Chapter 18
18
Saturday
“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” I say, staring at Good Witch Willow’s apartment door.
Alistair just picks another leaf out of my hair. This is my week for incorporating random greenery in my hairdos, apparently. His plan for escaping the media worked and then some. We made it all the way downtown without a single paparazzo on our tail. It turns out there’s a hidden wooden door in the hedge behind his house. Very Secret Garden . The neighboring property houses a rustic (but sprawling) wood cabin, with the biggest hot tub in creation, owned by a retired music producer. He was good friends with the original owner of Alistair’s house. They used to play cards several nights a week while taking turns working their way through each other’s wine cellar, hence the gate. But now it provides a discreet exit for either party.
Kevin, the previously mentioned music producer, didn’t seem surprised to find us standing on his back deck this morning, disheveled from fighting the overgrown shrubbery. He just tossed Alistair the keys to a vintage cherry-red Cadillac with a nod.
Now here we are. All the way up in the old elevator, Alistair was agitated. The toe of his boot wouldn’t stop tap-tap-tapping. But now he’s back to his usual take-charge self. “It’s going to be fine. I contacted Willow through her website, and she agreed to see us. We’re just going to have a little talk.”
“That’s the first time you’ve gotten her name right. How much is she charging you for this emergency witching session?”
“It doesn’t matter. Your peace of mind is worth it.”
“What exactly are you going to ask her?” I say. “Just out of curiosity...”
He gives me a wink and knocks on the door.
As pleasant as the idea of him magically sorting all of this out is, I don’t see him succeeding. Though his determination to try is admirable. Heartwarming.
Willow opens the door wearing a patchwork silk robe, and her long silver hair is flowing down her back. “If it isn’t bonny Prince Charming.”
“Not really a prince,” says Alistair smoothly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Willow snorts. “Get that smile off your face. Don’t bother to lie to me, boy. Come in before my neighbors get nosy.”
Willow is a maximalist. Her apartment is small and colorful and packed to the ceiling with crystals and dried flowers, old black-and-white photos and books, ceramic animals, and an upright piano. It’s the sort of space you could spend a day just poking around, never knowing what you might find.
“This is amazing,” I say in awe.
Willow watches me with a faint frown. “Thank you, Lilah. I don’t know that it’s good to see you again.”
“Right back at you, Willow.”
“Where do we start?” Alistair asks, all business.
“You could pay me,” she says. “That’s one way to break the ice.”
Out of his jeans pocket comes a wad of money. “I believe you said the fee for an emergency reading was one thousand dollars.”
“Yes. For you, it is.” Willow doesn’t count the cash. Just slips it into the pocket of her robe and takes a seat at a small round wooden table. “Go on, then. The clock is ticking. Ask your questions.”
“I can ask whatever I want?”
“Within reason.”
“How did you get into this?” Alistair sits opposite her, the picture of cool, calm, and confident. As if he’s interviewing Willow or something. “Being a witch?”
“That’s what you want to ask?”
“I’m interested in your story. I’d also like to know what credentials you have exactly to tell people they’re about to die.”
“Hmm. I inherited the gift from my grandmother. She had a talent for knowing things.”
“It skipped a generation.”
Willow just nods.
“What sort of things could she predict?”
“If the biscuits would burn or when her neighbor would go into labor or if her father was going to lose his job.” Willow shrugs. “Things of a domestic nature mostly, since that was her world. Messages can be both big and small.”
“And yourself?”
“The times had changed. I grew up in the city and often traveled with my mother. So the things I saw were of a different nature.” And that is all she says.
“At about what age did it start?” asks Alistair.
“With the onset of puberty.”
“Seeing the future at such a young age must have been terrifying.”
“There were often times when I didn’t understand the message. As a child, I simply lacked the maturity or the knowledge.” Willow gives him a long look. “You learn to keep quiet after scaring and alienating people. Growing up is hard. However, being alone and misunderstood is its own special sort of hell. As you well know.”
He ignores her last remark and asks, “How did you handle it?”
“I was fortunate—I had my gran. But knowing things isn’t always nice, as your fiancée can attest to.”
“Talking of my fiancée, how do I save her?”
