Chapter 30
Cillian
Igrip a glass of iced water with one hand and drum the fingers of the other against the brown suede chaps Jeneva bought me for the occasion.
Her friends have started trickling into Logan’s, filling the bar area with their giggling and excited squeals while Logan and one of his employees whip up cocktails suitably called—The Last Yeehaw.
He’s offered me one. Although I was tempted to down a glass to quiet my nerves, I want a clear head. Scratch that, I need a clear head, because Electra’s coming.
Could my gift have made her forgive me for her god-awful first time?
It had been awful for her—of course it had. If she’d enjoyed our first time, she wouldn’t have gone silent for days.
My mind keeps looping the events of the night, trying to isolate the moment it all went to shit.
When I tunneled into her body and brought her to tears?
When I fixated on her virginity? When my phone started vibrating and I suggested she leave?
When Malachi—of all fucking people—managed to intrude on our evening?
Maybe I should take Logan up on his offer of an alcoholic beverage.
“That man totally terrifies me,” Jeneva says, and it takes me a moment to understand who the hell she’s referring to.
Tarian. The man who asked Logan to close up the place since his future wife is coming. Even though Jeneva says he might stop by as well—“to hang with his future wife” as she puts it—I worry that if he comes, it’s to cross-examine me with his grander magic.
This leads me to contemplate another real possibility…that Electra is only coming to observe Tarian cracking open my mind. Will my tolerance to Atlantean compulsion withstand his questioning?
A blonde sporting a brIDE sash and a costume reminiscent of Sheriff Woody approaches on the arm of a redhead. I’m guessing Toy Story wasn’t the bride’s inspiration, yet that’s the vibe her cowhide vest, yellow plaid shirt, and cutoff jeans give off.
She grins wide. “Howdy. I’m Tricia. The bride,” she adds, like I might be illiterate.
“And I’m Suze,” coos her friend.
I tip my Stetson. “Evenin’, ladies. Y’all ready to dance?” I ask in my best Texan drawl.
“What I’m ready for is to see you dance, cowboy.” Suze gives me a slow once-over.
“That’s not the sort of dancing he’ll be doing, Suze,” Jeneva says as another one of their friends pushes in beside them, causing Suze to spill some of her drink down her extra-tight denim overalls.
As Suze gripes and heads to the bar for some paper napkins, the texture and temperature of the air change. I look up.
A chill rushes over my skin.
A chill that ignites into heat.
Fuck. Me.
Electra makes it so easy to play the role of lovesick boyfriend.
It helps that I’ve always been physically attracted to her—even when she was nothing more than a name and a file. Tonight, the pull feels magnetic, like her mouth is at my throat, teeth closing over something vital.
I shove away from the bar and sidestep the bachelorette group, not to close in on Electra but to see all of her at once. I know this woman. I’ve had my tongue and dick inside her, yet it feels like we’re meeting for the very first time.
I swallow as she watches me back, her dissonant stare slicing up and down my body, stripping me bare. I’ve never felt more seen, which is both alarming and thrilling.
Instinct hollers at me to tap out, but desire shuts it right up.
I let my gaze take another lazy loop around her stunning body, starting at her copper boots and moving upward, over her exquisitely muscled legs to the long fringes cascading from a tiny, tight suede dress that shines like burnt velvet against her tanned skin.
The hemline and plunging neckline are so indecent that I mentally eliminate every straight man who’s had the privilege of seeing her wear it.
I might not be able to predict much, but of one thing I’m certain—if I survive this mission, there’ll be no forgetting Electra Serran. I’ll measure every woman to her, and they’ll all fall short. How can anyone compete with supernatural perfection?
Noise finally returns to my eardrums. Over the country tunes blasting from the speakers, I hear Suze ask, “The stripper’s with her? Well, shit…”
“Cillian’s not the stripper, Suze,” Jeneva hisses back. “The stripper’s coming later. After dinner.”
“He better be as hot.” Suze’s opinion should be enough to tell me I don’t look half bad, but I’m waiting for Electra to weigh in.
As I unhurriedly stroll over, I try to glean what she thinks of my getup. Does she find my open denim shirt, tight jeans, chaps, and cowboy hat ridiculous or sexy?
Electra tips her head back when I finally stand in front of her. I like that I’m taller, that she has to crane her neck to look at me. It gives me the illusion that I could shield her if she were in danger.
“You’re not wearing glasses.” Out of everything to notice.
“Contacts. Figured the nerdy cowboy look wouldn’t play with this crowd.”
Her pupils shrink. “Didn’t realize you were aiming to please the crowd.”
Is that jealousy? “The only person I’m aiming to please is standing right in front of me. If she prefers me with glasses, I’ll pop my contacts out.”
Electra’s throat dips. With a shrug, she says, “The only reason I commented about the glasses was that I wasn’t sure whether you could see me.”
