Chapter 11 The Artist Concedes Defeat #2
I can’t quite figure out how to respond to the first part, as it’s making my chest squishy, so I nod. “I think that the Wyrd Sisters are cackling over a metaphorical cauldron. It raises my hackles. I don’t trust them all together.”
“I’d sooner trust the writer with my woman shackled to a bed naked.”
My eyes widen, and everything within me crashes into each other.
The imagery is familiar, but not with the woman he’s talking about.
I’ve seen this, I’ve been through this, and it’s making me shake with fear.
Anger rises as imagining either of the women in that place makes the demon inside me howl in rage.
I remember the things the cat shared with me and count backwards.
“I would agree that would not be optimal.”
Way not to sound like a robot, Rafe. Great job.
“It seems like they’re drawing a line in the sand, though.”
Taurus raises his glass in a sardonic salute. “Now that I’m not holding back for the minx, I’m going to have a little toss with the three whores of Babylon. There are benefits to not giving a fuck about what people think about you.”
I nod, waiting to see where he’s going with this.
“I figure that you, me, the wife, and the goddess will have to be tight as hell in this. The party, for example, will be full of vultures circling. They’ll try to divide and conquer, so they can ruin it.
” His brows furrow and he shrugs. “That’s for another day, though.
I’ve digressed. Habit I’ve picked up from the tailed one, I think. ”
Duh.
I look at the liquid in the glass in fascination. “I don’t think I’d be fond of anyone conquering either of you.”
“No one’s going to conquer any of us. They’re not important enough to even come close, much less win. But I’m going to have a really good time humiliating them every chance I get.”
“Bloody hot when you’re evil.” My eyes pop open, and I blink. “Okay, that’s enough of the drink for me. I forgot to mention that I get talkative when I drink.”
Leering, he hands me the glass back. “Is there some reason that you think I’m going to cut you off when you’re soused, if you tell me I’m bloody hot?”
Maybe because we’re still on shaky ground and I shouldn’t be allowed to keep talking when I don’t have control?
“Yeah, well, you haven’t seen what else happens when I drink too much, either,” I grumble. I take another sip, past the point of having any sense. “But if you’re inclined to ply me with more, who am I to decline?”
His grin gets wider, and he apparates the bottle from the bar, pouring more into my glass. “Drink, be merry, and shit.”
“Merry’s a good word,” I muse, falling back onto the pillows and sipping some more. “Have a seat, mate.”
Dropping on the other side, he stretches out and sits his drink on his tummy. “You know, I might be bloody hot when I’m evil, but you’re hot when you’re soused.”
I grin like a loon—I can’t help it. “Yeah? Few would know. I don’t get drunk in front of many people.
I can’t keep control of things if I do. I always have to keep control of things to make sure I’m okay.
” Frowning, I push away the memories and whisper, “Bitch says I get kind of silly, but I don’t believe a word of it. ”
He chuckles and clinks our glasses. “Thanks for the honor then, Sampson.”
I wag my finger at him, pouting a little. “You and that name. I’m telling you, if you take scissors to my hair, I’ll... I’d... well, I can’t think of what I’ll do, but it will be grandiose and vengeful.”
“You call me Simba, you big prat!”
Grinning tipsily, I nod. “I do.”
“I might be a lion and a king, but every time you do, I think of that lunchable who voiced him in the bloody cartoon!”
I snort and giggle. I can’t help it. “He’s about as scary as a bunny rabbit.”
“Those scissors are looking better and better. I could style you up like that git Mayhem or one of the other rotters.” Laughing to himself, he pours another slosh for both of us.
Sniffing in indignation, I sip my drink.
“That idiot’s hair looks fantastic, you know.
My woman did it for him when he came to the house.
I’m not at all pleased that she touched the prick, but she’s got an eye.
If you did to mine, though, I’d have to find the purple she used on Caesar last and give you a gnome ’do in your sleep.
The color would bring out your sparkling eyes. ”
He leans over and gives me a drunken grin. “It’s not the hair that does it for me, baby. I’d look fucking hot no matter what. You want to threaten a Big Bad? Do better than that.”
I should definitely stop this, but my brain is refusing to move.
My lips curve up, and I lean in. “You would. But I think switching your clothes for a rack of... just about anything else would do it.” I nudge him with my shoulder, giggling again at the picture.
His eyes widen, and he almost tips over. “My—My..” He looks like he’s going to heave, and I laugh all over again.
“Fuck, the look on your face!” I smack my thigh, hooting.
“That’s what I get for thinking about kissing you, you randy stoat!” Huffing, he crosses his arms over his chest.
“You poked me! I couldn’t let it lie!”
His chin drops and he smirks, tongue touching his teeth as he growls. “I wasn’t poking you, mate. You’d know if I were. As I recall, the last time we fucked, there was no mistaking it.”
My eyes flash, and I scramble to push back the hunger that his look is igniting. “Ain’t that the bloody truth.”
Pulling back, he stacks his hands behind his head. “Where are we on us? I’d like to have an answer tonight. I hate putting things off, even when it feels like a good idea.”
I finish the scotch and set the glass aside, done playing. “Last I heard, you were planning on kissing me, and I was planning on letting you.”
“No, you sod, before that, about us being tog—oh.” He grins and tosses his empty glass, crawling towards me. I think he’s ready to jump me, but his hand reaches out to touch my cheek.
I lean into it, looking into his eyes with my bleary ones. This is the moment where I leap, and it’s probably not what I should do. History says not to trust it, but I’ve never been good at listening to my brain when my stupid heart’s involved.
“What’ll it be, Sampson? Are we a couple of old fools, ready to try it so we can have some goodness for a change? Maybe try to heal a little with the help of our women? Work and play as a family?”
Reaching up, I run my fingers through his hair, murmuring, “I think we are. I mean, I hope we are.”
He leans closer, his lips hovering near mine. “I think we are, too.” Before I answer, he pulls back for a moment and looks at me, eyes glowing. “I want you, Rafe. I want you in my life, in my bed, and in my body. I think it’s time we all had a little fucking joy.”
That said, he kisses me hard, and I hold on as we press together. ~You know I want you. You know I crave you. You know I love you. ~
~Fuck, yeah, love. I crave you. ~
His body moves against mine and we both groan. “It’s late, we’re drunk, and I’ve got people to kill in the morning. But as this is a bed in my house, I plan on staying with you tonight. At least part of my wants will get taken care of.”
I rub my nose along the column of his neck, inhaling his scent like an addict. “That’s nice.”
“None of that, you randy bastard. I’ll get no sleep. Sleep with me.”
I give him a drunken grin, inordinately pleased that he’s staying. “I told you that you hadn’t seen what else happens when I’m drunk.”
“Christ, we’re a pair. This is going to be a hell of a time.”
~Night, baby. ~ I murmur, tucking into his side.
~Tomorrow, love, ~ he replies.