Motor City Fae (3 page)

“The thought never crossed my mind.” His actual thoughts had been running more to the ideas of fate, destiny, kismet.

“I am a fan, though.”

“How’s your nose?”

Their words popped out simultaneously and they both laughed.

“My nose is fine.”

“Glad to hear it. And I’m glad you enjoy my music.”

After a few moments of awkward silence, he looked over at the pair across the table. “George was trying to screw up his courage to ask your friend out. I hope you don’t mind that I asked him to bring me over here with him?”

“Jase will be thrilled.” She dropped her voice to a whisper, forcing him to lean even closer so he could hear.

“He’s had a crush on George for months, but he’s shy. He’s a brilliant potter, but right now he’s still struggling, so he doesn’t see himself as much of a catch.”

Judging from the small smile playing at George’s lips, he’d heard, but Monroe probably hadn’t. It wasn’t Ric’s place to mention that like him, the Novaks had betterthan-

human hearing. Instead he turned his attention back to Meagan.

“And you’re the talented Meagan Kelly, who paints lovely, idyllic landscapes.”

He thought she flushed, although even with his elven senses, it was hard to tell in the dimly lit club. “Guilty as charged.”

“I bought it, though I didn’t know at first that it belonged to the whirlwind I’d encountered. So I guess you could say I’m a fan of yours, as well.”

Meagan could barely breathe.

Simply listening to his voice, with its soft, warm baritone and the slight British accent, was enough to make all her female parts start to melt. Finally, there was the man himself, dressed in the same black slacks and maroon silk shirt as earlier. His long, muscular thigh was plastered alongside hers in the narrow confines of the booth and his potent, masculine scent made her feel overheated and woozy.

Meagan gulped at her beer, before she caught herself and slowed down. Something told her she’d need all of her faculties to deal with this guy.

They chatted for a few minutes about nothing important—Detroit, her work, his music and the club. All the while, undercurrents kept pulling her closer to him, even as part of her wanted to pull away. She looked over at Jase and George and told herself to stop being a coward. If Jase could go after the guy of his dreams, so could she. Even if it was only for this one night. She grinned in response to the anecdote he’d related.

“I’d like to talk to you after we’re done playing,” he murmured and the bright, intense look in his eyes radiated sincerity. “Can I take you out for a bite to eat after the show?”

Alone? With him? A warm thrill skittered up her spine and she clenched her thighs together. “Sure.” Her voice trembled as she smiled up at him and nodded.

“Till later.” He kissed the back of her hand and slid gracefully out of the booth. George stood as well and together she and Jase watched them make their way back to the stage. She could still feel the imprint of his lips on her skin.

“Meagan, would it bother you if I let you drive my car home?” Jase’s words didn’t quite cut through the fog in her head. He reached over and tapped her chin. “Close it, girl, no need to catch flies.”

Meagan tore her eyes away from the stage and looked up. “Oh. Sorry. I’ve got another ride, so you don’t need to worry.”

“Found one that flips your switch, eh?”

She shivered and took a sip of beer. “That man flips switches I didn’t even know I had.”

The band struck up Warren Zevon’s “Werewolves of London.” Meagan gestured to a passing waitress and ordered a diet cola. If she was actually going out with Ric Thornhill in a few hours, she wanted to be stone-cold sober.

The butterflies in her stomach were doing gymnastics as she faced Ric across a linen-draped table a few minutes past midnight.

“What do you recommend?” he asked. They were in an elegant Italian bistro a few blocks from the club.

She shrugged. “I’ve never been here before. It’s outside the budget for a starving artist.”

“Aren’t you able to make a living from your paintings?” His hand touched hers on the table, a fleeting caress that left her wanting more.

“I do now,” she admitted. “But only recently. Up until the last few years I was trying a more contemporary, abstract style and it wasn’t working out.”

“No, it’s obvious that your heart is in the landscapes. That’s what drew me to that window this afternoon.” He paused and sent her an enigmatic smile that seemed to shimmer in the light from the candle on their table. “A circumstance for which I’m rather grateful at the moment.”

