Hell Bent

Chapter 23

I dropped Cody off at his place, then drove around the area, just to make sure no one had followed us and that he wasn’t in danger. Waited until sundown but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

Cody couldn’t use magic anymore, but I knew he could take care of himself.

Satisfied he would be okay, I headed home.

The inn was up and running full speed tonight. Plenty of diners and people at the bar. We’d started with live music a few months ago, and it looked like tonight the old piano was getting a workout.

It was, in some ways, a clash from my childhood growing up in the apartment above the other side of the inn. Back then it was home. And while it could have been very busy and alive with customers, there were late-night meetings of the Authority members, and, down in the basement around the well of magic hidden there, all sorts of tests and magic events had gone on.

Now the well was still hidden, but it didn’t matter. People could tap in to it and magic wouldn’t do anything dangerous. So the whole “here’s our happy home, which also happens to be sitting on a time bomb” atmosphere of the place was gone.

Honestly? I missed it.

I wove through tables, winked at the pretty blond waitress, who was definitely jailbait, and then headed up to the room I’d been in since Mum had kicked me out of the house proper.

Up a flight of stairs, dragged the bat behind me down the hall.

I paused outside my door. My Shamus senses were tingling.

Something was wrong with the door. For one thing, it was unlocked and wide open. Sure, I’d left the place drugged out of my brain, but someone would have shut it.

Interesting.

I tucked Eleanor’s statue under my arm and lifted the baseball bat, resting it above my shoulder.

Walked into the room.

Room looked like my room. Couch covered in clothes and a few books I hadn’t reshelved. Small kitchen area clean because who in their right mind would cook when they had an entire restaurant at their feet? Bedroom door cracked open.

That wasn’t right.

Eleanor whisked past me and through the door into the bedroom. She came out and shook her head. Mouthed a word I couldn’t quite make out.

What? I mouthed.

She said the word again. Rolled her eyes. Walked up to me and held out one finger. I took one hand off the bat and turned my palm up for her.

In icy strokes, she spelled out: D-E-S-S-A.

And if it was Dessa in there, she probably already knew I was in the room.

“I know you’re in the room,” she said. “Why don’t you come on in?”

“Do you have a weapon?”

“Oh, sure. But I promise to keep my hands off my guns this time. That is, if you play nice.”

I didn’t put down the bat. But I did leave the statue on the side table before pushing the bedroom door open the rest of the way.

Dessa was sitting on the edge of my bed. Fully clothed, which was, I’ll admit, a little disappointing. The bed was made, and after I pulled my gaze off her to the room, I noticed she had folded my clothes, set them on the two chairs in the room, and had thrown away all the food wrappers and beer bottles.

“I didn’t peg you as the domestic type,” I said.

“I didn’t think you were into sports.” She pointed at the bat.

I grinned, rested the bat next to the door. “So . . . you clean?”

She shrugged and looked down at her hands for a moment before looking back up at me. “I’ve thought about what I said today. When I told you I wanted to do this alone. I’ve changed my mind.”

“You’re making nice so I’ll let you in on finding your brother’s killer, aren’t you?”

“You already told me you’d do that. This is just me making nice.”

“A little pleasure before business?” I asked.

“A little pleasure.” She held my gaze. “Maybe we don’t need business right now.”

Huh. I nodded.

“Why did you drop me off at Terric’s last night?” I asked.

“He’s your friend, right?”

“Sometimes.”

“He’s more than that too. Life magic?”

“Yes.”

“Was I wrong to do it?”

“No. But I wish you would have stayed. I’ve spent half the day looking for you. Worrying.”

“And here I was, in your bedroom all along.”

“And here you are. So. What’s this really all about?” I waved my hand at my semiclean room.

“I told you. An apology.”

“Because . . . ?”

She quirked a smile and tipped her head to one side. “Can you seriously not just take me at face value? Must you question everything I do?”

“It’s a failing, my terrible, terrible curiosity.”

“I got your attention, didn’t I?”

“Is that what you wanted? My attention? Because you already had that.”

Her heartbeat was steady, but strong. She licked her lips and the blush that bloomed against her pale skin gave her away. That wasn’t fear she was feeling.

She wanted me. Wanted us.