“Her heart will stop soon,” says Willow. “There’s no getting around that.”
I freeze in my seat as if my heart has stopped already. Hearing it said out loud in this manner is a whole new world of awfulness. Not even him referring to me as his fiancée can soften the blow. Though I sure like the sound of those words coming from his lips. I know it’s nonsense, but still. Why not enjoy it?
“Are you sure you can’t sell us a protection spell or something?” he asks.
“I can sell you as many protection spells as you like. There are also amulets, potions, and talismans I could recommend. If you like, for another thousand dollars, I could pull out my cauldron and wand and get busy,” she says. “But the fact is, none of these things can fight fate.”
“So they’re pointless.”
“Everyone has to die someday,” says Willow in a gentler tone of voice.
“Not her,” insists Alistair in a stern voice. “Not right now.”
Willow sighs.
“How often are you wrong?” he asks, his head cocked. “Things like Lilah’s idiot of an ex cheating on her and missing out on the promotion seem pretty standard life events. Horrible, but nothing out of the ordinary. They could happen to just about anyone at one time or another. Though the lotto numbers were impressive.”
“Thanks,” says Willow dryly, flicking her silver hair over her shoulder.
“As for her and me meeting...it’s a hell of a coincidence. But you must guess incorrectly sometimes. Nobody’s right all the time, are they?”
“But I’m not guessing.”
“Let’s agree to disagree.”
Willow’s gaze moves to me. “Look at you, standing over there, quiet as can be. Are you going to let him do all the talking, Lilah? Is that who you are now?”
“ No. I’m standing over here and staying out of it because I feel like we said everything we needed to the other day in the garden.”
“True enough.”
“But if I think of anything new, I’ll be sure to ask.”
“Glad to see you haven’t lost your voice. It happens so often to women in relationships with, shall we say, alpha types?” Willow’s answering smile is amused as she turns back to Alistair. “So, Prince Not-So-Charming, you want me to prove myself?”
Alistair’s gaze is arctic. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble...”
“Not at all. Lay your hands on the table.” Willow shifts in her chair, getting closer. “Palms up.”
“You’re going to perform some palmistry?”
“If you shut up long enough to let me.”
Alistair closes his mouth, though his expression remains conflicted. Half amused and half worried. Like he can’t quite believe this is happening. As if he hates how he’s not in control of the situation. How exactly had his choices in life led him here? And that makes two of us. He flinches when Willow’s hands touch his. Then he falls back on his usual frown, the one he definitely got from his father.
“No surprise,” says Good Witch Willow. “You’re a fire sign. That means you’re confident, ambitious, and passionate. But you can also be an asshole...thoughtless and tactless and so on. You might want to watch out for such behaviors.”
“That doesn’t sound like me at all,” says Alistair, giving me a brief smile. “What do you think, Leannan?”
I smile back.
“Your heart line is broken. Life hasn’t always been easy for you, has it?” Willow peers at him from above her glasses. “They shouldn’t have locked you in that cupboard. Children can be unspeakably cruel.”
Alistair’s lips part, but no words come out. And the emotion in his eyes isn’t one I’ve seen before. Not on him.
“And you were just a wee little thing. You were in there for hours, scared and alone. Nothing but the rank stench of old sporting gear to keep you company.”
“How do you know about that?” he asks, each word deliberate. As if he’s forcing them out, shoving each and every one past his clenched teeth. “I’ve never discussed it with anyone.”
“As I mentioned, I have gifts, Your Highness. An image appears in my head accompanied by feelings. Emotions that are not my own.”
Alistair swallows. “Keep going.”
“Quite an interesting fate line. Being born into those two families wasn’t helpful to your peace of mind or general happiness. But you’ve done your best to stay out of trouble. Within reason.” Willow glances at me. “Shall we jump to the juicy stuff?”
I am now throttling the strap of my purse. And it’s Gucci. “Sure.”
Willow snorts. “Let’s see... Alistair, you’ll marry once and have one child.”
