CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Skye
I soak in the decadent garden tub, letting the warmth seep into my muscles. Every breath smells of a riotous mix of flowers. I poured three different scented bath oils into the water, needing to wash the smell of Luke from my skin.
Needing to wash away the reminder that the most amazing sex of my life was little more than a science experiment for him.
His voice still echoes in my head: “Is that what human sexual relations are like?” I’ve gotten good at reading his various levels of grumpy face, and this one blew past all the frowns to land on a level three scowl, his how-dare-you expression.
My cheeks burn with mortification as I sink under the water, staying where everything’s muffled and far away for as long as I can hold my breath. The aunts always say that I have a squishy jelly heart: super sweet but easily bruised.
But the difference between the book hero’s emotional openness after sex and Luke grilling me on human sexual relations feels stark. No wonder he said yes to the sex. There I was, offering myself up on a platter for him. What better way for him to do “research”?
When the need for air forces me to surface, I shove my hair out of my eyes, my fingertips dragging over my skin, wrinkled into prunes.
The magically heated water never cools, so I have no idea how long I’ve been in here, but dried-fruit fingers tell me it’s been long enough.
The bath has done all the good a bath can do.
I blot myself with one of the oversized towels, the luxurious fabric soft against my skin, which feels silky smooth from the bath oils.
I expect those same oils to make my hair greasy, but even damp, it feels soft and light as if I used a luxury conditioner.
The snuggle-soft robe wraps around me like a hug, and I let out a sigh. A girl could get used to all of this.
When I first got to the castle, I thought he got me all of these luxurious items because he likes me, but what if he’s simply being a good host? Dragons are very regal and concerned with being “superior”—it feels like something he might do as a point of pride.
The romantic in me misinterpreted everything, just like I always do, seeing love and romance instead of reality.
It’s like the time during senior year when Scott made reservations at the nicest restaurant in our college town, and I assumed he’d propose.
I bought a new dress and everything. When he refused to pick me up, I thought he wanted to get to the restaurant early and set up everything with the waitstaff, picturing a dramatic proposal with the ring hidden in my dessert.
Instead, he sauntered in ten minutes late, waved away the waiter, and broke up with me.
Here I’d been dreaming of marriage and love, and he wanted a public place so I wouldn’t make a scene and the quick exit of not needing to drive me home.
I tighten the robe’s belt and square my shoulders. It’s time to stop daydreaming and leave the big romantic gestures inside my books, where they belong. No guy is ever going to make that much effort to woo me, and I need to get used to it.
The moment I step into the bedroom, there’s a scratching at the door. Princess Buttercup! I hurry over to open it.
“I was worried!” She twines around my legs as I stagger back toward the bed, then vaults onto my lap the moment I lie down. She kneads my tummy, her paws working frantically, purring her loudest purr.
“What’s this all about?” Her automatic feeder is set up in Luke’s kitchen—it seemed a good idea now that I don’t know when the book might take me away—so she had access to her dinner.
“I’m making you feel better!”
I scratch her little cheeks. “That’s so sweet.”
“I wasn’t very good when I woke up back in the library.” She kneads faster. “So I’m making up for it.”
“What do you mean you weren’t good?”
“I was upset about being locked in the bedroom without chicken! You know how much I love chicken!” Her voice hits a high note of indignation. “But Luke let me know book-you did that, not you-you.”
He did? It’s so sweet of him to defend me like that, as if he cares. Or did he explain it to her in order to be factual? God knows the man loves his facts. My teeth dig into my lower lip as I try to figure him out.
Luke seemed so into the sex while we were having it.
Fudge, the way he licked me, his needy groans and filthy words.
The way his hands held me just a little too tightly, all possessive and strong and hot.
My thighs clench at the memory. The sex was earth shattering, each of my orgasms easily in the top three of my life.
And three! Hoo, boy! I never knew I could have more than one.
But all of that must have been the book character instead of the real Luke, because why else would he act so fudging clinical the moment we got back to the real world?
I groan and cover my face with a pillow as fresh embarrassment sweeps through me.
“What are you doing under there? I can’t see you.
” A little face pokes under the edge of the pillow, nose wiggling against my cheek in little tickles.
She headbutts the pillow off me. Then Princess Buttercup lies down on my chest, tucking her legs underneath in a perfect catloaf.