Why had I not slept with her? Sure, there was the whole drugging and kidnapping and bondage, but I liked a girl who knew what she wanted and went after it.

“I want more than your attention,” she said softly.

“Tell me you’re not going to follow that up by pulling a gun on me.” I took a step toward her. Unzipped my hoodie, tossed it on the floor.

She stood. “I said this wasn’t about business.”

“True.” I didn’t walk any closer. Waited to see what she’d do.

“Why haven’t you asked me where I thought Eli was?” she asked.

“Is that your sexy talk? Because it doesn’t sound like sexy talk. It sounds like business talk. I thought you didn’t want to mix those.”

“I could.” A slight smile curved her mouth.

“Go on, then.”

“Why”—her finger slipped to the first button on her blouse and she slowly pushed it through the hole. Her shirt opened a bit, revealing skin—“haven’t you”—fingers pinched the second button, flicked it through the hole to show just the edge of breast and bra—“asked me about”—she ran her fingertip around the third button, the one that strained to hold the fabric together between her breasts. She didn’t unbutton it—“Eli?”

“I don’t care about him,” I said, advancing on her. “Not right now. Not here.”

My heart was pounding hard, heat firing across my body, drawing me awake, alert. She wasn’t backing away, wasn’t backing down. Just stood there, her hands resting on her hips, watching me. Wanting me.

“What do you want?” she whispered.

I reached out and for the first time, touched her hair—silken fire through my fingers—drawing it gently away from her face.

I stroked my thumb along the corner of her lip, up her cheek, then down to pause at the pulse point on her neck, pressing there just hard enough that I could feel the thump of her heart.

She closed her eyes at my touch, her lips parting as she inhaled.

“I want you.”

“You don’t even know me,” she said with a hitch in her breath.

“I could.” I slipped my hand to her waist, fingers angled down to her ass. “If you want me to.”

She opened her eyes, looked up at me. And the hope there, the doubt there, made me hold very still. Waiting.

“I want you to.”

I exhaled and my heart began beating again. “Look at that,” I said softly as I leaned over her. “We agreed on something. It’s a miracle.”

“You should stop talking and kiss—”

She didn’t have a chance to finish that. I drew her against me, all the soft heat and curves of her body. Pushed my fingers up into her hair, my rings muffled by the weight of her curls.

I lowered my head and caught her lips with mine, gentle, slow, teasing. I wanted to savor every sweet texture, every pulse beat that made her. Then I wanted to find out what would unmake her.

She kissed me back, her lips soft, her tongue asking for entrance I willingly gave, then stroking deliciously against mine. She matched my lead, taking it slow, until the hesitancy finally melted out of her muscles and she softened, her arms wrapping around my neck. She stepped into me, her hips against mine.

A pulse of need burned through my bones and made every muscle in my body hard.

I slid my hand down her back, spreading my fingers wide so I could press her closer. Her hands were busy too.

She tugged at my sweater, her hand sliding beneath it only to find my T-shirt. She made a soft moan of disappointment, and I couldn’t help smiling a little.

I drew away from the wonder of her lips. “Problem, love?” I dipped my head again, kissed instead the side of her neck, the heat of my lips against her pulse causing her to gasp, the scent of her filling me with an aching hunger.

“I want . . . ,” she began.

I bit her tender skin, gently, and she gasped again. Her hands clenched in my sweater, tugging, or maybe to steady herself.

“Shame. Now. I want you.”

“Patience,” I said. “We have time.”

I pulled away, rested my hand on her hip until her eyes focused again. I leaned back, far enough so that I could pull the damn sweater off without hitting her in the face. Dropped it to the floor then muscled out of the T-shirt.

She wasn’t standing idle. Her hands pressed against my stomach, and every fiber in my body clenched as she dragged warm fingers downward over my bare skin.

Good God.

Okay, maybe we didn’t have as much time as I thought. Maybe I was the one who didn’t want to be patient.

The T-shirt joined the sweater.

For a moment, standing there, in the low light of the room, she tensed again. Looked up at me. “What’s wrong with your arm?”

I glanced at the bandage. I’d forgotten about it. “Hurt it. Not badly.”

“And this?” she asked. “Is this a glyph?”

