Chapter 12
Gwen sat on Hugh’s very nice sofa and blinked tiredly down at the latest listing on her phone’s Crumble app: Morbier, a mild semisoft cow’s milk cheese boasting a distinctive horizontal line of ash that split the wheel in half. Did she want to eat that?
Yes. Obviously. She swiped right, and apparently most other Crumble devotees agreed with that decision, because a cheerful jangling sound heralded additional points in her Cheese Wheel of Fortune.
Under the circumstances, it was hard to drum up her usual level of excitement about the victory. She slumped against the sofa’s back cushions, rubbing her eyes.
They’d only made it to Hugh’s apartment a few minutes ago, far later than expected.
After confirming that Sabrina’s witch friend had fixed the hole in Wall Four and removed the inner ladder, Lorrie had settled her passengers into her SUV once more and joined the extremely long line of cars jostling to exit the Containment Zone.
As they’d waited, the three of them had discussed Farhanah’s revelations—they all agreed that the breach probably hadn’t been prompted by simple greed for real estate—before Lorrie tuned her radio to the local NPR station.
Within minutes, the host had interrupted the station’s regular programming to share breaking news of a zombie breach.
The official governmental and SERC explanation for that breach: sabotage by common human agitators with unclear motives.
Investigators believed all the perpetrators had been killed by the zombies they’d loosed upon the Zone, alongside far too many innocent residents.
Hugh, Lorrie, and Gwen had exhaled in simultaneous, heartfelt relief. After that report, waiting patiently in traffic had become far easier despite their mutual fatigue.
Officials had finally gotten the Zone’s doors and drawbridges operating normally by the time Lorrie’s vehicle approached Wall Four, although several dozen soldiers stood at attention near the access point, just in case they might need to dispatch any zombie stragglers.
One swipe of the troll’s identification card, and the three of them had finally been able to reenter the outside world and head to Hugh’s car, which had remained seemingly undisturbed.
After Lorrie had secured the second ladder to her SUV’s roof and departed with a final cheerful honk, Hugh had driven himself and Gwen to his apartment building.
Upon their arrival, they’d chatted briefly with Haziq and asked him to keep her late-night visit to Hugh private.
The young doorman had politely agreed in a tone that nevertheless communicated a very clear duh.
Then, at long last, she and Hugh had taken the elevator to his penthouse, where he’d settled her on the couch, told her to eat or use whatever she wanted in his home, and left to make up his guest room for her.
Right now, she only wanted two things: internet access and a few free, quiet moments to gather her thoughts. Even if she couldn’t quite concentrate on her favorite app.
Absently, she scanned the next offering. A pecorino cheese called casu martzu. And normally she’d look up further details before choosing either NO WHEY or LOOKS GOUDA TO ME, but she was too tired for Wikipedia.
She swiped right on casu martzu. Then startled at the app’s blare of sirens and watched helplessly as all the points in her Cheese Wheel of Fortune—accumulated over months of swiping! months!—drained away to nothing.
Holy shit, what the actual fuck was casu martzu?
One quick browser search later, she got it.
Oh, did she ever. So much so that her stomach was churning, on the verge of open revolt at the mere description of that cheese.
When Hugh reentered his living room, she was taking deep breaths and doing her best not to picture anyone eating such a cursed creation.
Still, she couldn’t resist sharing some of her terrible new knowledge.
“Hey. Fun fact.” She had to swallow hard. “Did you know that maggot larvae can jump up to six inches when disturbed?”
“I…” He trailed to a halt, a stark line carved between his dark brows. “No, I didn’t know that. Did you…did you see something in my home that made you—”
“No, no.” She smiled weakly at him. “It’s a cheese thing.”
That revelation only deepened his frown.
“I see,” he said, in the cautious tone of someone who did not, in fact, see.
She sighed, nodding to her phone. “I should have swiped left.”
“Ah.” He paused, and Gwen could spot the exact moment he decided not to pursue clarification of that statement. “I’ve emptied several drawers and made the bed in the guest room, if you’d like to unpack and rest for a while. I’ll fix us some lunch in the meantime.”
“Thank you very much.” A thought occurred to her, and she tipped her head as she studied him. “I’m surprised you don’t have a live-in housekeeper for tasks like that. Is today their day off?”
