Prince of Air and Darkness (12 page)

When he could no longer find those hard little bumps in her shoulders, he worked his way down her arms, strokes taking him all the way to the tips of her fingers. He noticed how smooth and soft her skin was, realized it wasn’t just because of the massage oil.

Hunter pulled the sheet back up and tucked it under her shoulders, going to work next on her legs. She was so relaxed he wondered if she might have fallen asleep. He had a harder time keeping himself under control while his hands worked her thighs, constantly aware of the desire to keep his hands moving upward. By the time he was done, his jeans had become unbearably tight and he knew he couldn’t risk letting her see him. He improvised and worked on her feet a little longer until his arousal wasn’t so excruciating.

When he held the sheet up and asked her to turn over, it seemed as though she could barely move. Her eyes were closed, her lips slack. Any suspicions she might have had were gone, and she lay before him in a state of total trust. His throat tightened. How he wished he deserved that trust. How he wished he were something other than his mother’s son. What would it be like to be a free, mortal man, able to pursue any woman he wished? What would it be like to get to know Kiera just because he wanted to, with no ulterior motive?

With a regretful sigh, he allowed his hands to slide off her skin. There was no use indulging in fantasies of freedom. Thanks to his mother, Kiera would be forever out of his reach, and thinking about what might have been would only make reality hurt more.

“Take your time getting up,” he whispered. “Come on out when you’re ready.”

He slipped out the door, filled with a strange yearning that had nothing to do with the desires of the flesh.

****

Kiera felt like a lump of putty. When Hunter had first put his hands on her, she’d practically jumped off the table she’d been so tense. Now, it seemed it would take more will than she had simply to sit up. With a groan, she propped herself up on her elbows. She breathed deep, taking in the vanilla scent of the candles, and, under that, Hunter’s spicy scent. A smile crept over her lips.

Eventually, she managed to get to her feet and get dressed, though every movement was slow and languid. She’d felt relaxed after her previous massages; after this one, she felt boneless and sated. Hunter clearly knew what he was doing. God, what talented hands!

Hunter was waiting for her in the living room. At first, he didn’t seem to hear her enter, so she stood silent for a moment, observing him. He sat on a very masculine brown leather couch, his booted feet propped on the glossy mahogany coffee table. His hands—those wonderful, warm, strong hands—were folded across his abdomen, and his head rested against the back of the couch, his hair fanned out around him in a dark halo. His eyes were open, staring fixedly at the ceiling. When she followed his gaze, she noticed a small hole in the ceiling, but there was nothing about it that seemed to warrant such attention.

Either she made a noise, or Hunter finally sensed he was not alone, for he raised his head and swung his feet off the coffee table. For the first moment she caught his eyes, she saw something haunted—and hunted—in them, but he hid the expression before she could be certain it wasn’t just a figment of her imagination.

“Wow,” he said, smiling warmly at her. “I think your shoulders are sitting about six inches lower than they were when you came in.”

She returned his smile. “Okay, even I have to admit you did good. I feel like an overcooked noodle.”

“Well come sit down a moment.” He indicated a tall glass sweating on a coaster. “You need to drink lots of water to flush out the toxins. Might as well start now.”

She hesitated, worrying that if she stayed she would shatter the tenuous peace that seemed to have taken hold. But somehow, it seemed too much effort to remain worried about his intentions when she felt so good, so she fell heavily onto the couch beside him. She took a couple long swallows of water, noticing as she did so that her nerves weren’t jangling the way they usually did when Hunter was close. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He looked much more relaxed himself. Maybe even more . . . human.

Kiera shook off that thought, remembering reluctantly her mother’s crazy ideas and the horseshoe. All so ridiculous, really. Hunter was just a man. Full of contradictions and complexity, perhaps, but a man nonetheless.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he asked, startling her.

She took another sip of water, considering the wisdom of answering him with any kind of honesty. She turned toward him on the couch, propping her head on her hand. “I’m just trying to figure you out.”

He grinned and raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And what conclusions have you reached?”

“That’s just the thing: I’m failing miserably. You don’t have multiple personality disorder or anything, do you?”

