Chapter 14
Having delivered Miss Talbot’s carpetbag to the top of the stairs, Nigel returned to the shop intending to begin the close-up routine for the day.
While it wasn’t officially closing time, he simply didn’t have the energy to deal with any last-minute customers, so he turned the sign to CLOSED, pulled down the front window shade, and reached for the lock to deadbolt it.
Before he’d managed the lock, however, his knees suddenly gave out.
Nigel sank to the ground, breathing hard, one hand still gripping the doorknob for support. Then, achingly, he pulled himself up, turned, staggered, crawled, and staggered again. Finally making it back to the chair in the nook, he collapsed there, breathing hard.
Gods. Creating that dress should have been nothing. Absolutely nothing to a sorcerer of his magnitude. The tiniest drop of Dire Matter to influence the already ripe and roiling Green Magic inherent in the double-delight’s lovely blossoms, a little twist of energies, and hey, presto!
But the instant he’d tried even the faintest sorcerous manipulation, the severmist in his blood reared up again, combating his efforts.
It wasn’t as severe as last night—it didn’t knock him clean out.
He was just able to fight his way through and finish the spell, to see the dress brought into existence, before he’d collapsed in a pile of limbs on the floor.
And there he’d remained. For a good two hours, it would seem.
Neither conscious nor unconscious. Simply inert.
Was it worth it? Nigel grimaced a little as he sprawled, panting, in the cane chair.
He wanted to think so. Luna had looked .
. . well, more shocked than pleased, truth be told.
But there had been some pleasure in her gaze as she took in that glorious creation spread across his bed.
She certainly couldn’t doubt her fitness to be presented at the Governor’s mansion tonight, not in a gown like that.
She would look very well on the arm of her handsome wardsman. Dancing the night away.
A little growl in his throat, Nigel pushed himself up from the cane chair.
His hands shook, his knees knocked, but he set to work gathering floral tape, wire, crystals, flowers, ribbon.
First asking permission, he borrowed another bloom or two from the double-delight, along with some baby’s breath and a handful of other flowers which struck his fancy.
Determined to focus his mind on something other than the image of Luna in Ward’s arms, he set to work putting together a corsage.
Then another one. Then another. None were good enough, none were right.
But it was better to have something to do.
At least until she was safely gone off with Ward for the night.
Then . . . somehow, he’d figure out how he was supposed to go sorcerer-hunting when even the tiniest bit of sorcery left him collapsed in on himself.
His brow stern and solemn, Nigel concentrated on the task before him.
The sounds of rushing water in the pipes alerted him to the fact that Luna was making use of his shower.
He heard when the water stopped running, knew she must even now be styling her hair and applying her makeup and going about all the other little feminine mysteries women employed in the fine art of “fixing up.”
He did not allow himself to think about the look in her eye when she’d stood beside his bed and turned to him.
He did not allow himself to feel again that sudden rush of blood, that sudden wondering of . . . maybe?
He shook his head, coming abruptly out of a fog, only to stare down at the counter where some fifteen different corsages lay in various states of creation. Nigel frowned. None of them looked right. None of them looked worthy.
“Never mind?”
“I’m not talking to you,” Nigel snarled, casting his raven a withering glance. “You caused Miss Talbot unnecessary distress. And all for what?”
Debbie glared at him from her skull-pot, looking offended.
“I appreciate the loyalty,” Nigel added in slightly kinder tones, “but I don’t need you fighting my battles for me. Certainly not using such undignified means!”
“Never mind,” she replied snippily, then fluttered across the shop to perch in the front window. There she put her back to him and settled in for a long and somewhat aggressive preen.
Nigel turned his attention back to the corsage he was currently pulling together.
It featured several of the double-delight’s loveliest buds, combined with sprays of baby’s breath and a little pink ribbon.
Very simple, very sweet. Nothing compared to the more intricate creations Luna had made today.
But the simplicity of it might be better suited to that ornate gown and—
“Mr. Grimm?”
Luna’s voice carried down from the stairwell, soft and a little muffled. Nigel fumbled and dropped the flowers in his hand, which scattered on the floor. “Damn,” he whispered. Then, clearing his throat, he called back, “Yes, Miss Talbot?”
