In the Company of Witches (34 page)

He was well aware the house had a mind of its own. A vibration of power, and the latch refused to turn. “Not the moment to fuck with me,” he said. “I’m a fire element, and you’re all dry timber. Really want to go toe-to-toe?”

There was an insolent creaking of boards; then the door opened with a petulant bang against the stairwell wall. She’d probably blame that hole in the Sheetrock on him.

As he reached the top of the steps, Cathair was on her balcony, eyeing him balefully. She must have been running late, for she’d left a pile of clothes on the spread. He picked up a long piece of filmy cloth apparently meant to wrap loosely around the body and shadow what was beneath, not conceal it. He could just imagine her standing on the balcony with the wind fluttering the ends away from her, her dark hair wildly whipping, an invitation to sex and sin under the moonlight.

“Going to Heeelll,”
Cathair promised.

“Not before I have raven stew…with carrots.” Mikhael bared his teeth at the bird. The raven cocked his head, unfazed, and defecated over the rail.

He thought about a carefully aimed smack that would spin the bird off his perch and dislodge a few tail feathers, but decided against it. Messing with a witch was one thing, but messing with her familiar? Vicious as mother bears about them. Besides that, if he was going to deliver a smack or pluck any tail feathers, he’d much rather do that to the witch in question.

The library was empty. Min and Catalina had apparently taken whomever they were entertaining elsewhere. Ellen was in the empty parlor, setting out decanters and plumping pillows. She turned in surprise as he came in, probably because the room temperature went up several degrees.

“Where?” Mikhael said ominously.

“She’s with a client,” she said. Apparently something altered in his expression, because she added, with a perilous crack in her voice, “We never disrupt a client’s privacy unless it’s a matter of personal safety.”

He took a step forward, the couch pressing against his knees. “I’m about to break that rule for every fucking client in this house. I will kick in doors until I find her. Plus, she invited me.”

You might learn how to treat a woman.
Okay, maybe she was being a smart-ass, but he’d take it at face value.

Ellen had shifted nimbly behind the couch so he wasn’t standing too close. “Let me buzz her, make sure it’s okay. But if she doesn’t answer…”

“Ellen.” Placing his hand on the couch, he sent it sliding away from the wall with enough force it turned the Persian rug into an accordion before it. He had her cornered. “Where?
Now
.”

“Third-floor ballroom,” she squeaked.

He was being a bastard of the first order. Though his reputation might be fearsome, he rarely felt anger or showed it as such, but right now his blood was boiling. Somewhere in this house, another man’s hands were touching her, his mouth…

With a curt nod, he pivoted and started out the door. Then he stopped, sighed, turned back around. While Ellen watched him with astonished eyes, he moved the sofa back in place, kicked the rug flat once more, then strode from the room.

When he reached the top of the carpeted stairs, he heard music. A smoldering Latin beat. Going down the hall, he passed open doors that showed other sitting areas, private playrooms, some occupied by those who liked the chance of an audience. He didn’t look into them, which was probably good. Even so, when he passed, he heard those doors closing, the violence vibrating off him enough to put a damper on the exhibitionism urge.

The square footage of the house had to be magically enhanced, since there seemed to be no end to the damned winding hallways, spacious areas and bedrooms, little cozy nooks for rendezvous. At last stopping before the double doors that obviously held the ballroom, not just because of the grand cut of the doors, but because he could sense her energy signature here, he heard Raina’s sultry laughter. A male’s rumbling voice responded, and murder painted everything red. The surge of bloodlust startled him enough to make him stop, close his hands into fists, take a deep breath. What the hell was the matter with him? Did he really expect her to take off from work the entire time he was here? If work meant fucking some other guy, hell, yes, but he knew how unreasonable that was.

Unless his unreasonable reaction was exactly because of what Derek had said. If it was, he
really
needed to turn away, do what he’d told Derek he’d do. Back away, leave it alone. It didn’t matter what was true in this case; it mattered what was possible. Yes, she was willing to give herself to him tonight. Yes, she responded to him on an emotional as well as a sexual level, and he was intrigued by her. Captivated by her. But he’d been fucking everything that moved for hundreds of years and moving on. He hunted her kind. There was a whole laundry list of reasons why it wouldn’t work out.

One of them being she was behind that door, offering her body to someone else.

He was going in circles here, his logic off somehow, but he couldn’t work it out. He needed to go back downstairs, offer a stiff apology to Ellen and get a drink. Go for a walk. Maybe go poke Isaac in his sleep with a sharp stick, just to make himself feel better.

He stared at the doors. He could kick them open, but Raina would fly into a glorious rage if he damaged the mated swans carved in the panels. Instead, he turned the latch and stepped into the room, prepared to shed blood.

16

T
HE BALLROOM HAD A POLISHED FLOOR, A CHANDELIER
, elaborate moldings and a ceiling painted with cherubs and clouds. It recalled a nostalgic, graceful time when such details mattered. Raina was in the arms of the male Mikhael had imagined breaking into several pieces, but the scenario wasn’t exactly what he expected.

“How often did you and your wife get all the way through the
bachata
, Jorge?” Raina asked, laughter in her voice. “Before other urges took over?”

Her dance partner chuckled. “Some things are private between a man and his wife, even with a lovely confidante such as yourself. But I will say…not often.”

