Wicked Lovely (17 page)

She went over and watched him, trying to figure out how to tell him about the carnival. She'd tried to start that sentence several times since she'd arrived. It hadn't worked. This time she just blurted out, "I'm meeting Keenan tonight."

Seth didn't look away from the boiling water as he asked, "You're going out with the faery king?
The guy who's stalking you?"

"It's not a date." She was close enough to touch him, but she didn't. "He asked me to go to a carnival…" He did look at her then. "He's dangerous." She took the spoon out of his hand and pulled his arm gently so he turned toward her. "If I don't figure out what he wants, Grams is going to take away the little bit of freedom I still have. I need to figure out a way to make him leave me alone."

Seth had that same strange panicked look he'd had after he heard about the guys—
the human guys
—outside the library. He nodded, slowly, like he was thinking, processing what she was saying.

She kept talking. "Maybe there's something I can do or say … or overhear." She leaned against him, needing his comfort, his support. She was afraid, but she couldn't just sit around waiting for someone to save her. She had to try to save herself, try to figure it out.

He didn't say anything.

So she said softly, "Do you have a better idea?"

"No."

He sighed and pulled her close, holding her tightly. "His timing sucks."

She laughed—because it was either that or
weep
. "You think?"

The pasta started boiling over behind them, hissing and spattering. She picked up the wooden spoon and stirred.

He stood behind her, his hands resting on her hips. "After dinner I wanted to check out some of the ointments in those recipes, so I can see them too."

"Okay." She looked over her shoulder at him.

He dropped a quick kiss on her cheek. It was sweet, tender.

His next remark, however, was anything but sweet. "You need to move out of the way."

"What?"

He nudged her to the side. "No wonder you eat
all that
yogurt. Your cooking skills"—he sighed—"pitiful."

She laughed for real then, grateful that he was teasing, grateful that he wasn't letting her admission spoil what was left of their evening. She smacked his arm lightly. "I can stir pasta. It's not a special skill."

"Half of it will be stuck to the pan if you keep trying to do it. Come on.
Out of the way."

Still smiling, she moved to the side and opened the minifridge. A six-pack of some microbrew sat there—no cheap drinks for him.
Only Seth.
He didn't share his beer, though. Any drinking done at his place was strictly BYOB.
Doesn't hurt to ask.
She pulled one out. "Can I?"

"You don't drink well, Ash." He frowned.
"Thought you'd want a clear head."

She stopped herself before she told him how afraid she was. Instead she closed the fridge, still holding the bottle. "Split it with me?"

With another disapproving look, he handed her a plate of already sliced bread. "So where is this carnival?"

"Down at the river." She set the plate on the table and held out the bottle to him.

"You could cancel—postpone even, at least until we know more." He twisted the cap off, took a drink, and handed it back. "Do you know how many stories there are of them stealing people?
Hundreds of years, Ash, people being gone hundreds of years."

"I know." She took a drink, looked at him, and took another.

Seth took the bottle out of her hand and pointed at the bread. "Eat something,
then
we'll try some of those recipes."

He glanced at the clock as he started rinsing the pasta. "I need to be able to see them so I can find you if something
does
go wrong."

After dinner Aislinn called to check in with Grams. She assured Grams she was in a safe place. "I'm with Seth. I'll be here for a while. …"

She didn't tell Grams that she wasn't staying at Seth's. She felt guilty for it, but Grams already worried too much. After murmuring a few more assurances—and feeling guiltier—she hung up.

I
wish I could just stay here.
Careful not to bump Boomer, she stretched out on the sofa and closed her eyes for a minute.

Seth leaned down and kissed her forehead. He did that a lot lately, little touches, careful signs of affection— reminding her that he cared. Of course, he still flirted until the tension was exhilarating.

And real, not some faery trick.
Seth is real.
She hadn't asked
what
he wanted, didn't know how, but she was almost positive he wasn't looking for a fling.

She opened her eyes. For a moment it almost looked like her skin was glowing.

I'm just tired.
She blinked.

He sat on the other end of the sofa, putting her feet on his lap. Then he held out a stack of recipes. "I've got three teas, a couple salves, a few tinctures, and one poultice. What do you think?"

She sat up and scooted closer.
"A poultice?"

His hand tangled in her hair, lifting a long strand out and twisting it around his fingers. "Something you put on an injury, like putting steak on a black eye."

"Umm, yuck."
She took the papers, scanned them.

Seth's playing with my hair.
His fingertips brushed against her collarbone, and she realized she was holding her breath.

Breathe.

She let her breath out slowly and tried to focus on the words on the page. Everything felt somehow more important when she thought about where she was going that night and with whom.

She held out the paper she'd been trying to read. "This one has to sit for three days."

"A few are like that." He took that page with his free hand, the one that wasn't tracing circles on her skin. "The tinctures are to 'steep' for seven to ten days. I'll start a couple later tonight when you're out. I just wondered if any of them seemed, I don't know, familiar?"

She dropped the other pages on the stack in his lap. "I was born like this. Grams, my mom, that's just what happens in my family—something in the genes.
Like being short or whatever."

"Right."
He wasn't looking at the papers, but at her hand, which was still resting on his leg. Abruptly he stood up and walked away. "Let's try a salve. They seem quicker."