“Um. Could I . . . could I get your help with something?”
Nigel frowned. With what could she possibly require his assistance?
Makeup? Definitely not. Hair? Gods help him.
Maybe the shoes he’d ensorcelled for her out of those two green rose leaves weren’t the right size.
Hopefully he’d have enough energy in him to perform a sorcerous resizing if so.
But he couldn’t very well let her go to the ball with pinched feet.
“Erm, one moment,” he said. Tossing half-formed bits of corsage to land amongst his other attempts, he slipped out from behind the counter and made for the stairwell.
He paused at the base, peered up. The door to his apartment was cracked open, and he could hear sounds of Luna moving about up there.
“Coming, Miss Talbot,” he said and climbed the treads.
The idea of sharing that small space with her again was simultaneously thrilling and discomfiting.
Best to keep all his resolutions of gentlemanliness in mind, bolstered by that recent memory of Ward grabbing the back of her head and dragging her into a possessive kiss.
If that image didn’t force him to keep his head on straight, nothing would!
Reaching the top of the stairs, he pushed the door a little farther open and peered inside. “What can I help you with Miss Tal . . .”
His voice vanished.
His eyes widened so much, they threatened to pop from his skull.
She stood before him, freshly showered and wearing the gown.
Unlike the last time he’d seen her dolled-up for a date, her makeup was simple, merely a touch of color to highlight the natural sweetness of her features and to hide the tired shadows under her eyes.
Her clean hair was somehow dried and styled via means he could not fathom in a lovely mass of curls, and she’d pinned a pink-and-yellow rose to one side, sweeping those curls off her face and emphasizing the curve of her cheek.
And the gown.
The soft-yellow corset top fitted her torso to perfection, gliding over every curve, accentuating the silken slope of her shoulders, the delectable indentation of her collarbone, the lovely softness of her décolletage.
Alluring revelations, tantalizing with promise.
Many fluttery, layered skirt frills filled the small square footage of his bedroom floor, even as her beauty and presence of spirit filled up his senses, his world.
His entire soul cried out in desperation for more, more, more.
Standing there, Nigel felt the very fabric of reality shift around him.
He found himself once more on the rain-washed tiles of his shop floor, sprawled out in a spreading puddle and gazing upon this woman for the very first time.
He saw her now as he’d seen her then—wearing her sodden and ill-fitted green suit, her hair plastered to her cheeks beneath a yellow rain hat.
This image overlayed the present vision of Luna Talbot, neither one more real than the other.
She was, to his eyes, the very embodiment of beauty, no more so now than she had been then.
But the added glamour of the present moment brought the truth rushing back to him in a profound wave.
Nigel dragged his gaze up from silent contemplation of her body back to her face, only to find her dark eyes studying him.
Her brows drew together slightly, her soft lips parted, and he could not read her expression.
Was she offended that he would look at her with such open lechery?
Hastily, he shook his head, blinking hard, and pulled himself together.
He could only hope the roaring heat in his face wouldn’t betray him further.
“Erm,” he stammered, swallowing hard. “How may I . . . how may I help you?”
“It’s the, um. It’s the zipper, Mr. Grimm,” Luna answered meekly. “It’s stuck.”
He stared at her blankly.
Then she turned around.
And he nearly expired. Right there. On the spot.
Her back. Her back was almost completely exposed.
The gown was quite a modern design, meant for a modern woman, who didn’t need an army of maids to get her ready for her big night.
No laces, no hooks. Just that simple zipper.
Which was, indeed, stuck more than halfway down the already dangerously low back, exposing all that smooth, delicious skin to his starved gaze.
Nigel stared.
He’d seen her in her nightgown. He’d seen her in her slip, soaked through.
But he’d never seen her back like this. That long line of her spine, all those soft and sensual shadows and smooth plains.
Luna turned her head, her chin at her shoulder. Dark curls bounced softly around her cheeks and the nape of her neck. “Could you give it a little tug, perhaps?”
Nigel resisted the urge to bite his own hand until he drew blood. Every cell of his body roared with far too much life and vitality. It was as though he hadn’t truly lived until this very moment of his existence.