Authors: Jennifer Estep
My power surged, my hair frizzed, and I just lost it.
I threw my shoulder bag at him. The black missile hit Debonair in the chest and exploded.
Literally.
The straps snapped. The pockets sprang open. And the zipper ripped off the top. Pens and papers and lipstick and loose change went everywhere, plinking away into the dark, cool night. I sighed, knowing I’d never find everything. I was still picking up apples from the trick-or-treating fiasco, and they were a lot easier to spot.
Debonair chuckled, amused by my humiliation. Red-faced, I curled my hands into fists, wishing I had the strength to pummel him. Where was Fiera when you really needed her?
“Well, that was something,” Debonair said. “Do your purses always do that?”
“Just when I’m around you,” I snarled.
Debonair put his arms behind his head and leaned back on the windshield like it was a recliner. I could see him striking that same pose in bed, after a night of long, slow lovemaking—
“I rather like you, Bella Bulluci. You’re spunky.”
“Spunky?” I said, pulling my thoughts back to the here and now. “You think I’m spunky? Wonderful.”
“What’s wrong with spunky?”
“Kids are spunky. Old ladies who speak their minds are spunky. Lots of things are spunky. I’m not one of them.”
“What are you then?” Debonair asked. His blue eyes flashed like the Star Sapphire in the darkness.
I ignored the suggestive tone in his voice. “Listen, I don’t know what sort of game you’re playing, why you decided to
visit—
and I use that word loosely—me tonight, but I’ve had a long day. I’m tired, and I want to go to bed.”
“I told you why I’m here. I like you.”
“You like me? Like me how? Like a cold sore on prom night? Because that’s exactly how I like you.”
Debonair smiled. “That’s how you like me
now
. But you’ll warm up to me once you get to know me. Everybody does. So, how about dinner? Say, Monday night?”
My mouth fell open. “Are you asking me out?”
“Yes, on a thing called a date. I’m sure you’ve had at least one before.”
“Of course I’ve been out on a date before,” I snapped. “But why would you want to go out with me?”
“Have you looked in a mirror lately?” Debonair asked, giving me an appreciative leer. “Those big hazel eyes, that mane of hair, those killer curves. You’re gorgeous, Bella. Not to mention that wild, passionate personality, just waiting to get out from under all this buttoned-up repression.”
He thought I was gorgeous? A little thrill of excitement surged through me, along with my usual wave of static electricity. It lasted about three seconds. Then, I snapped back to reality.
“Forget it,” I said. “I don’t date superheroes or ubervillains or anyone in between.”
“Why not?” Debonair asked, looking puzzled.
“Let’s be clear. I don’t like thieves, I despise ubervillains, and I hate superheroes. You’re a bit of all three. You and me? Never going to happen. So, go pop off to one of your Slaves for Superhero Sex groupies, and let them fawn all over you, because I’m not interested.”
It was the truth. I’d made a vow a long time ago never to get involved with superheroes and ubervillains. In any way, shape, or form. I’d been successful at keeping it too, until my brother had decided to become Johnny Angel in order to track down our father’s killers. Then, he’d gone and fallen for Fiona, who’d brought not only herself, but the other members of the Fearless Five into our lives. Now, I couldn’t take two steps in my own house without running into a hero or listening to one talk about how hard it was to avoid a panty line under their spandex suits.
“Are you sure? Because I think the two of us could have a good time together,” Debonair said, his voice husky, his eyes flashing. “A
very
good time.”
I let myself fantasize. With his hard body and suave ways, and my general loneliness, we could have more than a good time. Much, much more. If Debonair was as good as everyone claimed, the sex would be amazing. I got a little out of breath just thinking about it.
After about a minute, I put the fantasy aside, just like the smushed fries I’d refused for dinner. They might taste good going down, but I’d regret eating them later. Just like I’d regret doing anything with Debonair.
“Sorry, I’m not interested. Besides, if you really wanted to show me a good time, you’d help me pick up everything that was in my purse.”
Debonair gave me a small, slightly sad smile. “All you had to do was ask, Bella. Your wish is my command—whatever it might be.”
Anticipation pulsed through me, despite my pretending I was completely indifferent to his suggestive proposal.
Debonair snapped his fingers in rapid succession. The bag appeared in my hands and began to fill. A minute later, I stared down at it in awe. I didn’t know how he did it, but everything was in there. My compact, cell phone, wallet, keys, lipstick, quarters. Even certain feminine products I wished he hadn’t seen.
