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turn on the hidden camera. If the camera was on, it had a near perfect view of the bed.
He came up behind me, arms wrapping around me from behind, managing to pin my arms to my sides,
but not hard. He meant it to be a hug. The fact that it panicked me wasn't his fault, not really. I tried to
relax against his body, in the circle of his arms, but couldn't. The Power was too thick, and I couldn't
relax. The best I could do was not to pull away.
He nuzzled the side of my face, lips moving down my skin. "You're not wearing any base."
"I don't need any." I turned my head just enough to encourage him to continue kissing down my face to
my neck. It was all the invitation he needed to work his way lower. His lips stopped at my shoulder, but
his hands slid from my arms to encircle my waist. "God, you're a tiny thing. I can reach around you with
my hands."
I moved gently away from him toward the bed. My senses were dulling to the magic. I'd had years of
practice at ignoring amazing amounts of power. If you're sensitive to such things and you don't want to go
mad, you adapt. Magic can become like white noise, like the sounds of the city itself, only coming to your
attention when you concentrate.
I stood on the bright Persian rug that surrounded the bed, just like Naomi had described it. But I
couldn't force myself to walk those last few feet to the bed because I could feel the circle that lay under
the rug like a great hand pushing me away. It was a circle of power, something to stand inside while you
conjured, so that whatever you called wouldn't come inside and eat you, or so you could call something
inside the circle and remain safely outside. I wouldn't know until I saw the runes which kind of circle it
was, whether it was a shield or a prison. Even seeing the runes and the construction of the circle might
not tell me. I knew sidhe witchery, but there are other kinds of power, other mystical languages to work
magic with. I might not recognize any of it, and then there would be only one way to know what the circle
was... by walking into it.
The real trouble was that some circles are constructed to hold fey captive, and once I was inside, I might
have trouble getting back out. If they were really a bunch of fey wanna-bes, they probably wouldn't be
trying to capture us, but you never know. If you love something hard enough but can never touch it or
keep it, the love can curdle into a jealousy more destructive than any hate.
Alistair loosened his tie as he walked toward me, an anticipatory smile curling his lips. He was utterly
arrogant, sure of himself and of me. It was so tempting to just walk out, just so I could watch that
arrogance slide away. He hadn't done anything mystical yet, let alone illegal. Was I being too easy? Did
he save the mystical stuff for the reluctant ones? Did I need to be more reluctant? Or more aggressive?
Which would get Alistair Norton on tape doing something illegal? I was still trying to make up my mind
whether to be the unwilling virgin or the eager whore when he was there in front of me, and I was out of
time.
He bent down to kiss me, and I raised my head up to meet him, rising on tiptoe, hands balancing on his
arms. His biceps flexed under my hands, swelling against the cloth of his jacket. I don't think he was even
aware of it, just habit. He kissed like he seemed to do everything, with a practiced ease, smooth skill. His
arms wrapped around my waist, pressed me to his body, lifted me off the floor. He started moving me
backward toward the circle. I drew back from the kiss enough to say, "Wait, wait." But we were in it,
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and it stole my breath for a second until we were on the other side, inside the circle. It was like being in
the eye of a storm. Inside the circle was quiet, the most restful place I'd felt in the entire house. A
tightness I hadn't known was there eased from my shoulders and back.
Alistair scooped my legs up and walked us both onto the bed with his knees. When we were near the
center of the bed, he laid me down and stayed on his knees, looking at me, towering over me. But I'd
worked alongside Uther for three years. Six feet was nothing when you'd been having lunch with thirteen.
I don't think I looked impressed enough because he took off the tie and tossed it to the bed, fingers
going to his shirt buttons. He was going to undress first. I was surprised. A control freak usually wants
their victim naked first. He was out of his jacket and shirt, hands going to his belt before I could figure out
what to do. Slowing him down seemed to be good.
I sat up, touching his hands. "Slow down. Let me enjoy the unveiling. You're rushing through it like
you've got another date tonight." I held on to his hands, rubbing across his skin, stroking his bare arms. I
concentrated on the feel of the tiny hairs on his forearms and how they slid under my touch. If I
concentrated just on the physical sensations one at a time, I could make my eyes lie or at least show a
genuine interest. The trick was not to think too hard about who I was touching.
"There's no one but you tonight, Merry." He drew me to my knees, then ran his hands through my hair,
letting it slide through his fingers so that he held my face in his big hands. "There will be no one else for
either of us after tonight, Merry."
I didn't like the sound of that, but it was the first thing he'd said that was sort of psychotic so I was doing
something right. "What do you mean, Alistair? We eloping to Vegas?"
He smiled, still holding my face, staring into my eyes liked he'd memorize them. "Marriage is just a
ceremony, but tonight I'll show you what it means to be truly one with a man."
I raised an eyebrow before I could help myself. Knowing my face already showed it, I said, "My, you
do have a high opinion of yourself."
"It's not idle boasting, Merry." He kissed me, softly, then crawled past me to the headboard of the bed.
He pressed on the wood, and a little door sprang open. A secret compartment, how nifty. He turned with
a small glass bottle in his hands. It was one of those glass bottles with curves and frills to it that you're
supposed to keep expensive perfume in, but no one ever does.
"Take off the dress," he said.
"Why?"
"It's massage oil." He held the bottle up so I could see the thick oil in the light through the ruby glass.
I smiled at him, and I tried to make it everything he wanted: sexual, flirtatious, a little cynical. "The pants
first."
He grinned at me, evidently pleased. "I thought you said you wanted to go slow."
"If we're getting naked, you first."
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He started to turn and set the bottle inside the compartment again. "I'll hold it for you," I said.
He stopped in midmotion, turning back to me with a heat in his eyes that was almost touchable. "Only if
you put some on your breasts while I undress."
"Will it stain my dress?"
He actually seemed to think about that, face becoming thoughtful, intelligence showing through. "I'm not [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]