Kill Me Softly (24 page)

But—it was wrong. And they both knew it. Blue abruptly pushed away from her, sprang up, and mumbled, “Sorry, Mira. I don't know what came over me….”

“Yeah, I don't know either,” she said, blinking the kiss-me look out of her eyes.

“Good thing you still hate me,” he said with a weak laugh. “You still do, right?”

There was a pause while he waited for her.

“Definitely. There's still—yes. That hatred. It's—going strong.”

“Okay, awesome,” he said. Then they just stared at each other. Mira broke away first.

“Well—I only meant to drop by for a second,” Mira said. “So I should probably …”

“Yeah, I should get back to …” Blue held up his notebook.

“You're coming to the show tomorrow night?”

“Sure, if you guys want me there. And I'm supposed to talk to Delilah.”

“That's right.”

They smiled and nodded at each other like two dumb bobbleheads, to the point where it was embarrassing. But she supposed it was awkward for both of them, at least.

Blue let her out, and when she stepped into the elevator, she took a deep breath, trying to force the tightness out of her chest. She felt like she hadn't breathed since he'd almost kissed her.

She wondered if it would've been so bad, if he'd actually done it. …

A part of her felt like she was still waiting for it.

But then she got hold of herself.

Yes, it would be wrong! You're in love with his brother.

Unless there's some truth to this stupid mark.

She turned her forearm to examine the mark Blue had given her—the now smudged musical note with the wobbly circle bubble—and licked her thumb and started rubbing it away, the ink smearing until it was almost indiscernible.

Getting so much attention from both brothers made her feel like a kid in a candy store. It was like Hansel and Gretel: they came across the witch's candy house, and they lusted after it, and they were young and stupid so they devoured it without a second thought. Mira had never felt as wanted, as attractive as she did right now; and the heady pleasure of it had made her reckless.

So many fairy tales were about breaking taboos, and being punished for crossing lines you shouldn't have crossed.

Touching a spindle you'd been forbidden to touch. Inviting a witch into your cottage, and accepting the shiny apples she brought you, even though you knew better, because you
wanted
them.

And while most heroes and heroines managed to scratch or scheme their way out of peril, it was easier to avoid doing something stupid in the first place. Smarter, better, and infinitely less fraught with regret.

When the elevator opened onto the glitz of the ground floor, Mira went into the bathroom and washed the last traces of Blue's mark off her arm. There wasn't room in her heart for more than one person. There couldn't be.

By midnight, Mira was more restless than she'd been in her life.

Being alone left her with no distractions—nothing to do but fixate on her fears. Stress over the impending reunion piled onto her worries about her curse, and made her sick to her stomach. She couldn't concentrate, couldn't read or watch TV. She needed to be around people.

But Felix was busy. Blue, she'd decided, was off-limits. And the idea of calling anyone else, and begging them to relieve her of her anxiety, was too embarrassing.

The night was slogging toward 1
A.M.
—too, too slowly—and Mira couldn't stand it. So she slipped into her new red satin nightgown, which could pass for a dress, and slicked on lip gloss that looked like lava, shining and melting at once. She went down to the casino, where the party was. Where the life was.

She felt sexy, dangerous, free. Tonight, she didn't look like she needed permission—for anything—and no one questioned her. She made nice with strangers: celebrated their wins, sympathized with their losses. She drank in the manic energy and let the noise push her out of her head, away from her mental list of the ways everything could go wrong. And when she'd had enough, she wandered away from the crowd, and stopped at the mouth of a narrow hall that ended in a set of double doors.

She'd never been down this way before. It wasn't a place for guests. It was spare and uninviting; it led to an employees-only area.

The hall was empty, but as she stood and stared down it, the double doors opened outward, and four men and a woman pushed through them.

One of the men was Felix.

Mira squeezed her body between a pillar and the wall, so that she was hidden from sight.