“Um, thanks,” I said, not sure what to make of it. “That was actually kind of nice of you.”
Debonair slid off the car hood and sauntered over to me. I clutched my purse to my chest, as if that would protect me from him. And all my conflicting emotions.
“Think nothing of it, Bella. Until we meet again.”
Debonair grabbed my wrist and kissed it, just as he had before. His lips lingered on my skin, and I knew he could feel my roaring pulse. Then, Debonair straightened, gave a little flourish with his hand, and—
POP!
He teleported away into the starry night.
6
An hour later, I sat on my bed, combing out my tangled mane of hair. After Debonair popped away, I’d taken my much-longed-for shower. I was almost ready for bed, but I wasn’t tired anymore. In fact, I doubted I’d be able to sleep much tonight.
And it was all
his
fault.
I kept replaying my meeting with Debonair. I didn’t understand the handsome thief. Why had he come back to see me? I’d made it perfectly clear I had no interest in him. Hell, I’d given the police a statement about the robbery, which had led to a warrant being issued for his arrest, one of many already on file. Maybe he was one of those guys who pursued you that much harder if you rejected him. Or turned him in to the cops.
Since I couldn’t sleep, I grabbed one of my sketch pads and went out into the hall. The house was quiet and still, the night air chilly on my bare feet. From the carpet to the crown molding to the light fixtures, angel eyes followed me from the floors and walls and ceilings, tracking my every move. Some people would have found them creepy, but they comforted me. I always thought of them as my own guardian angels, watching over me.
I turned into a hallway filled with portraits of my ancestors. Generations of Bullucis stared back at me. Some smiled, some didn’t. Some were old, some young. But there was something in their eyes, an intensity, a look, that told you they had a zest, a passion for life that couldn’t be denied. I’d spent many hours here, going from portrait to portrait, trying to capture that elusive sparkle on paper—and wondering if I had it too.
I stopped in front of the painting of my father, James. Tan skin. Blue eyes. Slightly bushy chestnut hair. He looked the same as always—and I felt the familiar ache gather in my heart at his loss. I ran my fingers over the nameplate on the bottom of the painting, then moved on.
A large, cushioned window seat lay at the end of the hall. Besides the kitchen, it was my favorite place in the entire house. The window seat looked out into the backyard, with its exotic trees and shrubs and flowers. I’d spent many hours here, daydreaming and sketching. I sank onto the cushion and curled my feet up under the hem of my thick, cloud-covered, terrycloth robe.
I stared into the backyard, admiring the way the moonlight frosted everything, from the leaves and branches of the trees to the tiny blades of grass. Then, I flipped to a new page in my pad and started doodling nothing in particular. As my charcoal pencil moved over the blank paper, my thoughts turned back to Debonair.
I couldn’t get him out of my mind, which wasn’t like me at all. I prided myself on being extremely sensible, especially when it came to my love life. I liked nice, normal men who brought me flowers, could carry on an intelligent conversation, and didn’t wish I had bigger boobs, smaller hips, and smoother hair.
Debonair was not a nice man. And it would not be at all sensible to get involved with him. He’d propositioned me twice in less than a week. He was a thief. A lout. And he wore blue-black leather. Three big turn-offs. I couldn’t possibly like him.
The grandfather clock down the hall chimed out the hour. Two in the morning. It was time to go to bed, whether I thought I could sleep or not. It wouldn’t do to be auctioned off with bags under my eyes.
I sighed and glanced down at my sketch. My pencil froze in midstroke.
Debonair’s masked face smiled up at me.
‘Let’s start the bidding at one thousand dollars. Do I hear one thousand dollars? One thousand from the gentleman in the back.”
I squinted into the bright lights, but I couldn’t tell who’d bid to go to dinner with me. The night of the benefit had arrived, and the bachelor auction was in full swing at Quicke’s. As the chairperson, Joanne and the others insisted I should be the first person auctioned off. So here I was, standing on a stage next to the long bar, trying to look nice and friendly, instead of scrunching my face up against the hot glare of the spotlights.
“Two thousand? Do I hear two thousand dollars?”
The auctioneer’s loud voice spurred the crowd on to further action. A flurry of bids filled the air, and my worth quickly increased to just under five thousand dollars. Not too bad. More than I’d hoped for, actually. I didn’t have a rep for being a boozy party girl, like some of the other fashion designers in town.
“Ten thousand dollars. I bid ten thousand dollars.” Bobby’s booming voice cut through the murmurs of conversation and clink of glasses and silverware.
