Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
GIANNA
H e’s not here yet, that’s for sure. I would feel him if he was—which also shows how deep I’ve fallen. If he tells me he doesn’t want the same thing I do, I already know I’ll be hurt. I’ve allowed myself to become too obsessed with him, even though he’s never led me on. If this all goes to shit, I’ll have no one to blame but myself.
I scan the crowd for another familiar face, but all I see are passing acquaintances, clients I’ve seen from time to time at the office but never worked for directly, or people from other departments. I don’t want to small talk, so I make my way toward the bar instead. I won’t drink much, because the last thing I want is to embarrass myself at a work event, but I need something to do so I don’t look too sad and lonely.
Before I can reach the small queue in front of the bar, however, Mr. Webber appears beside me, his pale face dotted with perspiration.
“Ah, there you are, Gianna,” he exclaims. “You vanished so quickly from the lobby.”
I hold back a frown. He barely said hello to me there, so why…?
“This is my son, Brandon.” He pushes forward a man about my age. “You two should dance!”
He gives me a wide smile, pats my shoulder again, and slinks away into the crowd, but not before I catch him giving his son a thumbs-up.
Yikes .
Webber Junior tears his gaze away from his father’s retreating form and rolls his eyes. “He’s been telling me about you for weeks,” he says, his voice cultured but bored. “I think Mother put him up to this matchmaking, and whenever Mother is happy, so is he.”
“Oh.”
I don’t know how to extricate myself from this embarrassing situation. Now that I’ve been left alone with the boss’ son, I wish I’d interrupted Stacy and Brian at their dance. That would have been less awkward for sure.
“Come on,” he commands, waving me toward the bar. “Drinks will make everything better.”
He seems to be commiserating with me, but the way he drags his gaze from the top of my head to my boobs, my legs, and back to my boobs has me feeling super icky.
“That’s all right. I was just about to…”
But he’s not listening to me anymore. Instead, he marches right past the queue at the bar, leans his elbows on the polished countertop, and loudly demands two glasses of champagne. The woman behind the bar frowns at him but pours two glasses of golden, bubbly liquid that he takes without saying thank you or apologizing to the other guests for cutting in the line.
“Here.” He shoves one glass in my hands. “What’s the point of hosting this damn party if I can’t get some perks out of it, right?”
He laughs, the sound jarring, then tosses back half his glass in one gulp. I move a step away from him, awkwardly clutching the flute but not taking a sip.
“Well, come on, drink up,” he says. “You can’t dance with a glass in your hand.”
“Dance?” I ask, my voice rising half an octave. I want to jam the flute up his ass for being obnoxious but I remind myself he’s my boss’ son and shrug helplessly instead. “No, uh, I couldn’t. My feet are killing me.”
He stares down at my golden stilettos and snorts. “Yeah, I can imagine. But they make your legs look fucking hot.” He finally glances up into my face. “I have to admit, my father usually misses completely when trying to set me up, but you’re not bad. Wanna see my room?”
I gape like a fish, not trusting myself to speak. Did he really…?
But yes, of course he did. He’s the heir of a successful dynasty of witches who has never been told no in his life. Brandon downs the rest of his champagne, shoves it in a passing waiter’s hand even though the woman in question isn’t collecting glasses but carrying a tray of caviar-topped canapes, and lifts his eyebrows at me in a gesture that says, Well, what are we waiting for?
“No, thank you,” I say firmly. “I’m sorry, but this has been a misunderstanding.”
I turn to leave, fully intending to disappear into the crowd and hide in some corner until it’s late enough that I won’t seem too impolite if I leave. Or I’ll join Stacy and Brian and attempt a three-way waltz if I have to, as long it gets me away from Brandon.
But he catches my wrist, yanking me back to his side. “Come on, don’t be rude, Gianna.”
His voice is deceptively soft, far too smooth for my liking.
“Let me go,” I hiss. “Or I’ll scream.”
He laughs , the fucker.