Jorge was in his seventies, a very fit seventy, given that he was in the middle of a demanding Latin dance that had him and Raina pressed close to each other, hips moving in tandem together, his thigh between hers. As they moved with seamless synchronicity, he lifted her hand over her head, turning her, and then released his grip so she could comb her fingers through her hair in sensual display. His hands slid to her bare back, her hips. She wore a short skirt of stretchy fabric that barely hugged her ass, and a halter that was a gauze sash crisscrossed over her breasts and knotted between them. Underneath she wore nothing, revealing the dark smudge of her nipples. Her hair was down and flowing, her eyes made up so they looked dark green and mysterious, lips red and wet like a Latin gypsy girl.

Mikhael moved silently to the shadowed corner, for the room was lit only by candles. He knew Raina was aware of his presence, but the man seemed oblivious. He didn’t blame him.

“I liked this dance,” Jorge said, “because we rarely had to let one another go. I was able to keep her close throughout the steps. Away from other men.”

“But I thought you like the teasing dances as well. Like the tango?”

He smiled against her hair as he pulled her back to him. Raina rotated her hips against his body as his fingers spanned her bare midriff. “Ah, she liked to tease like you do. Drove a man mad.”

“That’s what women do. Make you crazy, make your blood boil.” She turned again in his arms with a little sigh. “But then you have your revenge. Your lust makes us breathless.”

And she was. It wasn’t faked. She wasn’t seeing an old man, treating him with patronizing indulgence. She was seeing a man who danced this dance with true masculine style, who’d overwhelmed his wife with it, with the sexual beat that it was meant to have. When Jorge’s hand moved to her lower back, or so close beneath her breast he had to be feeling the heavy weight on his knuckles, she responded to it, responded to his skill as a lover. Mikhael pushed down an absurd attack of jealousy toward the septuagenarian. Yes, he was vastly older than Jorge, but that was different.

On the elaborate turns, the kicks and footwork, they were well matched. Jorge was more skilled, suggesting he’d taught Raina the dance over multiple sessions, her natural sensuality making her a good student. Mikhael let himself be absorbed in her every movement, the undulation of her made-for-sex body, the beauty of it. She could have been Jezebel, Bathsheba, Helen of Troy, but she was Raina. A fascinating, complex creature that could fog a man’s senses to the point he’d miss the real treasure.

She gave herself to this, to this moment and this client, embracing what she was to savor it, to give him an unforgettable experience as well. That tapestry of her unique magic was in the air, swirling around them like a multicolored fog, the silken tendrils splitting and curling with the air currents raised from the dance.

Though Jorge was as stimulated as himself by the vision she made, Mikhael didn’t sense this was going to end in sex, and not just because he wasn’t going to permit it. This was about something else.

As the music changed, became a deeper, more emotional beat, the pace slowed. She leaned up against Jorge, stroking his hair as he buried his face in her neck. “Sshh…it’s all right. Dance with me, Jorge. Just dance.”

They maintained that position for the duration of the song, the man holding on to her, lost in the memory of the woman he wished he were embracing. But when the beat changed up again, Jorge straightened, gave her a strained smile, tears in his eyes. Then he launched them into a fast samba.

By the time that dance was done, they were both sweating, and she was smiling as well. She’d missed a few steps during the dance, and he’d helped her correct them. When they eventually came to a halt, she squeezed his hands, then moved across the room, hips swinging. Reaching the corner beside the music player, she bent to get him a towel, revealing she was wearing a black thong beneath that small skirt. While Jorge fully appreciated the view, Mikhael swallowed back an animal growl.

When she came back, her gaze flickered over Mikhael, but then returned to her client. “That was marvelous. I can eat a bigger breakfast in the morning and suffer not a moment of guilt.”

“Chica, you never experience guilt. You know your beautiful breasts and that gorgeous bottom of yours are exactly the size a man wants. I forbid you to lose a pound from them.” Sliding his fingers along her face, Jorge then dropped that touch to stroke a curve, considering. Raina tilted her head toward it, then looked up at him. “Tonight?”

He didn’t say anything for quite a while, just stroked her breast, her bare side, his eyes seeing something else. Someone else. At long last, he looked up, shook his head. “No. Thank you,
querida
, for offering. As always.”

“I offer for very few, Jorge. The invitation is always there for you.”

“Perhaps not. I have heat burns between my shoulder blades.” The man turned then, giving Mikhael a direct look. “This one is asserting a claim on your affections.”

So he’d known he was there the whole time, and hadn’t missed a step. He’d probably added a few of those more blatantly sexual moves to prove the point. Pretty ballsy old bastard.

“He only has my attention for the moment,” Raina said. “You have my heart forever.”

Jorge kissed her hand and held it to his chest. “If my Juliana hadn’t taken mine with her, I might have offered it to you. But any man would.”

“No. Men offer women their souls, but rarely their hearts.” Raina touched his face. “Thank you, as always, for teaching me to love your dancing.”

“Thank you.” Jorge kissed her hand again, then turned to Mikhael. “I relinquish her to you, but only because your jealousy has propped up an old man’s ego.”

Mikhael nodded, but he couldn’t inject a great deal of warmth in the gesture.
He only has my attention for the moment.
Knowing it was gentle charm, it still didn’t sit well, hearing it aloud.

Raina escorted Jorge to the door, her hand on his arm. “Be sure to have Gina schedule your next appointment. Maybe one day you’ll cave and let me ravish you…old man.”