A short bark of laughter escaped him. “Not that I know of.” He moved a little closer to her, turning his body so that he was facing her. “Tell me what you’re trying to figure out. Maybe I can help.”

She was momentarily tempted to laugh, but he looked like he was serious, so she put some thought into it. “Well, I have to admit you just gave me a wonderful massage. But I’m still having trouble reconciling with the idea that you do it for a living.”

“Why? Still based on the stereotype?”

She shrugged. “I think it’s more than that.” She bit her lip and wondered whether she dared say any more. She was already being pretty damn rude, considering he’d just given her a free sample of his services. But his face looked open and friendly, and she was so curious about him she couldn’t resist. “For one thing, I don’t think massage therapists usually make the kind of money it would take to dress the way you do—or to furnish an apartment quite so elegantly.”

He nodded in acknowledgment, his face grave. “That’s true. You have caught me out in my secret.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “The drugs are where the real money comes from.”

He looked so serious that for a fraction of a second, she thought he might actually mean it. Then she saw the glint in his eye and she gave him a mock glare. “Very funny,” she said, reaching behind her and grabbing the throw pillow propped in the corner of the couch.

Hunter was about to respond when she whipped the pillow around and tried to bop him in the head with it. He moved with incredible speed, one arm blocking the blow while his other hand darted out to fasten on her wrist. It all happened so fast she could barely comprehend it. Their gazes locked as he held her wrist in a firm grip and plucked the pillow from her fingers with his other hand.

Kiera was shocked at herself, amazed she’d had the gall to try to hit this man she barely knew with a pillow, that she’d gone from being so rigid and guarded with him to acting like he was a close friend. She was even more shocked by his swift reaction. When he’d seen the blow coming, he’d reacted like he was trying to prevent a death-blow, his eyes hardening and all signs of humor fading. Even so, when he’d caught her wrist, his fingers had been firm but gentle, belying the ferocity of his expression.

Heat crawled up Kiera’s cheeks as they stared at one another, her wrist still trapped in his fingers. She didn’t know how she could possibly apologize for the over-familiarity, but she had to try. “I don’t know what came over me,” she said, shaking her head and trying to extricate her wrist from his grip.

He didn’t let go, although he lowered their hands to the couch. He no longer looked so fierce, his lips now quirked into something approaching a smile, but there was still a strange intensity to his gaze. “You don’t have to apologize. It was a bad joke.” His thumb moved in a slow circle against the skin on the underside of her wrist. She wasn’t even sure he knew he was doing it. “I had it coming.”

She blinked and swallowed, her breath coming shorter as her pulse kicked up. She knew he must be able to feel the quickening of her pulse where his thumb caressed her wrist, but she couldn’t force herself to pull her hand away. Words failed her, and she sat there mute and confused. Suddenly, she wanted very much to kiss him, but the feeling was very different from the fuzzy-headed compulsion she’d experienced in the elevator.

Hunter laughed softly and let go of her wrist. She almost reached for him, hating to have lost that point of contact between them. She stopped herself in time.

“I think perhaps you’d better finish your glass of water and head on home,” he said with a rueful smile. “If you don’t, I’m going to end up making another pass, and then I’ll have to give you another free massage, and I’ll eventually go bankrupt.”

Kiera let out a slow breath. Right this moment, she wasn’t entirely sure she would rebuff him if he
did
make a pass. She felt none of the creepy, unsettling sensations that she usually associated with him. Perhaps it had all been in her head, and he was exactly as he seemed. Her pulse showed no sign of slowing, and she imagined he would be an excellent kisser.

But this was simply ridiculous. Men who looked like him did not pursue women who looked like her. He was simply reacting to their proximity, his male instincts prodding him in a sort of reflexive reaction entirely beyond his control. If she gave in to her own impulses, she would feel like the worst kind of fool afterward, and it would make their professional relationship impossible.

So she sucked in a deep breath, ordering her pulse to return to normal, and she smiled at him. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t want you in bankruptcy court because of me.” She put some distance between them as she picked up the glass and gulped the remainder of the water. She plunked it triumphantly on the coaster and practically leapt to her feet. Shit, her cheeks were hot, which meant she was probably blushing.