“I don’t have a housekeeper.” He crossed the room and sank down on the sofa beside her.
“I purchased a spell from a very talented witch, one that keeps the apartment clean and dishes washed. The same spell Max uses, in fact. I recognized her work when we visited his home. All other housework—tidying, cooking, laundry, and so forth—I do myself.”
At her questioning glance, he lifted a shoulder. “I like my privacy, and I want to keep my home life simple.”
He’d angled himself to face her, and his knee nudged her thigh. That shared spot of warmth glowed hotter than the cozy blaze he’d built in the hearth.
Reflected flames turned his eyes from amber to pure fire and flickered against the smooth surface of his small horns. His tongue discreetly wet his lips, and her pulse stuttered.
He stilled, watching her closely.
She wanted to stroke those curved horns and find out how sensitive they might be.
Wanted to scratch her nails through his beard, test her teeth against his angular jaw, and watch his lips part in carnal reaction.
Wanted to strip off his cashmere sweater and ogle the stretch of pale, firm flesh that Prince’s crop top had bared.
She wanted to lick him there. Flick her tongue into his navel. Then move downward until she discovered firsthand all the ways demons might differ from human men. According to Cosmo, their naturally thicker skin did excellent things for their stamina in bed, but she couldn’t confirm that claim. Yet.
Her stare lifted from his lap—gods, how embarrassing—and met his.
If she’d offended him with her wandering gaze, she saw no sign of it. Instead, his inhalation hitched as he studied her expression, and his fingers flexed on the sofa cushion.
She’d really like to know how those long, slim fingers would feel stroking between her legs and sliding inside her.
Pressing her thighs together, she looked away and shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, because wow. Pregnancy had definitely revved her engines to maximum, huh?
Unfortunately, though, she couldn’t act on all her unprecedented lust. Not without a clear indication of reciprocal desire from him. Besides, who had time for sex and intimacy during the possible end of the world?
Focus, woman.
Recalling their most recent topic of conversation took longer than she cared to admit, but she finally managed.
“You like a simple home,” she paraphrased. “Okay.”
Involuntarily, her eyes strayed toward the fresco overhead.
“Yes. I see the contradiction.” His chest rose and fell on a silent sigh.
“I needed to move closer to SERC headquarters, and this apartment became available while I was on a lengthy tour of various regional offices. The decor was a bit dated, so my parents offered to coordinate the renovations. By the time I returned, I had been gifted all new furniture and…” His speaking gaze touched on the coat of arms above the fireplace and the fresco before returning to her. “The rest of it.”
That explained a lot. “You didn’t want to offend them by changing everything.”
His knee nudged harder against her thigh as he shifted on the sofa, and she wished every molecule of her being weren’t straining toward that bare inch of connection between them.
“I also didn’t want to waste their money and effort. I may not love all the choices they made, but my home’s interior design doesn’t matter to me. Not as much as it does to them, anyway.” A faint tic appeared in his jaw. “They’re…very concerned about appearances.”
And yet, his home’s decor did seem to matter to him. Enough that Councilor Impassive became visibly uncomfortable discussing it. Although maybe that discomfort stemmed from her rudeness in drawing attention to the issue?
Either way, his parents had created a home suited to their own preferences and pretensions rather than one suited to the apartment’s actual owner. Their son.
She instinctively disliked them for it.
“I imagine…” How to say this delicately? “I imagine what happened earlier today won’t please them.”
“Josiah is a longtime family friend. He’s undoubtedly offered them a full report on the damage to my reputation and the Blacke family name.” He shot a glance toward his phone, which he’d placed on the coffee table earlier. “I expect to hear their concerns shortly.”
She shrank back into the cushions, mortified anew. “I’m so sorry our supposed relationship will damage your reputation, Hugh.”
“Gwen, no.” His pleasantly smoky scent filled her senses as he leaned in closer. “Don’t apologize, and please forget the conversation with Josiah you overheard earlier.”
Easier said than done. Still, she nodded, because he was clearly distressed by her distress. “Sure. No problem.”
His hand covered hers on the sofa cushion, hot and strong, and she stifled a gasp at the unexpectedly bold gesture. At the bolt of electricity that lit her from the inside out, radiating from that new point of contact.