She traced the old scar on my chest—well, one of them. The scar from when Terric shoved a crystal containing magic into my mortal wound to make me live again. The crystal was gone now—blown apart when I’d died a second time, sacrificing my body and soul at the altar of Death magic so I could kill that son of a bitch Jingo Jingo.

I didn’t think about the scar much anymore. Told most women it was from a knife fight, or whatever I thought they’d want to hear. Something that would make me sound strong. Heroic.

But that wasn’t what I was going to tell Dessa. I was going to tell her the truth.

“It’s not a glyph, but it was put there by magic. Terric, he did something with magic to save my life. This is the scar from that.”

She nodded. “He’s . . . more than a friend, isn’t he? The look on his face when he opened his door and saw you there the other night, Shame. He loves you, doesn’t he?”

“I think so,” I heard myself saying. Apparently, one truth tonight wasn’t going to be enough.

“But you don’t love him?”

I took a deep breath. The churning mix of feelings I had for Terric came rushing to the surface as if Dessa had opened a part of me that had been long buried. I cared for him—hell, I’d die for him. That was a kind of love, wasn’t it? But the love he wanted wasn’t something I could give.

“I just . . .” I shook my head. “I care. He’s a brother. But I’ll ruin him. One day I’ll be his death. Or he’ll be mine. And that will ruin him too.” I couldn’t say any more because there were tears in my eyes.

Well, that was new. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d cried. No wonder why I never told the truth.

“Lord.” I choked on a laugh. “The things you make me feel, woman.” I lifted my hand to wipe my eyes, feeling like a damn idiot.

But her hands stopped me, one on each wrist, pulling my hands away from my face. So she could see me.

She stood there, her gaze shifting, studying my face, studying my very vulnerable pain I knew she could see there, this weakness I had never showed anyone before.

Then she stood on tiptoe and kissed me. No more hesitation, no more slow.

I kissed her back, until her warmth replaced the sorrow inside me. Then I picked her up, laid her down upon my bed, and slowly took every stitch of clothing off her, kissing each part of her as I did so. Slid her panties gently down the silk of her skin, and ran my palms up her thighs, as I kissed the curve of her hipbone.

She unhooked her bra and drew it away, offering all of her body to me. I looked down at her, and she smiled softly.

I lowered my mouth to her breast and gently ran my tongue there, savoring the taste of her skin and the shiver of pleasure that ran through her as her nipple hardened.

Her fingers stroked through my hair; the other hand slid up to my right arm braced beside her. She slipped her fingers between mine and pulled my hand toward her.

I reluctantly shifted away and looked down at her again.

“I want all of you,” she whispered. And without breaking eye contact, she removed my rings, one by one, and kissed my bare flesh there.

She was my air, my sensation, my world.

And, for the first time in a very long time, I wondered if this was what love felt like.

“Dog or cat?” she asked.

We were lying together under the covers, me on my back, her beside me. Our bodies were pressed together, her head tucked against my chest, her fingers tracing the old scars there.

“Both,” I said. “Ice cream or sorbet?”

“Sorbet all the way. Have you ever wanted kids?”

“That’s the kind of question that makes strong men run, you know.”

She stopped tracing my scars and looked up at me. “Want me to get your boots?”

“No, no. I got this one. Kids.” I took a deep breath. “I’d never thought I’d live long enough to be a father. So. No.”

“You didn’t say you didn’t want them.”

“True.”

“I think men who want kids are very, very sexy.” She dipped her head. Kissed my nipple. A ripple of pleasure slid through me.

“Well, then, of course I want kids. Loads of them.” It came out, strangely, not flippant. For a second or two I lay there trying to imagine myself holding a little chubby-cheeked Flynn baby with her blue eyes.

“Your turn,” she said.

“Mmm. Star Wars or Star Trek?”

She giggled. “Really?”

“Civilizations have crumbled under this question. I expect you to answer me truthfully.”

“Trek.”

“What?” I said with mock horror. “You’re a Trekkie? No. This will never do. We should just say our good-byes now.”

“Hold on. I get to ask you another one,” she said.

“All right. Make it good.”

“Do you want me to tie you to the headboard and do wicked things to you, or do you want to ask me another question?” Her hand moved down my chest, my stomach, my hip.

Mercy.

“I think that’s enough interrogation for one night,” I said.

“Well, then,” she said, “headboard it is.”