Hunter got to his feet almost as fast, his face now a mask of concern. “Damn! I just blew it again, didn’t I?” He shook his head. “Sorry, Kiera. I didn’t mean to—”

She held up a hand to stop him. “Don’t worry about it.” She forced a smile. “You didn’t blow it. Really you didn’t,” she added when he looked skeptical. If she didn’t watch it, she was going to tweak more of those manly instincts by running away. “Thank you so much for the massage. It was really wonderful. I’ll recommend you to all my friends. Once you’re actually open for business, that is.”

“Well, if you decide I owe you another freebie after my unwise comment, let me know. I’d be happy to oblige.”

Yikes! As good as the massage had been, she didn’t think she dared risk another. The relaxation had clearly addled her brain, and if she didn’t watch it she could end up flinging herself at him. It had been too long since she’d had a boyfriend—she was really losing her cool.

“I think I’ll let you off the hook just this once,” she said. “But you’d better be on your best behavior when I show you the website in a couple days, got it?”

“I will be a model of propriety,” he promised as he guided her to the door.

There was another awkward moment when they stood together in the doorway. Kiera found herself staring at his lips, speculating once more on what they would feel like on hers.

Somehow, showing more willpower than she liked to contemplate, she managed to make it home without finding out.

Chapter 7

When the fog cleared from her head, Kiera realized the massage had left her even more perplexed by Hunter. That she had wanted him was undeniable; that the desire had felt so different from her earlier experiences with him just made it stranger. Trying to keep her mind . . . ajar . . . as Jackson had suggested, she had to admit that if there really were such a thing as fairy glamour, it would explain a lot: Hunter had used glamour to stir her hunger in the elevator, while it had been her own natural desire she’d felt in his apartment.

Her mind still recoiled from the idea, but she sternly reminded herself that entertaining the possibility did no harm, and so she decided to set up an ambush.

Instead of meeting Hunter in the safety of the coffee shop to show him the completed website design, she invited him to her apartment. Maybe she was sending a dangerous signal, but she wanted to try the horseshoe test—just to get the ridiculous notion out of her head—and she couldn’t think of any excuse for bringing a horseshoe with her to coffee.

Kiera’s study was positively cramped with her large computer desk and bookshelves, but she could just manage to drag a second chair in. She scattered a handful of bric-a-brac on the chair, then nestled the horseshoe amongst the clutter. Her whole apartment was an homage to clutter, so she didn’t think the chair would stand out as unusual.

True, the horseshoe looked pretty out of place. But, if Hunter was just a normal man—as, of course, he
had
to be—he would think nothing of it. And if he was some kind of supernatural being . . . Well, but he wasn’t, so it wasn’t worth thinking about what would happen if he was.

Her imagination now firmly under control, Kiera waited anxiously for Hunter to arrive. She had changed clothes three times before she’d settled on a deep green button-down shirt-dress with a knotted leather belt. The fit and the color flattered her nicely without looking like something she’d wear for a date. And though she didn’t wear perfume or lipstick often, it wasn’t unheard of. No, she definitely wasn’t trying to make any kind of impression on Hunter.

The doorbell rang and she suffered a moment of panic. God, what had she been thinking, dressing up and wearing lipstick? He’d take one look at her and assume she’d dressed up for him. What kind of a signal was she giving him? But it was too late now. Cursing herself under her breath, she hurried to get the door.

Hunter looked more handsome every time she saw him. Today, he was wearing a charcoal gray sweater that looked like it might be cashmere. She shook his hand in greeting and had to resist an urge to run her palm over his arm to feel the sweater. Actually, it wasn’t his arm she most wanted to touch . . .

“Great sweater,” she said, then wanted to slap herself for the ridiculous comment; it made her sound as nervous as she was. And there was no reason to be nervous. She was merely meeting with a client, showing him her work. If he was happy with her work, this might be the last time they saw each other, excepting the occasional run-in in the lobby or elevator.