How was she supposed to respond to comments like that? He was miles out of her usual league. She knew she wasn’t exactly a schnauzer; men didn’t run from her screaming, but she sure wasn’t supermodel caliber either.

Short and curvy with out-of-control hair that usually had paint in it, she was a definite girl-next-door type. That didn’t seem like the kind of woman to attract someone as gorgeous and talented as Ric.

“Wine?”

She blinked. “Uh—okay, I guess.” Great, what had happened to her resolve to stay sober around him?

He ordered the wine in what was probably flawless Italian, so she had no idea what he was asking for. She let him order her food for her too. She hoped it wasn’t squid or snails or something, but one look from those incredible gold eyes and she’d probably eat worms raw. Worse yet, she’d like them.

“So did you grow up here in the Detroit area?” The question was standard, but his warm expression made her think he might be genuinely interested in getting to know her.

“Mostly. I spent a couple years in California when my dad got transferred out there, but when he retired, we moved back to Michigan.”

“And your parents, are they still nearby?”

“No.” She fought back a wave of sadness. “They were both in their late forties when I came along. Dad died about five years ago and my mom passed away last year.”

He reached over and took her hand, sincerity radiating from his gaze. “I’m sorry for your loss.” He could sense her grief, but there was nothing in her thoughts that told him what he needed to know.

“Hey,” she rallied, forcing a smile. She made a halfhearted attempt to pull her hand away, but gave in when he resisted. “At least I had great parents and a happy childhood. That’s more than a lot of people can claim.”

He guided the conversation into more neutral waters and she let him. No need to get too personal too fast.

Music was the obvious starting point, though she thought she already knew what he liked. To her surprise, his tastes turned out to be almost as eclectic as her own, ranging from soulful ballads to raucous punk.

The longer they talked, the more she liked him. She told him about her art and he laughed at her stories about her students at the co-op, seeming to have a sense of humor almost as warped as her own. Every so often their hands brushed against one another’s as they reached for a morsel. Each time, Meagan felt the touch all the way to her bones.

The food was too good to ignore, so they focused on that, chatting idly as they ate. He’d grown up in Wales, he told her, but now lived in the San Francisco area when he wasn’t touring. She also learned that he liked to touch the person he was talking to.

By the time they polished off Giannola’s to-die-for Gorgonzola ravioli and a bottle of pinot noir, they were both eating with one hand, with their others clasped atop the table. It should have felt awkward, given how recently they’d met, but it didn’t. And oddly enough, her arm hadn’t gone to sleep either, now that she thought about it.

Maybe he really was as magical as his voice.

“Shall we go?”

Ric’s words startled her out of her thoughts, making her choke on the water she’d drunk. She went into a spasm of coughing.

He was around the table before she even saw him move, on one knee beside her with an arm around her waist. “Breathe. You can do it.” His gentle whisper was as soothing as his touch.

He handed her a clean napkin when the coughing subsided. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” she lied, wiping her eyes. Great, she thought, grimacing at the mascara and eye shadow streaks on the snowy white linen. She not only looked idiotic, she probably looked like an idiotic raccoon.

“Shall we go?”

Shoulders slumped in embarrassment, she nodded, refusing to look up at him as he stood and signaled their waiter. As soon as she stood, she excused herself and dashed off to the restroom.

Ric sat back in his chair to wait for Meagan. He’d stalled all he could. Now that dinner was over he needed to start asking the difficult questions. She’d said nothing to verify his belief that she was the missing Rose heiress, but none of her comments had proven otherwise, either.

He’d even dipped into her thoughts, but he’d picked up little more than an instant attraction that rivaled his for her, along with a few self-deprecating asides to herself that almost made him laugh out loud.

He drained the last dregs from his espresso and glanced around the room. The middle of a delicate mission was no time to be losing his edge. A man in the far corner of the dining room allowed Ric to make eye contact and raised his wineglass in a mocking toast.

All the blood drained from Ric’s head. Owain le Faire.