My eyes wander over her face, then down her elegant neck and heaving chest. What I wouldn’t give to slip my palms over the tight suede and mold her.
“Even blind, I’d see you, Electra,” I finally say.
Another swallow agitates her pretty throat. “Not sure how that would work.”
I look away from her peaked nipples and meet her blue and gold irises. “The way it works when you stare at the sun too long, close your eyes, and it’s still there.”
The slightly lifted corners of Electra’s mouth falter as though knocked off kilter by my explanation.
“I heard there was a dance party happenin’ right across the street. One I wasn’t invited to.” Mrs. Murphy’s voice glances off every framed band poster and backlit liquor battle.
I glance over Electra’s shoulder at my favorite patron, assuming I were a legitimate trainer.
“Fiona! Hi!” Jeneva sounds genuinely pleased by the septuagenarian’s arrival. “Ladies, meet the woman we should all aspire to be when we get…”
“Old enough to be carbon-dated?” Electra supplies, turning away from me to behold the woman who loves her like a granddaughter and whom she loves right back. Because that’s the sort of person Electra is—steel to strangers, tender with those she lets in.
May she let me in. I’d say again, except I was never truly there. All I ever got were glimpses of all those soft places.
Calanthe suddenly bursts out laughing, the sound jarring me out of my head.
“What are you laughin’ at, Callie? Better not be Elle’s deplorable sense of humor.”
“No. I’d never—” Calanthe tosses her head back on another burst of laughter that catches.
Even Mrs. Murphy’s lips twitch. “Clearly.”
Calanthe wipes a tear from the corner of her eye, hiccupping. One look at Electra has her going again.
She turns toward Diego. “Tell me something super depressing,” she murmurs in between giggles.
I hadn’t noticed him. I scan the bar for anyone else I might’ve missed. Like Tarian, but he’s thankfully absent. So is Electra’s god crush and the scary older brother.
I don’t miss any of them.
Especially considering my current outfit. Not that I’d give a damn if they laughed, but I would care if Malachi walked in right now, all tailored confidence and moneyed ease, while I resemble a gigolo fresh out of a saloon.
Mrs. Murphy ambles closer, her long pink-gray ponytail cinched with a scrunchie that perfectly matches the red bandana at her throat. “My apologies for setting you up with this one, Cillian.”
Electra rolls her lovely eyes.
“So…” Mrs. Murphy circles us to reach the bachelorette tribe. “Which one of you is gettin’ hitched?”
I pivot slightly to watch her close in on Tricia.
She extends a little shopping bag, the sort that usually contains an expensive present. Sure enough, what’s inside is pricey. “Here you go, honey. A little trinket from me and the girls. And by girls, I don’t mean my fantastic bosom.”
“I don’t think anyone assumed you were talking about your boobs, Fi,” Electra calls out.
Calanthe tries to hold it in, but she bursts into giggles again, which she tries to stifle against Diego’s chest. He pats her back, a grin spreading across his face, and I’m struck by how disarmingly unsupernatural they all seem.
“That’s too much! I couldn’t possibly…” Tricia pulls out a chain from which dangles a dime-sized diamond horseshoe.
“It’s packed full of luck,” Mrs. Murphy tells her, making me wonder if it could—in fact—be charmed.
Maybe enchanting objects is Calanthe’s extra power?
Mrs. Murphy gestures to Electra, who stands straight-backed beside me. “Believe it or not, it’s the one with the questionable manners and handsome boyfriend who picked it out.”
A faint blush creeps into Electra’s cheeks, undoing something inside me that’s been wound tight since the moment I broke character in the camper, convinced Sullivan was trying to get a hold of me.
I turn back toward Electra, fencing her from the knot of women clinking glasses. “You mentioned you were done thinking…”
Electra tilts her head to the side, then reaches up. I think she’s about to cup my jaw, but instead, she flips my collar, then smooths her hands over the snap pockets of my denim shirt, causing my heart to kick. “I am.”
My fingers itch to touch her, but I keep them clenched at my side. “All right,” I say quietly. “What’s the verdict?”
Her eyes lock onto mine, and the intensity ripples across my skin. I’d blame magic, but her eyes aren’t glowing.
She steals my hat and makes it hers. My dick doesn’t just twitch. It goes full-on hard, digging into the fly of my too-fucking-tight denim.
What I wouldn’t give to back her into the wall and lift that tiny dress.
“You know what they say about wearing a cowboy’s hat?” she asks, lashes lowering in a way that makes my blood feel combustible.
Lord knows how I even manage to reply, “I don’t, actually.”
“Should’ve thumbed through those books you gave me…”
And then Electra just strolls away, the fringes on her dress swishing against the backs of her luscious thighs, and I know with bone-deep clarity that I’m well and truly fucked.