“You don’t want to make a scene, do you?” He smiles at me so that anyone watching us would think we’re having a pleasant conversation, but he doesn’t let go of my hand. “My father would so hate to lose his star designer, but my mother hates any kind of scandal.”
His palm is getting hotter. I glance down and gasp—a glow is emanating from it, and he’s burning my skin. Not enough to blister, perhaps, but it feels like holding my hand right against a stove that’s heating up.
A shadow appears behind Brandon.
I hadn’t seen Mr. Koch come up to us because I was too focused on getting away from Brandon, but the immediate sense of relief that washes through me almost makes me sob. He’s not looking at me, though.
He puts his hand on Brandon’s shoulder, squeezes him, and murmurs, “Let her go.”
My captor releases me immediately. His eyes blow wide in terror, and he lets out a pathetic whimper.
“Shh,” Mr. Koch croons. “Come along now, Brandon, let’s find a more private place to talk.”
He glances at me and pauses. “Are you all right?”
I nod, too stunned to speak.
“I need to take out the trash,” he tells me. “Will you wait for me? Please, don’t go anywhere.”
Whatever he’s doing to Brandon must be terrifying, because the witch is trembling now, his face snow-white. But I’m not afraid.
“Okay,” I whisper.
He hesitates a moment longer, then gently guides Webber Junior through the crowd, even saying hello to some people. Brandon walks along with him, meek as a puppet, without a word of protest.
Crap . Brandon is a witch, so I would have thought he’s at least partially immune to whatever Mr. Koch is, but it seems that’s not true at all. For a moment, I consider running away. I could pick up my coat and scarf and disappear. If I call the cabbie right now and promise him a massive tip, he might even come back to pick me up.
But then I won’t be able to thank Mr. Koch for saving me. Or tell him that I’m really glad to see him.
Decision made, I plunge into the crowd and follow them. As I pass the table laden with pastries, Stacy waves at me, showing me the platter of cinnamon rolls.
“These are to die for,” she calls.
I greet her and scrunch up my face in the universal gesture that means I need to find the bathroom, and she nods in understanding. I feel a little bad for lying to her, because she would definitely want to know about our boss’ pervert son, but I need to find Mr. Koch before he permanently maims Brandon and makes this evening so much worse.
I round the corner—and find an empty hallway.
“Shit,” I murmur.
I try listening for any clues of where they went, but the music from the party behind me is too loud, as is the chatter of so many people. Then I remember that I have a Koch-radar built into my chest, so I take a deep breath to release some of the tension that has built up inside me and close my eyes.
And there it is, the tug that I’d recognize anywhere.
I turn left and fling open the second door on the right. Mr. Koch’s back appears in front of me. He’s holding Brandon by the shoulder, as before, muttering something to him, but when I enter, he looks over at me, his dark eyes glittering with gold.
“Hello, Gianna,” he purrs. “Brandon and I were just finishing up our conversation. Would you mind waiting a moment?”
“Dominic.” I swallow, realizing this is the first time I’ve used his given name, then close the door so we’re all shut in the room. “You should let him go.”
His eyebrows draw together. “You don’t know what he’s been thinking.”
And he does?
Clearly. The idea that he can read thoughts is more than a little disturbing. Has he been reading mine, too? For some reason, that doesn’t scare me as much as I thought it would. I haven’t thought of anything bad , have I?
Despite all my misgivings, I step closer to him and put a hand on his arm. “I have a good idea. But I don’t want you getting into trouble.”
He stares down at my hand, then meets my gaze. He leans in close, until he brushes my temple with his lips. They’re hot, as if he’s running a slight fever. He draws in a long inhale and says, “You don’t smell afraid anymore.”
I stay in place, my hand on his arm. “I’m not afraid of you.”
He hums. “When he grabbed your hand earlier, all I could scent was your panic. I wanted to rip his guts out, then do the same to every guest who allowed this asshole to even breathe in your vicinity.”
“I’m glad you didn’t commit mass murder on my account,” I murmur, only half joking.