Son of a bitch, this was one complication he hadn’t expected. How had the queen’s most powerful enemy tracked him here, not just to Detroit, but to this very restaurant? Were those really goblins Ric had seen earlier and were they working for Owain, following Ric? Or had Owain honed in independently on the idea that Meagan was the heiress—the one person who could thwart Owain’s plan to overthrow the queen and claim the Seelie throne?

Ric immediately stood and met the waiter halfway to the table. He thrust a wad of cash into the man’s hand and continued toward the restrooms. How to get out without Owain following? The other elf undoubtedly had accomplices nearby. Ric had to think of something fast.

A couple stood from a table near the back hallway, ready to leave. Perfect. Ric hummed a quick spell and formed a glamour around them. The short, sixtysomething man now resembled Ric, while his silverhaired wife looked like Meagan. A Fae like Owain would be able to see through the illusion, but only if he thought to look. Ric made sure the glamour would fade in a few minutes, before any harm came to his unwitting accomplices. Then he waited outside the ladies’ room door for Meagan.

Hands settled on her shoulders as she stepped out of the ladies’ room and Meagan let out a shriek.

“Something’s come up, I’m afraid.”

She whirled to face Ric. “Don’t do that!”

“Sorry, I seem to make a habit out of scaring you. I really don’t mean to.” He hummed a few notes and Meagan swore the world shimmered around her for a moment. His strong hands were still holding her in place, halting her progress toward the dining room.

“I’m fine.” She forced her breathing back under control, smiling with nonchalance she was miles from feeling. “Are we ready to go?”

“Right this way.” He turned her toward the rear exit, away from the door they’d come in, catching her arm in a firm grip.

He didn’t say a word as they walked, his pace so rapid she was practically running to keep up in her high heels.

Was he in
that
much of a hurry to get away from her?

When they pulled into her drive, he stared into space for a moment. He’d climbed out and opened the passenger door before Meagan had gathered her wits enough to do it for herself. Numbly, she accepted his hand on her arm as she walked up the short path and single step to her front porch.

“Thank you for dinner,” she managed. “It was…nice.”

She held out her hand for him to shake. Might as well end things on a grown-up and civilized note.

Ric looked down at her hand, frowning. When she started to draw it back, he growled low in his throat and gripped both of her shoulders, pulling her close.

“This isn’t the end, Meagan.” He stared into her eyes.

“Something truly did come up tonight.”

He was good; she had to admit it. Of course, it helped that she wanted to believe him. Wanted it so much.

“This is not how I wanted this evening to end.” His normally velvet-smooth voice was harsh, raspy. “I
will
be calling you, Meagan. Meanwhile, I want you to do something for me. Go inside and lock your doors. Do you have an alarm?”

She nodded. Now that her paintings were selling, her insurance carrier and her agent had practically demanded it.

“Use it.” He pulled a card from his back pocket and stuffed it into her hand. “And if anything,
anything
, bothers you, call this number. Immediately.”

“Ric, what’s going on?” She clutched his sleeves. She suddenly remembered a discussion with Jase about the Novaks and organized crime. And Ric was a close friend of theirs. What had she gotten herself into?

“I’m not sure, love, probably nothing. Do me a favor, though and call me if anything unusual happens tonight, will you? Otherwise, I’ll talk to you sometime tomorrow. Maybe I can explain then. Okay?” His voice was soothing, almost hypnotic. She shrugged off a feeling that he was trying to somehow compel her to relax.

“It’s okay.” It wasn’t, but she didn’t know what else to say. His face was so close to hers she could practically feel his breath on her lips. The salty scent of sweat and male flesh mixed with garlic, wine and coffee was enough to make her sway against his hands, even though she was both worried and furious. “I have an early meeting at a gallery tomorrow, anyway, so I need to go in and get some sleep.”

Without taking his gaze away from hers, Ric lowered his head and gently laid his lips on hers. Her eyes fluttered shut. Time hung suspended as they tasted each other, gently at first, then with a hunger that bordered on desperation. They were both breathing hard and her skin was damp with sweat when they finally pulled apart.

“I really, truly have to go. I’m sorry.” His silky voice hitched into what was almost a groan.

“Me too,” she admitted, leaning a hand against his hot, damp chest to steady her shaking knees. “You’ll really call?”