She starts purring again, the sound vibrating through my body.
And I do feel better. It turns out kitty snuggles really can help everything, even squishy hearts as easily bruised as mine.
I take the coward’s way out the next morning, lingering in my room well past the time Luke always goes to his library. My tummy flutters with nerves as I tiptoe down to the kitchen, leave a note, and rush out the front door.
A quiet Princess Buttercup trots along beside me, the tip of her raised tail curled into a jaunty question mark, as if we’re playing a game. I’m glad someone’s having fun.
Naomi pops into the castle courtyard, right on time. Her pretty face breaks into a smile. “Skye!”
“Shhh,” I whisper-hiss, scooping Princess Buttercup into my arms. “Fae hearing.”
My friend’s eyes flick past me to the castle door, and she wraps an arm around my shoulder. In a blink, we stand in the middle of I Touch My Shelf, the familiar surroundings easing the tight knot in my stomach.
“This is the place you go to a lot!” Princess Buttercup says.
“How can you know that?” I look down at her in surprise.
“You smell like this sometimes.”
Naomi levels a finger at me. “Okay, spill. What’s going on?”
“Can we wait for the others? I don’t think I can say it twice.
” As soon as I woke up this morning, I texted my closest friends, seeing who was free.
We have our weekly Witch Bitch Spicy Book Club meeting this evening, but I didn’t want to wait that long.
Plus, I’m not sure I can say what I need to say in front of everyone.
She pulls out her phone and sends a quick text, nodding when she gets an immediate response. “They’re almost here.”
Princess Buttercup wiggles, and the second I loosen my arms, she jumps down to run around the room, little nose sniffing as she goes. “Other animals have been here!”
“Other familiars,” I correct.
“If they get to come here, then I do, too!”
“Snickerdoodle,” I mutter. At Naomi’s soft laugh, I explain, “Witch Bitch Spicy Book Club meetings just got a new member. What happens when you mix a cat, a fox, and a mini-goat?”
“Nothing boring. Just make sure they don’t hurt any of the books. Although, with these huge mystery orders I’ve been getting lately, the shop’s doing well enough we can stand a little loss.”
“Mystery orders? Like all of Agatha Christie?”
“No, the books are all romance books. The mystery is I have no idea who’s buying them.
They’re ordered via my online store, but the books get delivered straight to the mystery person, even though there’s no address I can see.
” She gives a one-shoulder shrug and straightens a stack of books on one of the display tables.
“The money always comes through. The shadow fae Severin put into place at the bank makes it all happen with magic. It’s not the first time a fae has ordered from me using this system, but I’ve never seen someone buy so many books all in one go. ”
Huh. A fae purchasing large amounts of books makes me think of Luke, but he’d never buy romances. He made a huge point about his library being only for research.
Hannah hurries through the door, carrying a large pink box from Cake My Day. Autumn follows on her heels with coffees from Grounds for Celebration, and Kayla enters last, a bunch of bananas held up in each hand like trophies. “Not to be that person, but I figured some fruit wouldn’t kill us.”
After a flurry of hugs and a shedding of coats, we settle onto the comfy velvet couches with our breakfast selections.
Princess Buttercup runs up, demanding to be introduced to everyone all over again now that she can talk.
She uses her innate ability to know exactly who’s uncomfortable around cats to focus on Kayla with the precision of a heat-seeking missile, climbing onto the purple-haired witch’s lap with a loud purr.
My friend sits, coffee and plate in hand, her arms hovering in midair like she’s no longer sure what to do with them.
I reach over and run a hand down Princess Buttercup’s back. “Come sit with me.”
“No.”
“You’re making Kayla uncomfortable.”
“I’m going to make her love me,” my cat says, voice filled with complete confidence.
“I’m not sure it works like that.”
“Of course it does.” She starts purring harder. “I’m using forced proximity. It’s in all of your favorite audiobooks.”
Hoo, boy! I didn’t even think about the fact that she can understand my spicy romance audiobooks now that she’s my familiar. Time for some new earbuds.
Hannah gives an amused snort, the only other person able to understand my cat.
“You okay?” I ask Kayla.
“Yeah, sure.” She lowers her hands, showing off a T-shirt that says: I speak fluent sarcasm.