Chapter 13
Cillian
“Oopsy,” says a bright voice.
My heart careens to a stop when my gaze sets on a girl with long blonde hair and a narrow face that, from afar, could be mistaken for Quinn’s, but from up close, is vastly coarser—Lara Collins, Polly’s younger sister.
I might hate the girl as much as I loathe Trenton. And not because she slipped into his marital bed before his sheets were even cold, but because she stood idly by when my best friend finally dared ask for a divorce, and Trenton cut her face.
“What a klutz.” Lara giggles, fishing a packet of tissues from her mini bag and unfolding one while I stand there like the raccoon I once caught rooting through my camper.
She presses her tissue against the wet spot on my joggers—a spot that is way too close to my dick for comfort. I finally snap out of my daze and clap her wrist.
Trying to keep my tone flat, I say, “It’s fine.”
“No. No. Please. I insist.”
“And I insist that I’m fine,” I all but growl.
Lara suddenly flutters her lashes and whispers an awed, “Wow.”
“Wow, what?” Electra snaps, examining Lara from button nose to porn star lips. If it weren’t for her lighter coloring, she’d be the spitting image of Polly.
“He your boyfriend?” Lara asks, while I wonder what the fuck she’s playing at, waltzing around unmasked.
Do I also wonder how Electra will answer? Yes, I do.
My date narrows her eyes. “Why?”
“Because if he isn’t, I’d like to buy him a drink.”
I realize then why she’s here—because Trenton must be losing patience and wants to learn if I’m making actual progress.
“He doesn’t drink,“ Electra says.
“Doesn’t have to be alcohol.” Lara smiles, that college girl, sultry smile that disguises the venom behind.
“Not interested,” I say, slipping an arm around Electra’s waist and parking my hand on that slice of skin between her top and jeans. Though her body is as rigid as a wooden post, her skin is all goosebumps.
Lara pouts. “Shame.” She balls the tissue in her hand and reaches over to blot my pants once more.
What the actual—
I’m about to propel her wrist away when I feel the shape of a finger sneaking into my pocket. I don’t have to look down to know she’s just slipped me a note.
“I feel real awful about your pants.” She goes to dry the cotton with her tissue once more, but this time, her hand doesn’t land; it hovers as though held back by an invisible force field.
“Can you stop fucking touching him?” Electra rumbles, and damn if her little growl doesn’t straighten my shoulders and spine.
Lara eyes her, then me, then finally backs away. “I’m here every Sunday with my BU girls if you ever want a vibe change.” She adds a wink before heading off toward the bar.
“Do you get that a lot?” Electra asks, stare taped to the two girls Lara joins at the bar—new recruits or paid extras to pad her college clubbing story?
“Get groped by overeager women?” I shrug. “It happens. Mostly at work, though. You’d be surprised by how many people don’t make a distinction between a dance coach and an exotic dancer.”
“And you just stand there and take it?”
Annoyance flares beneath my ribs, making my arm drop. “Of course not. The only reason that girl’s hand landed on my thigh is because she caught me by surprise.”
Electra’s lids spasm like she’s jealous. Or maybe, she doesn’t believe me?
“You think I enjoy being groped?” I lift my cap and scrape my fingers through my wayward strands before jamming the hat back in place.
“Don’t know. Don’t really care, though.”
“I think you do.”
“That’s because you’re stuck in the delusion that I’m going to fall for you.”
I step into her body, touching her not with my hands but with my chest and erection. “Not a delusion.”
She could step back or shove me away with her magic, but Electra does neither, allowing me to invade her space.
“You’re relentless.” Her murmur ghosts across my Adam’s apple.
I can’t tell if she means it as a compliment or as an insult. Since she hasn’t pulled away yet, I’m going with theory number one.
The slow beat of the performers trickles down my spine like a warm drip, causing my hips to roll. When I grind against her lower body, her exhale bursts out of her like a gunshot. I lower my head and part my mouth to trap it.
I am so fucking turned on it’s almost painful. I must have a forbidden enemy kink—or whatever the hell they call it in those romance novels she enjoys so much.
I skim her cheek with my mouth, charting a course to her ear. “One chance, Electra. That’s all I want. One real chance.”
Her breathing pattern quickens like the scudding behind her rib cage. Behind mine, too. My palms find her hips. When she doesn’t freeze or growl at me to unhand her, I slide them to her ass and press her close, move her again.
“Your body,” I groan. “It’s my fucking kryptonite.”
Her pupils are blown wide, but so are her lashes. Desire pulses in her stare, but it’s shadowed by such fear that I hold still.
The brave little goddess is scared.
My dick nosedives before I’ve even let go. I may be playing with Electra, but I draw the line at sexually terrifying women.
I tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. I wish I could say my touch makes her shiver, but what racks her is an unmistakable shudder. “Do you want to go home?”
She recoils as though I’ve burnt her. “I-I-I…” Her throat moves over a swallow. “No.” She shakes her head. “I don’t want to go home with you, so stop asking. Desperation isn’t attractive.”
“That’s not—” My knuckles pop from how hard I ball my fingers. “I only meant, do you want me to drop you off at your house?”
Her eyelids spasm. “I’ll get myself home.” And then she’s streaking away.
Desperation. I’m not fucking desperate. Or maybe I am, but not to fuck her. To free Quinn.
As my fingers loosen, they brush against my damp joggers, reminding me of the message Lara slipped into my pocket.
I fish out a ribbon of paper and unfold it. My pulse quiets when Trenton’s scrawl punches my pupils.
12 pm tomorrow at Freddie’s Deli. Family reunion. Ask for a BLT without bacon.
Family, my ass. I make confetti of the paper, knowing full well why I’m being convened. Because I’m not going fast enough.
I squint to locate Lara so I can send a message back with her—one that’ll be short and to the point: No.
Though her “friends” are still at the bar, Lara’s not there. Not anywhere, for that matter.
Dread coils under my skin. What if she followed Electra? What if she jumped her?
I suddenly picture Lara shooting Electra with one of those numbing bullets full of magic dust—the newest weapon against the Atlanteans developed by their own people.
I shove out of the club and scan the street. When I find no trace of blood or service van burning rubber, my heart rate dips.
I haul open my car door and sink behind the wheel. My fingers are so damp and shake so hard that it takes me three attempts to feed the key in the ignition. The motor sputters, coughs.
“Don’t you fucking die on me tonight,” I growl, turning the key so hard that if I were from Atlantis, the metal would snap.
The motor hums and then it roars.
I rest my head back, push my glasses to the top of my head, and squeeze the bridge of my nose. “Thank fuck.”
When fragments of the night develop against my lids, I slam my glasses back in place and pull out of my parking spot, setting off toward the covered lot I call home.
At a red light, I check to see whether Electra has written me anything. She hasn’t. I’m about to toss the phone aside when I notice that her live location is still delivering. My eyebrows bend as I trail the small dot that stops on a street that isn’t hers.
A street that’s Malachi’s.
My anger is so violent that I speed through a red light. I force myself to pull over before a cop can do it for me.
Why did Electra run back to her little god? Could my stupid fake-dating scheme actually have worked? But most of all, why the fuck do I feel like storming Malachi’s house to get her out of there?
I toss my ball cap off and clutch my hair at the roots, reconsidering the damn mission. But one look at my shoes—at Quinn’s initials—reminds me to stay the course.
I drive back to my camper, my skin feeling tight and hot.
Irritation. That’s all it is. Plain and simple annoyance.
It’s the only feeling Electra Serran inspires in me.