I hid a smile. Trust Grandfather to drive up my price, even if he had to do the bidding himself.
“Twenty thousand dollars,” a male voice called out.
“Twenty thousand!” the auctioneer crowed. “A very lovely offer for this very lovely lady. Do I hear twenty-one? Anyone? Anyone? No? All right, twenty thousand dollars. Going once . . . going twice . . . sold! To the gentleman in the front.”
I squinted through the lights to see Devlin Dash holding up a numbered placard. Devlin was another one of Bigtime’s wealthy businessmen, having half a dozen companies under his command. But Devlin didn’t quite look or act the part. His ink black hair had more cowlicks than a little boy’s, while thick, silver-rimmed glasses obscured his eyes. Devlin also had a habit of pulling at his tie, as if it was always just a bit too tight. He wasn’t nearly as suave as the other billionaire playboys. In fact, he sort of reminded me of Henry Harris, the technological whiz for the Fearless Five. Henry had a nasty habit of wearing polka-dot bow ties with plaid sweater vests, something Fiona and I were trying to change, with a little help from Lulu.
Devlin also happened to be Grace Caleb’s grandson, along with Kyle Quicke, the restaurant owner. She’d probably told him to bid on me. During our time working together, Grace had dropped more than a few hints to Abby and me about what a nice young man Devlin was and what a good family he came from. She’d also gone through all the bachelor files, looking for someone for Kelly. At the moment, Kyle was dating Piper Perez, Fiona’s chief financial officer, so he was off the market. Still, it was pretty clear Grace wanted some grandchildren. The sooner, the better.
I actually liked Devlin. We’d chaired an art auction together earlier this year and had dinner once. He was a sweet guy, very quiet and almost painfully shy. Devlin was also a real old-fashioned gentleman, the kind who hurried to open doors and asked before he even thought about kissing you. I wouldn’t have to worry about him trying to paw me at the end of the night. Twenty-thousand dollars could buy a lot of things, but it did not get you an all-expenses-paid trip around the world with Bella Bulluci.
I left the stage to polite applause and stopped to let my eyes adjust to the light. Abby Appleby stood just to the right of the stage. In keeping with the costume ball theme, she’d come dressed as a rock ’n’ roll queen and wore tight black leather pants, spiked heels, and a shredded, paint-splattered white T-shirt with a lacy black camisole underneath. At least, I thought that’s what she had on. It was tough to tell with the khaki vest covering most of her torso. Not to mention the massive clipboard she held in her hands and the many pens stuck in her teased hair. I’d told Abby to just relax tonight and enjoy the benefit, but obviously, she hadn’t listened to me.
Abby nodded her head. “Way to start things off, Bella. Let’s hope everybody goes for as much as you did.” She ticked something off on her board and started doing some calculations, probably trying to guess the final tally already.
I shook my head and moved off into the crowded restaurant. Quicke’s had some of the best food in the city, and their cheese fries were to die for, but I didn’t really like coming to the restaurant for one reason—it was a shrine to all things superhero.
During normal business hours, framed posters, newspaper clippings, and autographed pictures of heroes and villains covered the red brick walls from floor to ceiling. Plastic action figures posed in mock battle positions lined the shelves behind the bar, along with liquor bottles. Board games, miniature cars, die-cast models, and every other merchandising tie-in you could dream of peeked out from windowsills and the rest of the available space. Superheroes might be dedicated to saving the city and the world, but most of them weren’t above making a few bucks doing it. Along with Oodles o’ Stuff, Quicke’s was a great place to have their products showcased.
Several menu items were even named after Bigtime’s various heroes and villains, like the Caveman Stan Steak or the Wynter Cosmopolitan. When I was in the mood for Quicke’s, I always got takeout. I couldn’t stomach actually eating inside the building. Especially since there were more than a few Johnny Angel posters on the walls—and they included depictions of my grandfather, father, and brother.
But everybody else loved Quicke’s, even ubervillains, which was why we’d decided to have the bachelor auction here, along with its close proximity to the museum. Tonight, the restaurant had packed up its superhero stuff and been transformed into a fairyland. Ropes of glossy ivy, white roses, and baby’s breath crisscrossed overhead, creating a green canopy that contrasted with the rust-colored walls. More greenery curled around the edges of the bar, partially obscuring the brassy railing. White lights entwined with the ivy twinkled like small stars, while Chinese-style lanterns perched on every table, adding more illumination to the scene. Jazz music played in the background, softening the harsh buzz of conversations and the clink and rattle of dishes. Grace had really done a wonderful job on the decorations.
