By the time I made it down, Ian was seated on a stool sipping an ale Pinky had poured for him. A glass of strawberry mead sat in front of the stool next to him. I had no reason to ask if it was mine… Pinky knew what I liked.
“I thought you were one of those early to bed, early to rise people,” I said, nodding at the clock above the bar that indicated it was nearly midnight. Early morning in vampire or barkeep hours, but Ian was neither. As far as I knew, he kept very early hours, both with the guild and his Academy classes.
“I usually am, but tonight, I can’t seem to get to sleep,” he said, sipping his ale.
“Is it the case this morning? Have you found out anything new?” I asked, hoping he would say yes. Not so much because of the case, because I had made my report to Sam and I was no longer on it. But Ian might not know that. So I was hoping he had found something out and came to talk to me because he thought I was the case agent in charge. The alternative was too uncomfortable to think about.
“As I told you this morning, I can’t explain the lack of spirit around that body. I sent my report over to Sam. There is nothing more I can do. It’s for the investigators to figure out at this point.” He kept sipping his ale as he talked. He didn’t even turn to look at me. I swear it was as if the man knew exactly how to irritate me and did so on purpose.
“I see. Then why are you here?” I asked, my voice clipped.
“I told you, I couldn’t sleep and wanted a drink.”
Although I knew it was unethical, I opened my senses for just a moment. I felt no intense emotion at all coming off him. He was cool, calm, and telling the truth. I shut down my power to prevent the strong emotions from the other bar patrons from disturbing me. Trying to read emotions in a crowded room was like having a headache in a crowd of screaming people and trying to pick out one voice from the masses.
He might appear to be cool, calm, and collected, but I didn’t buy it. I had no doubt he was skilled at keeping his emotions under control, even when lying. He had come here for a reason, and I was going to find out what that was, one way or another.
“So, you decided to come out hours after your normal bedtime, to a bar more than a mile from where you live, passing, what, fifteen or sixteen bars and restaurants on the way?” I didn’t even try to hide the skepticism in my voice.
“Maybe I heard Pinky brews the best ale in the city-state and wanted to try it for myself.” He smiled just enough to give him a look of innocence that most women would fall for. Most, but not me.
“He does, but I don’t buy it, Barroes. Not when I’m sure if you had been that curious, you would have had one of your servants buy you some at the market. River sells it by the pint in her booth, which I figure you already know. Try something else.”
This time, he unleashed his full grin as he turned to me, leaning with one elbow on the bar. Holy Mother Earth, how had I ever thought this man boring? He had charm in spades when he wanted to. Damn it!
“Well, then, maybe I wanted to buy you a drink,” he said, smoothly gesturing towards the glass of mead in my hand.
“Buy me a drink? In my own bar? Really, Barroes? That’s what you are going with?” I tried for as much sarcasm as I could muster to hide the way heat had just shot through my body at his words. So the unthinkable really was true. He was here just to see me.
Crap!
The grin faded slightly and his eyes darkened. “Dance with me.”
It wasn’t a question, but a soft demand.
“What?” Damn! Why did my voice sound so weak and bewildered?
“Don’t look so scared. It’s just a dance.” His voice held amused arrogance.
But it wasn’t just a dance. I knew that as certain as I knew my own name, and I knew he knew it too. I’d spent years resisting the magnetic force inside me that dragged me towards Ian. I didn’t like him as a person, but I yearned for him as a woman. I’d denied the attraction, forcing myself to stay clear of him. He was not the type of man I wanted in my life, though at that moment, I couldn’t remember exactly why. If I took his hand, it wouldn’t be just a dance. If I went into his arms, I wouldn’t be able to keep that distance anymore. I knew myself well enough to know that once I felt his arms around me, it wouldn’t be enough.
When I didn’t answer, only stood there looking at his hand like it would bite me, he lowered it and leaned against the bar. “My fair Fiona, why are you scared of me?”
“I’m not scared,” I lied.
“Okay, then why do you hate me?” He asked the question casually, conversationally, as if he were asking the time of day.
“I don’t hate you, Ian.” It wasn’t a lie. I didn’t hate him. Although I tried to tell myself I did. Even just this morning I had thought how much I hated him. But that had been the lie. “But, I don’t like you.”
His lips twitched. “Why?”
“You are an arrogant, snobbish, boring, stuffy elitist.” Most of it was honestly how I felt. Except the boring part. He was a bookish academic, a professor, so of course he was boring. Yet, whenever I was within ten feet of him, I felt anything but bored. It was as if the air around him was charged in a way to excite me, and only me, to the very core.
The damn man actually had the nerve to laugh. Laugh! It was a rich, throaty sound I had never heard before. He was always so serious; I didn’t even know he knew how to laugh. Though admittedly, our contact had always been of a professional nature, and there wasn’t much reason to laugh when standing over a dead body.
“What is so fucking funny?” I asked, not even attempting to hide my annoyance.
“I didn’t realize you knew me well enough to have such a precise opinion of me,” he said, wiping his eyes as if wiping away tears.
It hadn’t been that damned funny, yet he had a point. We’d worked together many times over the past five or six years. I knew how he worked, I knew his reputation, and I knew basic facts about him. I knew what any coworker would know, but most of my knowledge about his life and history was secondhand from other agents.
“Okay, I concede that I don’t know you well enough to have a personal opinion of you,” I said, neutrally.
“And every time I’ve given you the opportunity to know me outside of work, you have refused.”