No idea where the weird choking noise comes from. It couldn’t possibly have been me. But it definitely needs to never happen again, please and thank you. Because if I am about to shuffle off this mortal coil, then of course I want him to be happy. After he mourns me for a suitable period. Say a decade or so. Keeping a small shrine dedication to me in his bedroom for the rest of his life is also not out of the question.
Alistair’s frown intensifies, the little line between his brows deepening. He does not, however, look my way. He’s lost in his thoughts.
“Your career will continue to be successful. No financial woes for you. But watch out for your left knee. The one you hurt in the service. Might be best to swap running for some lower-impact sport like swimming now that you’re getting older,” says Willow, peering at the air around Alistair’s head. Guess she’s reading his aura or something.
“You could have gotten that off Wikipedia.”
“Could I? Hmm. What else is there,” she muses. “Oh. I don’t much like the look of this. You’re not averse to holding a grudge, are you? But, Alistair, you’re wrong about your mother, and you need to let that old bitterness go before she’s gone and it’s too late.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” says Alistair in a tone both flat and unfriendly.
“Yes, you do. As you said before, we all make mistakes, and you’ve made one with her. Be adult enough to admit to it.”
“Is Lady Helena going to die soon?” I ask nervously.
Alistair just shakes his head.
“It’s a little while off yet.” Willow sits back in her seat. “But she’s more the type to be here for a good time rather than a long time, isn’t she?”
It’s a valid point.
“How much?” asks Alistair in a flat, unfriendly tone.
Willow turns back to him. “How much what?”
“How much money to tell Lilah it’s all bullshit and she’s not going to die?”
Willow just sighs. “Not everything is for sale.”
“You’re a charlatan,” continues Alistair. “Just another fraudster conning people out of cash. I’ve seen plenty of your type over the years.”
“I understand that you’re scared. But that’s no excuse to be rude. However, the main fault in your accusation is I just refused more of your money, didn’t I? How do you explain that, boyo?”
“Enough. You won’t help Lilah is what you’re saying.” Alistair pushes back his chair in a rush and gets to his feet. “You won’t admit that this is all rubbish and she’s going to be perfectly fucking fine. Even though you know this is hurting her.”
“It would be nice, wouldn’t it? If I said those things and pacified you both?” asks Willow. “But I won’t tell pretty lies for any amount of money, Your Highness. And I cannot help your fiancée.”
Alistair grabs my hand and heads for the door. “We’re done here.”
Now we’re back out in the hallway waiting for the elevator. Alistair’s hackles have been well and truly raised. It’s not like I haven’t seen him upset before. But this is something else. He keeps a tight hold of my hand, but stares straight ahead. The bell dings and the elevator doors slide open. It’s a small and battered space. At a guess, the building is about a hundred years old and has seen better days. There’s scratched wood paneling and a mirrored ceiling. And the vibe inside the box is not good. He punches the button for the ground floor.
“Hey,” I say, putting my hand on his chest. “I appreciate you trying to help. But, Ali, this might be the sort of situation where we just have to wait and see.”
He stares down at me unhappily. “I don’t like waiting and I don’t like you worrying.”
“You can’t fix everything. You can’t control it either.”
A grunt.
“Everything will be fine,” I say, even though I don’t particularly believe it.
“I hate seeing you upset.”
“I appreciate that. But being with you makes things better.”
“Even though your name and face are splashed over every fucking gossip site in the world again?”
A grinding noise precedes the elevator coming to a stop. Somewhere between the second and third floor. Then the overhead light flickers and dims. His hold on my hand instantly ramps up to bone grinding, and I let out a yelp.
“Shit.” He releases my hand with a panicked face. “I’m so sorry, Leannan. Are you all right?”
I carefully flex my fingers. “It’s okay. All good.”
But the angst doesn’t disappear from his eyes. His harried gaze sweeps the control panel, and he pushes the button to call for help. And he just keeps pressing that sucker as if it’s his job. The accompanying ringing noise is deafening. No one in the building could be unaware of our situation. Which is when I remember what Willow said about him being locked in the cupboard.
“Alistair, look at me,” I say. “Someone will be getting help.”
His hand falls back to his side without comment. Both sets of fingers curl into fists.
“You really don’t like small spaces, huh?”
“No.”