As she stood and watched, keeping silent, she saw that the larger two men were holding a lanky third between them, and that he was cowering, his head forward as if he were being dragged to a hangman's scaffold. His shirt had come untucked and hung loose and wrinkled over his pants. Sweat filmed his face.

The two large men flanked him, their heavy hands shackling his arms. One of them—a member of the Dream's security team, judging by his bearing—had a thin, vaguely lupine face and a weak chin that seemed at odds with his burly arms and chest. The other large man had round, pink cheeks, and a layer of fat covering his muscles—so that he looked like a cross between a little boy and a wrestler. His lips were candy red, and even now he was cracking a peppermint between his teeth. His bite made a loud, shattering
crunch
.

Felix stood a short distance from the men, and the lone woman—a curvy, well-dressed brunette—stood across from him, so that they formed a triangle in the hall. The woman's tailored black suit suggested that she had an official position at the Dream. Mira couldn't guess what it was, but she radiated authority, and her sly, dark eyes held an eagerness that made Mira uneasy.

Felix was focused on his BlackBerry, his head bowed as if the others were of no concern to him. He wore a charcoal gray suit, a shirt the deep violet color of a plum. Long seconds ticked by before he spoke—and when he did, his tone was as cool as a blade.

“Card counting. In my casino. That was ballsy. Doesn't seem like such a good idea anymore, does it?”

“I won't—be back!” the captive man gasped. “You'll never see me again. I swear!”

“You're right.” Felix lifted his head. “No one steals from me twice.”

Shifting his attention to the woman, Felix said, “Gretel. You can take this from here?”

Gretel nodded. Her lips curved into a hungry grin. “Bring him down to the Box, boys. I have some toys we can play with.”

Grunting affirmatively, the thin-faced guard and the candy eater dragged their charge through an unmarked door. The card counter moaned and managed to sputter a few pleading words before the door slammed coldly behind him.

Left alone in the hall, Felix sighed and ran his hand through his hair, face tightening in frustration. Then it passed, and his face slipped into the cool, unruffled expression he wore so often. He strode calmly down the hall toward the heart of the casino, and didn't look back.

Mira had never seen Felix when he hadn't known she was watching. Never seen that side of him. And his ease at dealing with the card counter—who had surely not been escorted outside and released—sent a chill creeping through her, a sick, damp feeling. She was still suffering the queasiness of that memory when there was a knock on her door.

The clock read 3:57
A.M.

She considered feigning sleep. It was late; the bolt was drawn; she didn't have to open it.

But she did.

Felix slipped in and shut the door behind him. A single lamp burned in the room, but it was enough for her to see that he was pleased about something. A clear energy ran through him, when he should have been weighted down by what had happened earlier, when he'd sentenced the card counter to … whatever the man's fate was.

Maybe he was used to dealing with people like that. But it bothered her that there had never been a hint of that coldness, that ruthlessness in him before. He'd seemed—like a good person. But that wasn't all he was, or could be.

Mira was still wearing her red satin nightgown. She'd wrapped herself in the suite's king-size bedspread, so that it draped her body like a cloak. A shield to keep him at bay.

Felix didn't seem to notice that she was being distant. He laughed softly, and fingered the edge of the bedspread. “Did I wake you?”

Then he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her hard, like he'd longed to hold her all day. “You could have stayed in bed,” he murmured. “But I'm glad you didn't.”

It took all her willpower not to burrow deeper into his embrace. Having his body so close to hers was like a drug that sent reason spiraling away from her, and she had to stop and remind herself that all wasn't well.

“I was awake,” she said, pulling free less than gracefully. Her voice came out colder than she'd intended. And when she wedged herself into a corner of the couch and tucked her legs inside her bedspread cocoon, Felix quirked his eyebrows.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“I—I don't know. Maybe.” Mira took a deep breath to settle her nerves. “I saw you tonight. While you were working.”

