woman gave him a curious look and leaned forward, giving an almost inaudible sniff.
Ian stepped back three paces, giving a little grunt when Sasha, who had been poking around a large potted plant, suddenly threw herself on Ian and hung off his front, her hands around his neck and her yarn bobble antennae bopping him gently on the chin. “Lumpypants! Hugsies! I need lots of hugs right now!”
Veronica turned a face upon him that expressed first surprise, then outrage. Ian gritted his teeth while Sasha rubbed the scent of a being from the Court of Divine Blood on him, wondering how it was that he ended up in these situations. On the whole, he was a good man, one who spent his time—when he wasn’t under direct order by Anzo—doing good works by rescuing animals, and in general, contributing to the betterment of the world.
And now look where that got him.
“Er…I thought you were together with Ms. James,” the Witness said, her eyes narrowing on them.
“We’re a threesome,” Sasha said happily, turning around and wiggling her back against Ian. He gently pushed her forward, feeling that she’d masked his demon-riddled scent enough. “Aren’t we, Ronnie?”
Veronica stared first at Sasha, then at Ian, and blinked a couple of times before facing forward. “We sure are.”
“You are?” Teresita asked, a hint of amazed awe in her voice.
“Sure thing. Ménage a trois, that’s us all the way to the bank and back. So, how about those addresses, Ms. Fuller?”
“I’m sorry,” the Witness said, shaking her head. “But it’s still not something this office does. John, my husband, you know—John, I’m sure, would not like it.”
“What John doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Teresita said persuasively, having managed to stop st
aring in stark surprise at Veronica.
“We could really use your help with this,” Veronica told the Witness.
“Yes, but you don’t say why you are trying to find whoever moved to town.” The Witness dabbed at her upper lip. “I really can’t…Oh, dear. I’m sorry, I’m just a bit queasy at the moment. I can’t think why…It must be breakfast disagreeing with me.”
“We can come back another time,” Veronica said with obvious disappointment.
Ian watched the Witness with growing concern. She really did look sick to her stomach; the lines around her mouth were showing starkly despite the careful application of cosmetics. He wondered if her sudden illness was a coincidence or not, and glanced speculatively at Veronica.
“No, no, it’ll pass, I’m sure.” The Witness waved the tissue in her hand and straightened her shoulders as if she could will herself into feeling better. “Perhaps if you told me why you were attempting to find a new resident of our fair Daniston, I might be able to see my way into releasing the list of rental properties.”
“Pull up a carpet square, because it’s a killer story. There’s this woman—” Teresita said, and settled back to relish the story she was clearly about to tell.
To Ian’s surprise, Veronica reached in front of him and dug her fingernails into Teresita’s arm, effectively interrupting her. “It’s very simple, actually,” Veronica said with a smile that was clearly as fake as the Witness. “This summer, I’m trying to be more mindful of those around me who could use a helping hand. I thought it would be nice to reach out to all those folks in my immediate vicinity in case they need assistance in getting settled.”
“Commendable, I’m sure—urgh.” The Witness stopped and fanned herself with a glossy brochure featuring pictures of a house. “I’m so sorry, I am never sick, absolutely never. You can ask anyone. I don’t quite know—”