“Bella! Bella! Over here!”
Speaking of Grace Caleb, the old woman fluttered her hand, and I walked over to her table.
“Devlin, Grace. You’re both looking wonderful tonight,” I said.
Grace had dressed like a flapper from the Roaring Twenties. She wore a knee-length silver dress, ropes of fake pearls, and chunky heels. Her silver hair lay in waves against her head, held back with a pearl-studded headband, while a lacy white shawl covered her arms. Devlin was dressed in a gray jumpsuit with matching boots and gloves. I think he was supposed to be a race car driver. Either that or an astronaut, but I didn’t want to be rude and ask.
“So do you, Bella,” Grace replied. “Even if you’re not wearing a proper costume.”
There was no way I was dressing up in costume—especially one that involved spandex or leather. Instead, I’d opted for a longsleeved, powder blue dress with a flowing skirt that reached to my ankles. The scooped-out neck showed off my angel charm and silver chain. My only concession to tonight’s party theme had been the silver-tinsel halo I’d placed on top of my head. I’d gotten it out of the very first box of Christmas decorations I’d looked in out of the dozens that gathered dust in the attic.
“Bella is so lovely she doesn’t need a costume, Grams,” Devlin said, shooting me a shy smile.
“Why, thank you, Devlin. What a sweet thing to say.”
I smiled back, and Devlin’s cheeks exploded with color. He took a long swig of his champagne, but it must have gone down the wrong way, because he started coughing. Grace whacked him on the back a few times, and Devlin managed to catch his breath.
I couldn’t help but compare his awkward behavior with Debonair’s smooth surety. The thief wouldn’t be flustered by giving or getting such a simple compliment. He’d probably start talking about all the
sweet things
we could do together. With handcuffs. More than once tonight, I’d scanned the crowd, wondering if the handsome thief was here—and whom he might be masquerading as.
Grace cleared her throat, and I realized she and Devlin were staring at me.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?”
Devlin looked at me. “I asked when you might want to have dinner. How about Monday?”
“Oh, just about any night is fine with me. Give me a call tomorrow, and we’ll set it up.” My social calendar wasn’t exactly full these days. Unlike Debonair, who probably had a different woman penciled in every night of the week. Maybe two or three.
“Oh. Okay.”
Through the crowd, I saw Joanne James crook her finger at me in a clear
come-here-right-now
gesture.
“Please excuse me.”
I flashed Devlin and Grace another smile and headed for Joanne. Unlike me, she’d gone all out for the costume part of the evening. Joanne wore a bustier, miniskirt, and four-inch leather boots that reached up to her thighs. All of which were a bright lavender. The material was shiny, almost like vinyl, and clung to her body like wet cotton. Joanne was either going for Catwoman or a dominatrix. Maybe both. With a heavy S&M vibe thrown in for flavor. All she needed was a whip and some chains, and she’d be Debonair’s dream woman.
“What’s up?” I asked, trying to pretend I couldn’t see Joanne’s pale cleavage yet again. What was it with this woman flashing her chest at me?
Joanne jerked her head toward the stage. “I think we’re going to have a problem. No one’s bidding on Hannah, and she seems to be getting rather upset about it.”
Hannah Harmon stood in the middle of the stage, her hands on her hips. She’d come dressed as a she-devil, with a long, flowing red cape and a headband topped with tiny horns.
“Do I hear one thousand dollars? One thousand? Anyone?” the auctioneer asked. “Anyone at all?”
Hannah glared at him, and he edged away from her.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Hannah’s attractive and rich. What’s the problem? ”
“Haven’t you heard?” Joanne asked.
“Heard what?”
She shook her head, her black curls spilling over her bare shoulder. “Bella, sometimes, you’re so sweet and naive you make my teeth hurt. Hannah made an offer on DCQ Enterprises yesterday. She went before the board and pretty much demanded they accept the bid, or she’d take over the company, split it up, and sell off the pieces just like she always does.”
“DCQ? But that’s—”
“Devlin Dash’s company. Dash-Caleb-Quicke. Grace is on the board too, along with Kyle Quicke and Kelly Caleb. None of them were pleased with Hannah’s tirade.”
“Oh.” I looked at her. “How do you know this?”
“Berkley’s on the board, of course. And so am I.”
“So Grace decided to have Hannah blackballed because of the takeover? She told people not to bid on Hannah tonight?”