“Guess it goes back to when you were a child. But we’ll be out of here soon,” I say. “An old building like this, they’re probably used to it stopping and starting all the time.”
His nod is more a jerk of the chin than anything else.
“Do breathing exercises work or—”
“No.”
“Okay. Can you tell me what might help?”
He says nothing. Nor does he meet my eyes. There’s a general air of misery about him, and I desperately want to make it all better. Shit. He wouldn’t even be in this situation if it weren’t for me. Though he is also an adult who made his own choices. But yeah.
“You know, plenty of people have phobias,” I say. “It’s not a moral failing. No one is asking you to be perfect.”
His laughter is wholly without humor.
“Let me amend that to no one who matters.”
A muscle jumps in his jaw. “You can just imagine what the fucking media would make of this if they knew. That I lose my mind over something as basic as a fucking elevator. I should have outgrown it by now.”
“Who said our brains made sense and do what we want? Because that is a lie. Big. Huge. Just an enormous fucking fabrication.”
“Is that so?” He gives me a glance. “I don’t like being vulnerable.”
“How can I take your mind off this?”
“It’s fine. I’m fine.”
“Damn right you are. Have you seen your ass?” I ask with a smile. “Because I was watching when you got out of bed this morning and whoa. The thirst is real.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re very welcome.”
The air inside the elevator has warmed some. It is a seriously small space. I don’t even have an issue with being confined, and I am not loving this. Not even a little. I stare up at my hazy reflection in the mirrored ceiling.
“Have you ever thought about putting a mirror above your bed?” I ask. “Just a thought.”
He too looks up, and the rigid set of his shoulders eases at the distraction. “I can almost see down the front of your top.”
“Can you?”
“You really do have the most amazing breasts.”
“Bountiful cleavage is my burden in life.”
“It’s one I’m happy to help you with whenever you like.” A corner of his mouth twitches. Like he almost had a happy thought, but not quite. “Though it’s more of a gift you’ve got, when you think about it. And I do think about your tits often.”
“You say the sweetest things. And you do have decent-sized hands.”
“They’re at your disposal.”
I smile at him, but he hesitates. His gaze returns to the elevator walls and doors. All is still. There’s no sign or sound of our rescue and his fists are opening and closing, opening and closing.
He might be used to handling everything himself. He’s had to from a young age. What with boarding schools and news of his parentage and the general chaos that is his life at times. That he didn’t get to go home at the end of the school day must have sucked. I know it’s life for a lot of children, to be away from their family. But still. He doesn’t have to handle it all alone now, at least.
“Ali, have you ever had sex in an elevator?”
His nervous gaze jumps to me. “They’re not really the kind of place I associate with good things.”
“It’s just that if my cleavage managed to distract you for a minute...”
“That’s a kind offer, Leannan. But as much as I enjoy getting you off, I don’t know that now is the right time.”
“I was thinking more of a me-getting-you-off type of situation,” I clarify. “What if I attempted to get you in the mood? Would that be okay with you? Or not so much?”
He thinks it over for a moment. “It would be churlish of me not to at least let you try. Especially since you seem to have your heart set on the idea.”
“That’s kind of you, considering it’s the summation of all my hopes and dreams.”
“Hmm. I thought as much.” His hands haven’t stopped the curling-into-fists thing. But they have slowed down. A promising sight. “Are you sure, Lilah?”
“I can’t see a security camera in here. Can you?”
“No. It’s an old building.”
I drop to my knees with all due decorum and set my purse aside. Thank goodness I’m wearing denim, though the elevator floor doesn’t seem dirty. Some things are definitely more important than getting dust on your clothes. Alistair’s eyes darken as he watches me undo his belt before moving on to the button and zipper of his jeans. Navy boxer briefs wait beneath. There’s something about revealing the metaphorical soft underbelly. His has a dark trail of hair leading down to where I want to go. Guess a distraction is good because his cock is already growing hard. I slide his underwear and jeans down to midthigh, getting them out of the way. It hits me how lucky I am that I get to be this close to him. To be the one who shares these intimacies with him.
“I trust you,” he says quietly. Though he seems to be talking to himself more than me.