It was true. It was not unusual for a team of Blades, Guards, and necromancers working a case together to have a meal or drinks together. Getting to know the people you worked with made it easier to trust the person at your back in a tense situation and promoted interagency relations. I often spent time outside of work with the men and women I worked with, yet any time Ian had been included in the group, I had come up with an excuse to skip out. I had also refused his personal offers of drink or meals or anything that would cause us to be alone while not working a case.
I wanted to tell myself it was because he was a necromancer, but I knew it would be a lie. I worked with other necromancers, and while I wasn’t close, personal friends with any of them, I did my best to put my prejudices aside and did not avoid social situations where they were concerned. But, then, I didn’t have the overwhelming urge to strip naked and jump any other necromancer every time they were within fifteen feet of me.
“You should at least give me the chance to earn such a low opinion,” he continued, his eyes brimming with challenge.
It was a trap, and I knew it. I knew with every fiber of my being that he felt the sexual tension between us as sharply as I did. He knew if we danced, it wouldn’t just be a dance. It would be the beginning of something hot and complicated.
I was the last person to run away from hot. Hot sex was the spice of life. But complicated had never been my style. I liked to know what was happening and what would happen next in a relationship. I couldn’t possibly see how getting involved with Ian wouldn’t be complicated. The worst part was I had no idea how it would end. My affairs usually had clear beginnings and rules for clear endings. Complicated usually meant a bad ending.
I could say something fl
ippant, turn, and leave him standing here alone and avoid the situation for a while longer. I had been avoiding it for more than five years—I could keep doing it. But avoiding was getting so tiresome. And it was the coward’s way out. I wasn’t a coward.
Hoping my eyes didn’t give away the tremble in my belly, I made my voice as aloof as possible. “Ok, fine. Let’s dance.”
I didn’t take his hand. Instead, I put my glass on the bar, turned, and walked to the dance floor. When I found a clear spot, I turned to see he was still lazily leaning against the bar watching me. I tapped my foot impatiently and gave him my best, well, let’s get on with it glare.
He grinned, drained the last of his ale from his glass before putting it on the bar, and then casually walked over to me. Ugh! The nerve of the man. Intellectually, I knew he was playing games with me. Oh, I had no doubt he actually wanted to dance with me, maybe even wanted me. But he was being as infuriatingly arrogant and insufferable as possible. Even more so than normal. I was sure he was doing it to see how much I would take. To gauge whether or not I was truly attracted to him.
I should teach him a lesson by turning on my heel and prancing off the dance floor leaving him there alone and looking like a fool. That was exactly what I should do. But I didn’t. I knew I was letting him win. But I was tired of fighting it. My brain wanted to throttle him, but my body wanted to press against him. My body won the fight.
When he reached me, I took his outstretched hand and went to him, as grudgingly as I could manage. The moment his skin touched mine, all of my defiance melted, and my legs nearly did too. He pulled me to him, but I put up a token resistance, trying to keep a little space between us.
“Chicken,” he purred in my ear as he tugged me closer. He smelled like old books laced with ale and a male spiciness unique to him. It was intoxicating. I gave up and let him fold me into him, my arms going around his neck as his hands firmly grasped my waist. We began to move gently to the music, Ian in the lead. We danced like that, staring into each other’s eyes without speaking, for several moments. It felt almost as if it were a dare to see who looked away first. I was determined it wouldn’t be me.
His eyes were dark, expressionless, and his face still held the same cocky, self-assured expression as before. My body tingled every place it touched his, but I couldn’t tell what he was thinking or feeling, if anything at all. Just as I was about to open my senses again, he smiled a very sexy, almost naughty smile. My stomach lurched.
“See, dancing with me isn’t so bad, is it?” His voice was low, smooth, and sexy.
I didn’t respond, but he didn’t seem to expect me too. He reached up, pushing a strand of hair out of my face and behind my ear, then used his finger to trace my earlobe and down my neck. Heat curled in my belly and shot through me in sharp bolts of lightning.
“You are so fucking beautiful!” It came out of him in a harsh rush, almost as if he hadn’t meant to say it out loud, and from the look on his face, he hadn’t.
It was my turn to flash a smug, knowing smile. I knew it! He felt the sexual pull just as surely as I did. And, he was just as thrown by it. I got a sick sense of satisfaction out of the knowledge. It also turned me on. As infuriatingly sexy as his arrogant act was, knowing he was actually a bit unsure and nervous was even more so.
I slid my hands up his neck and curled my fingers into his thick hair. He responded by looping his arm around my waist and pulling tight, so that we were plastered together from chest to hip. His other hand wrapped around the back of my neck and pulled my head to him. It was slow and deliberate, as if he was purposefully building the tension in me, in both of us. Just when I thought I could take no more, his lips touched mine.
Fire erupted inside me so intense and hot I was sure he could feel it too. His lips were warm and firm. I stuck out the tip of my tongue and ran it along his bottom lip, shivering from the pure pleasure of it. Fuck, he tasted so damned good.
Ian took this as a sign and deepened the kiss. His tongue invaded my mouth, licking at me with long, firm strokes. I returned the treatment fiercely.
This isn’t a good idea. This isn’t a good idea. The mantra beat weakly in the back of my mind, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember why it was a bad idea. I couldn’t bring myself to care either. All I could think about was his scent, his heat, and how they surrounded me. The way his touch set me on fire. I wanted more. I needed more. Very much more. I had enough clarity to know I couldn’t have him right there on the dance floor, but I wanted him. I wanted him so much. I would have him, too. I couldn’t take him upstairs to my apartment where River was sleeping. But even though we didn’t use the second floor rooms as an Inn anymore, a few were kept clean and stocked with linens.