She followed him to the counter, where he had spread out the herbs, some bowls, a knife, and a piece of white pottery with a matching stick. She picked it up.

"Pestle."

She looked at him. "What?"

"It's a pestle. Here." He put some of the herbs into the white bowl and held out his hand.

She gave him the pestle, noticing how much distance he was suddenly giving her.

He used it to grind the herbs, crushing them into tiny pieces. "Like this."

Then he handed it back.

"Saint-John's-wort.
Pulverize it and dump it here." He pointed at an empty cereal bowl.

"Right."
She started crushing the strange-smelling plants.

Beside her, Seth filled a pan half full of water and set it on a burner. He got out two more pans and sat them on the counter.

"So about the other day, about us…" She glanced at him, more anxious than she expected. She needed to be sure what it really meant to him, but she was afraid he'd be hurt when she asked.

His tone wasn't insulted, though. Instead he sounded nervous too.
"Yeah?"

"Are you, I don't know, going to ask me out or something? Or is it just casual, wanting to…"

"Just tell me what you want." He took the bowl out of her hand and pulled her up against him, hip to hip.
"Dinner?
Movie?
A weekend at the beach?"

"A weekend?
Aren't you moving a bit fast?" She put her hands on his chest, keeping a little distance between them.

"Not as fast as I want to." He bent down so his mouth was almost touching hers. "But I'm trying to wait."

She didn't even think about it; she nipped his bottom lip.

And they were kissing again, slow and soft and somehow more maddening than the first time. Somewhere between telling him she was meeting Keenan and asking him where they stood, the stakes had shifted.

Her hands found the bottom of his shirt, slid under it, over skin and the rings that decorated his chest. Any objections she used to remember had melted.

I found the uncrossable line.
She almost giggled at the thought.

"Seth?
You in there?"
The doorknob jiggled.

"Seth, we know you're in there," Mitchell, one of Leslies exes, yelled. He knocked again, loudly. "Come on, open up."

"Ignore him," Seth
whispered,
his lips against her ear. "Maybe he'll go away."

The doorknob jiggled again,

"It's probably a good thing." Aislinn pulled back further, feeling almost lightheaded. "We're not thinking very clearly."

"I've done nothing but think about this for months, Ash"—Seth put a hand on either side of her face—"but just say the word and we stop. You set the pace. I won't push you.
Ever."

"I know that." She blushed. It was a lot easier to give in to the temptation than it was to talk about it—surprisingly easy. "I'm not sure how far that is, though."

He hugged her closer and stroked his hand down her hair. "So we take it slow.
Right?"

"Right."
She nodded, feeling both relieved and disappointed. There were too many diseases out there to be casual, but just letting go of control, of logic, of what she should and shouldn't do …
Tempting
was an understatement.

His voice was low and steady as he said, "And yes, dating. There's nothing casual about what I want."

She didn't say anything, couldn't.

From outside Jimmy yelled, "Open the damn door, Seth. It's freezing out here."

Seth titled her head up so she was looking at him and said, "You're worrying me here.
We good?"

She nodded.

"
You thinking
about running again?"

Her heart thumped too fast. She blushed. "No. I'm thinking the exact opposite."

He ran his fingertips over her cheek—pausing at the corner of her mouth—and stared at her. "No pressure."

Finally she leaned her face on his chest, hiding her expression. "I need to think.
If we're going to try this
…us
together.
I don't want to mess it up, mess
us
up."

"It wouldn't, but"—he swallowed audibly before adding—"we don't need to rush. I'm not going anywhere."

The knocking grew louder again until finally Seth let go of her. He straightened his clothes, turning his back to her to do so. Then he went to the door and yanked it open. "What?"

"Christ, man,
it's
cold out there." Mitchell pushed past Seth.

Jimmy, another one of the guys who had graduated last year, came in behind him. With him were three girls Aislinn didn't know.

Aislinn went back to the counter and resumed crushing herbs. Jimmy stopped just inside the door and looked over at her with a wide grin. "Well, hello, Ash."

She lifted the bowl in greeting, but she didn't say anything. Her lips were tender; her hair felt like it was a mess. It had to be obvious they'd interrupted something.

Keeping her attention on the salve was easier than dealing with them. She poured the powdered herbs into an empty bowl, added more, and kept grinding them.

Jimmy nudged Seth. "What happened to the 'only friends in the house' rule?"

"Ash is a friend." Seth narrowed his eyes at Jimmy and added, "The only one who has an open door here."

Still grinning, Jimmy came over and looked at the bowl Aislinn clutched. "Well, this is interesting. What you got?" He picked up the bowl of already pulverized Saint-John's-wort and sniffed. "Nothing I've smoked."

He was a loudmouth; Mitchell was even worse, especially since Leslie had told everyone who'd listen that he was a lousy lay. He set a six-pack of beer on the counter.

The girls were over by Boomer, staring at the boa, but not getting too close. All three were dressed in clothes that meant they would be freezing outside—tight skirts, cleavage-baring shirts—the sort of thing that'd be uncomfortable even if it weren't autumn.
Three?
She looked over at them, looked at Jimmy, who was making himself at home, picking at the leftover pasta.

"Thought I asked everyone to let me have a few days to myself."
Seth poured the first bowl of crushed herbs into the boiling water and set a timer. "Ash, can you grab the olive oil when you finish those?"