“You should've said something.” He smiled, his face warm with affection, but when she didn't smile back, furrows of worry took its place.

He sat near her, but didn't touch her.

“Mira, what is it? Are you mad because I was gone all day?”

She pulled the bedspread more tightly around herself. “No …”

When she didn't elaborate, Felix rubbed his eyes, looking tired and irritated. “What is it, then?”

Mira's mouth hovered open.
Who are you?
she thought. But that wasn't something she could say.

He was Felix. Of course she knew him—she was in love with him. He was caring and capable, generous with his time and everything else. He was dangerous—she was proof of that—but he did his best to curb that danger.

Or at least, that was what she'd thought. Until tonight, when he'd sentenced the card counter with a few harsh words.

She watched him, trying to figure him out. To see something new.

Normally, there was something exotic about his dark blue hair, his matching dark eyes: they lent him mystery and made him beautiful in a strange way—like a black rose or a yellow diamond. But tonight, he resembled a storm, a pulse of lightning in a roiling black sky.

He sat with his arm flung across the back of the couch, not cool and careful, but restless, frustrated, staring at her like his gaze could wrench an answer out of her. She supposed he didn't have patience for drama, or whatever he thought this was. If she wasn't going to be nice to him, he probably wanted to go to bed.

After a few minutes of silence, Felix took a square of paper from his jacket—a thin ivory sheet folded in half—and tossed it onto the table in front of her. “Here. This is why I came up here.”

Loosening the bedspread enough to free her arm, Mira leaned forward. She unfolded the paper and found a phone number written inside. “What is this?” she asked.

“It's your parents' number. I tracked them down. I thought you'd want to know.”

Mira froze. She stared at the numbers like they were going to disappear. The news seemed too amazing to be true.
Oh god …

“Still mad at me?” he asked.

A laugh bubbled out of her. Or maybe she cried; she didn't know, didn't care. Ten numbers and she could speak to them.

Hear their voices. She would finally hear them say her name, say
I love you
.

She threw her arms around Felix and buried her face in his neck, needing to touch him to be sure this was real. He'd seemed so cold to her a moment ago, but his body felt strong and safe to her now. Her heart drummed wildly and she found herself kissing his face, her tears smearing his cheeks as she laughed
. It was real.
They were
alive
.

They were alive and suddenly it didn't matter if they liked her, if she was the biggest disappointment or everything they'd hoped for. They were
alive
and they had never burned or suffocated in a room full of fire, and that was a dream come true no matter what happened next.

“You really found them?” she asked. “I didn't imagine that?”

Felix laughed. “Call the number. You can talk to them right now.”

Mira nodded, possibility held in her fist in the form of a scrap of paper. She wanted to hold on to it a little longer, and prepare herself. This was a big deal, and she wanted their first conversation to be just right.

“I will,” she said. “I'm not ready yet.”

“If you want me to be there when you call, just let me know.” He squeezed her hand.

There was such a crazy, fluttery feeling in her blood—like her heart was about to burst. “Do you think they'll want to see me? Do you think they'll like me?”

Felix ran his hand over her hair, cupped the back of her neck. “They'll love you. Don't worry. It'll be fine.” His face had lost its impatience, relaxed to something softer. “I'll let you sleep. Maybe tomorrow you'll tell me what's wrong.”

“Wait!” She grabbed his arm to stop him. “I'll tell you now.”

Questioning who he was seemed silly, now that he'd given her the one thing she'd longed for her entire life. What percentage of his day was spent punishing people who tried to cheat his family's business—two percent?

He'd spent so much more time than that worrying about her, trying to make her happy. Could she really blame him for doing his job?

Felix sat back down, so close to her their bodies were touching. The bedspread had fallen away when she'd thrown her arms around him, and become a rumpled coil around her waist. Her red satin nightgown shined like fire in the lamplight, and she felt his gaze on her body, on the sheen of the satin and the curves beneath it, and the look on his face made her short of breath.