His breath hitches when I take hold of him in a firm grip. Holding his cock aside, I press my lips against his torso. Soft skin and firm body beneath. The scent of soap and him. It makes my mouth water. I could breathe him in forever, no questions asked. And the man is no longer fixated on the walls. He watches my every move with absolute focus. Strange how things take on different meanings with different people. Sex seemed more transactional with Josh. But with Alistair it’s like love in motion.
Wait. Did I just use the L word? Because it’s way too soon to be throwing that around. Affection or tenderness or adoration...they all work great. There’s no need to get carried away.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, watching me with a worried gaze.
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
“Are you sure?”
The best way to soothe him is soft and easy. At least to start. I trace the tip of my tongue up the underside of his shaft, teasing the raised veins and velvet skin. Touching and smelling and tasting him is a treat to be savored. In an ideal world, I would never take my hands off him. We would always be within reach of each other. And these thoughts are edging dangerously close to the L -word territory again. I’m usually so sensible. Sort of. My heart and mind need to calm the heck down.
Taking the head of his cock into my mouth distracts us both. The salt and musk and heat of him. He widens his stance and lets me have my way. I suck on him hard before teasing the crown with my tongue. My right hand massages his balls while my left holds him steady. Firm stroking motions with my fingers. I really give this blow job my all, a 110 percent commitment to the cause. Nothing matters but him. He makes a noise in the back of his throat, and I take him as deep as possible. Deep enough to make my eyes water. My lips stretch wide around his thick shaft, and his hands find my hair. Which is a much better way to keep them occupied than his previous anxiety.
I suck and stroke my heart out. The way he swells against my tongue is... I don’t know. It’s good and satisfying and yeah . This man can have my mouth when he wants it, and I know he will give back in kind.
“Leannan,” he groans. “Look at you, on your knees for me. Such a good girl and such a clever fucking mouth.”
My hands creep around to his ass and my nails dig in just a little. His hips flex, and his hands tighten in my hair. Every nerve ending in my scalp wakes up at the pinch of pain. Which is nice. And he can pretend he’s in control all he likes, but I’m the one giving him this. We could be anywhere now. He doesn’t care. Or doesn’t seem to mind. His hips rock, pushing his dick deeper, and his eyelids slam shut. Only to open a moment later in panic. “Lilah. Shit. I’m going to come.”
Like that wasn’t the point of the exercise. When he tries to withdraw from my mouth, my nails dig into his ass cheeks. Guess the message is received. Because he comes with an animalistic growl. One I would pay good money to hear on the regular. I swallow over and over. How his face goes slack as his head falls back. A moment of pure peace. In the long term, oral sex is no replacement for therapy. But it works just fine for the here and now.
His chest continues to rise and fall with swift motions. I place a parting kiss on his still-half-hard cock and put his clothing back in place. Without a word, he watches me grab the water bottle out of my bag and take a drink. I can’t read the look in his eyes. Then the overhead light flickers, a grinding sound shakes the elevator, and we resume our descent to the ground floor. Alistair’s jaw is set in place once more, but he doesn’t seem as wired as before.
He offers me his hand and helps me to my feet just in time for the doors to open. We don’t waste any time stepping into the foyer, where a man is waiting. He’s older, has a shaved head and a hefty ring of keys. At the sight of us, he nods once before wandering off down a back hallway. The ring of keys jangles in his hand the whole way.
“I think we should go,” I say in a low voice.
“Yes.” Alistair straightens his clothes. “That seems like an excellent idea. And if we ever come back here, let’s take the stairs.”
I take a step in the direction of the front door.
He grabs my elbow and steps closer. “One thing first.”
“What?”
His hand slides around the back of my neck and his mouth meets mine and he’s kissing me. Using his tongue and taking me over. A rush of hormones hits my bloodstream, but it’s more than that. It’s the heat in my heart as well. The passion between us and how he shows me. What he’s feeling and thinking and everything.
He breaks the kiss and presses the pad of his thumb to the side of my mouth. “I mucked up your lipstick.”
“I don’t care.”
The smile he gives me is beautiful . “Thank you for coming to my rescue, Lilah.”
“Anytime.”