Hold Me If You Can (5 page)

“Not to us,” Marjorie said with a smile. “We’re all in this together, my dear.”

“What? No—”

But in another burst of purple smoke, the tour guide was gone, taking with her Natalie’s only chance to stop her from coming again. Would she back in a day? A week? Five minutes?

“And you still expect me to believe you’ve got it all under control?” Standing in the doorway, staring down at her was the most beautiful, broad-shouldered, deadly artist she knew.

“Nigel!” She blurted out his name, unable to keep the relief out her voice. Let the tour come back now!

“Oh, wow,” Maggie whispered. “Who is he?”

Ella shushed the girl and bundled her back behind the counter, but Natalie didn’t bother to look at them.

She was too entranced by Nigel.

The warrior had changed.

Not his clothing.

Him.

He looked completely badass and mean, far more cranky than she’d ever seen him. Even the pink rose tattoo on his cheek looked darker and angrier than a flower had a right to be. He didn’t look anything like the serene warrior she was used to seeing. He was on edge, he was violent, he was restless, and he was vibrating with energy in a way that sent pulses of excitement through her.
Yes.
The word whispered through her soul, unbidden.

His brows raised, as if he’d heard her whisper. His eyes darkened, and he held out his hand.

Oh, God. She shouldn’t do it. She shouldn’t touch him. Simply being around him stirred longings inside her that she wanted to stay dead. If she touched him… too much. But she wanted to. She wanted to feel his skin against hers. She
needed
to. Caught by the depth of his gaze, Natalie slowly raised her hand. For a moment, she hesitated, willing him to pull away. To take the choice away from her.

He didn’t retract his hand. He simply waited. And slowly, her heart thudding in her chest, she set her hand in his. The shock was instant and electric as he closed his hand around hers. His skin was warm, his grip strong, his expression so intense she could feel it reverberating in her soul.

“Up we go.” He tightened his grip and pulled her to her feet.

She wound up right in front of him, chest to chest, barely any space between them. He carried the faint scent of vanilla, and her body warmed. Energy seemed to crackle between them, and she realized he was still holding her hand.

His gaze flicked to her palms, as if reading her mind, but instead of letting go, his grip tightened. She realized suddenly that he wasn’t going to let her go, and she liked it.

The fact that she was so thoroughly delighted that Nigel wasn’t going to let her go was quite possibly even scarier than the tour of deedubs.

Physical attraction was not something she could afford.

Not now.

Not ever.

And certainly, most definitely, not with Nigel.

Touching Natalie was nothing like Nigel had anticipated.

And he’d thought about it a lot.

Because he was a guy, and guys did shit like that.

He’d been around Natalie a fair amount in the last few weeks. Not
with
her. Around her. In her presence. Enough to notice. Not crossing her path. Despite the fact that he was ruthlessly compelled by Natalie’s luxurious brown hair and the turbulent depths of her radiant green eyes, and even though he hadn’t liked the compression of her aura after she’d nearly died a few weeks ago, he had exercised his warrior discipline and hadn’t reached out to her.

But he’d watched her carefully. He was well aware of the intense conflicts raging within her. You know, because he was an artist, and artists were sensitive to the intricate complexities of emotionally rich souls, and Natalie was all that, and then some. He’d sketched her repeatedly on the sly (she had no clue), but he’d never been able to capture her tormented spirit in his art to his satisfaction.

When his pen had drifted across the page bringing her to life on his paper, he’d envisioned what her skin would feel like. It wouldn’t be cool and rough, like the apprentices in the Den. Natalie’s skin would be warm and soft. It would be gentle and silky. She would feel the way a woman was supposed to feel.

But now, when he was finally touching her, when all the fantasies in his head became the fiery reality, as he folded his fingers around hers, he realized he’d been wrong about what it would be like to touch her.

He’d failed utterly to anticipate the raw electric shock that ripped through him, igniting every cell of his body, juicing the testosterone until he could think of nothing but going to the mattresses, with her beneath him.

For a man who was pretty damn sold on the benefits of celibacy, his reaction was a little surprising. Maybe it was her fingers. They were smaller than he’d expected. Dainty. Delicate. If he wasn’t careful, he could snap them in half by accident. His fingers enfolded protectively around her hand.

He rubbed his thumb over her palm, stroking the silken skin as she stared at him, her face riveted with shock that suggested she was as startled by his touch as he was by hers. Her skin wasn’t cold, yeah, he’d got that right. But warm didn’t describe it. It was hot, pulsing with energy, with fire, with adrenaline, with passion. She was alive with so much energy he half-expected it to burst out of her skin… except he could tell it wouldn’t. She had it ratchetted down with enough force to blindside a tsunami in a hurricane.

She had her spirit in a merciless grip, but there was no peace in Natalie Fleming. He knew exactly what that was like.