Then I focus on Brandon, who is still standing next to us, his expression frozen in terror. He hasn’t made a sound since I entered the room—whatever power Dominic has over him has immobilized him completely.
“What are you doing to him?” I ask, half afraid of the answer, and finally take a step back.
He tilts his head to the side. “Reminding him why it would be a bad idea to even look at you again.”
Brandon’s eyelids twitch, but he doesn’t blink. He’s turning a greenish shade of white, which can’t be good.
“Oh. Do you think you could let him go now?” I keep my voice calm, even as a little thrill goes through me.
I must be mad, but I like having an avenging angel.
Dominic lets out a hoarse laugh. “I’m no angel, sweetheart.”
I whip my head toward him. “So you can read thoughts!”
He stares at me for a long moment, then lets out a sigh. “This is a private conversation.” He focuses on Brandon and tightens his grip on the witch’s shoulder. “You know what to do, don’t you? And what will happen if you don’t comply?”
Brandon’s head twitches down in a nod. It’s the first movement he’s made since I entered the room, and I step back in case he decides to leap for the door.
“Good,” Dominic says. “Now go. Kiss your mother goodbye. You won’t be seeing her for a very long time.”
He finally releases Brandon, and the man scurries from the room as if the hellhounds were on his tail. The door remains open, and Dominic slowly walks to it, then looks at me, raising his eyebrows. At my nod, he closes it and presses in the lock.
“What did you tell him to do?”
He smirks, those insufferably handsome lips tipping up at the corners. “To empty his trust fund account and donate all his money to a women’s shelter.”
I cover my mouth with my hand to hide a grin. “And what was that about kissing his mother?”
“I also instructed him to move to Nebraska. I have a cousin living near Omaha who can check in on him after a while, see if he’s keeping his word.”
He says all this with a straight face, so I think he’s being serious.
Nebraska.
“Wow. And that’s it? He seemed too terrified for that to be the end of it.”
At this, my former client’s gaze turns sheepish. “I might have also told him that I’ll know if he ever tries to hurt a woman again. That I’ll come and rip his balls out, then feed them to him, sauteed and seasoned.”
“That’s horrible,” I squeak. Then I narrow my eyes at him. “Would you, though? Know if he tries something like that again?”
He shakes his head. “My powers don’t work at such a distance. I’d have to be pretty close to know what he’s thinking.” Then he shrugs. “But again, my cousin lives in Nebraska.”
I nod. “And he’s…the same kind of supernatural you are.”
I make it a statement, not a question. It’s time we stopped beating around the bush and talked plainly. If the violent threats he made toward Brandon weren’t enough to send me running, I think that’s ample proof that I’ve made my choice, even if I haven’t admitted that to myself yet. I need to know what he is.
He stills. “Yes.”
I take a step closer. “Will you tell me? Or better yet, show me?”
His throat bobs as he swallows. “Gianna…”
The way he says my name, it becomes a plea, but I sense his surrender.
“I don’t care,” I whisper. “I just want to know. I want to know you .”
Feeling bold, I put my hands on his chest, and he drags in a deep inhale, then groans as if my scent is tearing down his defenses.
He rips his gaze away from mine and glances at where my palms are resting against his burgundy suit jacket. It’s a darker shade than my dress, but we match nonetheless. On most other men, this would look ridiculous, but with his dark hair and eyes, it’s a deadly combination.
He only hesitates a moment. Then he lifts his hand between us, so I take a step back to give him space.
“The glamour is tied to the ring.” He indicates the thick gold band on his thumb. “If you really want to know, you may take it off.”
I gaze up at him. “Do you want me to take it off?”
He raises his other hand and brushes the backs of his knuckles over my cheek. The skin on his fingers is rougher than human, a little leathery, even though his fingers still look the same.
“I’ve wanted this for a very long time,” he murmurs. “But I don’t want to scare you.”
I take his hand in mine and touch the gold ring. It’s warm—either from his body heat or the glamour spell. I kiss his knuckles, then repeat, “I’m not afraid.”