He tugged, and she moved, allowing him to pull her closer. Her T-shirt brushed against his arm like the whisper of an angel’s wings, and he was hit with a sudden, soul-deep passion to draw her. Not to keep himself under control, but for the sheer, beautiful experience of bringing her to life on his pages. He would take her out to his balcony at sunset, when the sky was vibrant and alive. She’d be wearing a red silk dress that clung to the curves of her body. He’d slide the strap over her shoulder, revealing skin so soft, so womanly, so precious.

A tourist on the street caught his attention, and he immediately went into vigilance mode. As he surveyed the store for threats to her, he noticed that she didn’t try to move away. Because she wanted him to keep her safe? Or because she was feeling the same fire billowing through her?

Much as he wanted it to be the latter, they would both be so much better off if it was the former. So, for the moment, he’d just pretend that’s what it was. He was her protector. She was his client. He would do his job.

He checked the surrounding area carefully, but all he saw was a lanky gal in wire-rimmed glasses watching them and typing furiously on an iPad, and a slightly ajar cabinet door that hid a third woman who’d crawled in there during the battle. “You okay?” he asked Natalie.

“Yes, yes.” Her brilliant green eyes were wide with vulnerability, but she finally pulled her hand free to brush the purple dust off her arms. “Everything’s fine.”

He narrowed his eyes, not buying her bravado. She’d been trembling when he’d taken her hand, and she’d been scared. Plus, he’d been there long enough to know she’d been in major trouble, and he didn’t like the idea of what would have happened if that one woman hadn’t gotten control of the situation. “Who were they?”

“Apparently, I’ve been put on a deedub tour. I’m all the rage since I managed to avoid dying.” She set her hand on her hip, indignation chipping away at her fear. “Do you realize that I have a TRO against any deedubs coming into my store? Did you see any respect for the law? Did you? Because I certainly didn’t.”

He grinned as she began to work herself up. He knew she was trying to chase away the fear, and he appreciated that. Anger was empowering. Fear wasn’t. “Yeah, weird,” he agreed. “Seems like deedubs would normally respect Otherworld laws designed to control them.”

“Arrogant, lawbreaking pinheads. They should all be sent to a treatment center for chocolate addicts.” She surveyed the store that was in somewhat disarray. “Just because they bit me once doesn’t mean they get free rein over my chocolate, you know?”

“Of course they don’t.” Nigel leaned against the counter. Her voice was beautiful and sexy, and he loved the indignation. Because it wasn’t self-righteous, it wasn’t moral. It was passionate and vulnerable, but there was truth to it. She
was
mad that her space was being violated, and that was far better than the woman who had been hiding in fear before her death and immediately afterward.

He wasn’t blind. He could see she was unsettled, but she was searching for ways to manage that fear. Of course, she should be scared. No good could come of deedubs stalking her. “It has to end.”

She smiled then, the first spark of real life in her eyes. “You think? I don’t know. It seems like rather a good way to spend the day. You know, being attacked by the same creatures that haunted me my whole life.”

He grinned back, captivated by the way her cheeks curved when she smiled. He hadn’t seen many smiles from her, and he liked it. Liked that he’d caused it. “Well, it was just a thought. I could potentially be convinced to change my mind.” Huh. He hadn’t meant to inject his statement with an undertone of innuendo and sensuality, but from the sudden flush in her cheeks, he was guessing he had.

Must have been because he’d been visualizing her trying to persuade him with a seductive dance involving silk scarves, black lace, and talented lips.

“So, yeah. Okay.” Suddenly flustered, Natalie turned away and tucked her hair behind her ear.

He smiled, appreciating the little gesture that said she was affected by the heat he knew had been blazing in his eyes. “I don’t like the idea of a herd of deedubs crashing your store.” No, he definitely didn’t like it. They’d invaded her sanctum, and that was just not on his list of acceptable activities by demon leprechauns.

“I don’t either.” She tugged at her hair, and that’s when he noticed a flash of gray on the tip of her fingers.

“What’s that?” The skin on the back of his neck tightened in warning, and he lifted her hand to inspect the discoloration more closely. The nails were the color of the ash that sloughed off his hands in battle, a stark contrast to the healthy flush of her skin.

“What is what?” She peered at her finger, and then frowned. “You mean the gray?” At his nod, she shrugged. “I don’t know. I never noticed it before. Maybe it’s residual from when I almost died.”

“I don’t think so. It’s a living energy.” He ran his thumb over it, and it came away tingling. He knew that tingling. He’d been on the receiving end of it before. “Shit.”

“Shit?” Worry furrowed her brow. “Tell me that you just remembered you left the oven on or something, because I really don’t have time for any more challenges in my life right now.”

“Sorry. I don’t cook.” He tapped her fingers. “The gray is black magic residue.” He resisted the instinct to whip out a blade and ready it for self-defense. He didn’t respond well to women who dabbled in black magic, but this was Natalie. He’d watched her until he knew the depths of her soul.

“Black magic?” She jerked her hand free and wiped it over her thigh, her shoulders relaxing. “That’s it?”

Black magic made her chill out? Hell, black magic was enough to wake him screaming from a sound sleep. Rhetorically speaking, of course, just to be clear. He was not a screamer. “Do you practice black magic?” He kept his voice impressively casual, completely masking his instincts to plunge into battle right then and there.

“Of course not.” She set her hands on her hips, clearly not nearly as concerned about black magic as he was. “I must have brushed against it on my way here. I was afraid it was something bad.” She met his gaze and must have seen the darkness on his face. “I don’t practice black magic,” she repeated again, her voice gentle. “I’m not one of those women from the Den.” Her face softened and she touched his hand. “I promise you, Nigel, I’m not one of them.”

Her touch was gentle and reassuring, and it broke through the tension that had started to build the moment he’d felt that black magic. He concentrated on the warmth of her hand. There was no magic in her skin. It had just been her fingernails. “Okay.” He shrugged his shoulders, trying to shake out his tension. “I believe you.”

Yeah, he bought that she wasn’t mixing up demon spells in her freezer, but that didn’t change the fact that it was still black magic, and it was on her. Somehow, it had gotten in and that meant it was around. He flexed his hands, shifting the blades into place.

“Well, good.” She grabbed a tasseled towel and rubbed her fingers, but the taint stayed put. It shouldn’t have. Not unless it was emanating from inside her. She cocked her head. “You know, would you have any interest in working for me?”

His eyebrows shot up. Well, hell, there were a whole lot of things he could imagine doing for her. All of which would not be a good idea. The only good idea was staying away from her, but he had a bad feeling that that was just not going to happen. But that was okay. He had discipline. He could be in her presence and keep under control. He had to do it, because he needed her. “Doing what?”

“Enforcing the temporary restraining order.” She glanced at the knife on the floor. “Just for a little bit. I have a big inspection in three days, and I don’t have time to be cleaning up after the deedubs.” She met his gaze. “Or being carted off to the tropics.”

“Or being eaten by deedubs.”

Her cheeks paled ever so slightly. Not much, but he knew her well enough to notice. Despite all her bravado, her reaction told him that she understood her vulnerability. “Yes,” she said quietly. “Just for a little while. It’s a better choice than trying to make me leave.”

“And then I should let them eat you?”

She almost laughed. “God, no, just until I figure out how to protect myself.”

“Figure out how to protect yourself?” He cocked his head, trying to picture the delicate Natalie wielding a pickax to take out a deedub in hand-to-hand combat. Nope. Couldn’t see it. Which was good. The women in the Den were very easy to imagine in hard-core violent situations. He liked that he couldn’t picture Natalie with a bloody blade and a gladiator helmet. “I thought you’re going to influence them.”

“Um…” She squared her shoulders, a defiant stance that was belied by the vulnerability in her green eyes. “Yes, I am.”

He studied her carefully, trying to ascertain what she wasn’t telling him. “You really can do that?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Then you don’t need me.” And what an exceedingly easy segue into what he needed from her. He knew she was hiding something, but he didn’t have time to figure it out. “I need you to influence me first.”

The iPad woman stopped typing and narrowed her eyes, watching him unabashedly. He frowned, realizing that he’d seen that look before. From her, or in general? This woman was trouble, and it wasn’t just because her shirt was covered with blood.

The woman’s cheeks flushed at his stare, and she ducked her head, shielding herself from his inspection. The reaction of the guilty.

He would watch her.

“You need
my
help? Why would you need my kind of assistance?” Natalie’s gaze flicked to his crotch. “I mean, you seem really quite virile and—”

“Shit, no! Not that kind of help.” The pitying way Natalie had looked at his crotch made a guy want to get a boner just for bragging rights. To prove he could. “I’m fine there. Trust me, I’m all set with that.” Well, he was the last time he’d tried. He really hadn’t bothered for a long time. “It’s my art.”

Now Natalie looked surprised. “Your art? What do you mean?”

He ground his jaw. “I need you to cut the addiction. Like smoking or chocolate or sex or whatever.” Shit. He shouldn’t say “sex” when he was around Natalie. Got him thinking about things he shouldn’t be thinking about. “I need to stop drawing.”

Her brows knitted in concern. “But it makes you whole.”

“No. I make myself whole.” Or at least, that was the way it needed to be, and fast. He saw a red marker on the counter and had to shove his hand in his pocket to keep himself from pilfering it. His hands were suddenly burning with the need to draw, but it wasn’t natural. It made him feel out of control and that was not where a warrior needed to be. “My art has become dangerous. I need to stop drawing and rescue Pascal.”

She frowned. “Pascal? But you already rescued him.”

Nigel shook his head. “He’s back in the Den.”

“Oh.” Natalie’s face contracted with worry and she touched his arm. “I’m so sorry—”

“Yeah, me too.” He felt her genuine concern. She understood how bad it was, and he appreciated it. Her touch on his arm seemed to ground him, to help him focus. “It’s fine. I’ll get him. I just need my drawing under control.”

“Um, sorry. I can’t help you.” She grabbed a broom and began sweeping up the purple dust.

Nigel swore under his breath. “Why? Because it’s not about sex?”

She finally looked at him, and her green eyes were stricken. “No, I can’t. I can’t influence Magicks.”