Breathe.

  It was hard to concentrate while his throbbing cock yelled abuse at him for running away. But she wasn’t sober, was in fact, very, very drunk. He wasn’t about to take advantage of her, even though his willpower had been fading with every drugging kiss.

  She’d hate me for it.

  Not to mention he’d hate himself, too.

  Trick was many things, but a rapist, he was not.

  Who needs to force when they flock to me like bees to honey, anyway?

  Well, they’d all flocked except Dru, and now Seraphina.

  Giving himself a shake, he stripped off his shirt and pants, leaving them in a pile on the floor. He would have to brave the room again at some point, so he could get fresh clothes. Hopefully, she’d be asleep by then.

  Turning on the shower, he waited for it to warm up. He stepped into the spray and gave a hiss of pleasure as the water flowed over him. It felt good—like he hadn’t had a shower in months. His erection bobbed, still angry at him for denying it.

  Gently taking it in his fist, he ran his hand up and down the length, his mind turning to Seraphina’s mouth, her breasts. He was in the middle of picturing what her core would look like when the bathroom door burst open.

  He spun around and slipped, landing on the floor of the bath with a crash, the curtain slithering off the railing to fall on his face. Pain burst through his hip; he’d be bruised for a few hours. He shoved the shower curtain away so he could peer around it.

  Dear lord.

  Seraphina was naked, except for a necklace on which hung a small silvery feather.

  Every inch of her glorious form was exposed for him to see, and he couldn’t get enough of it.

  “What are you doing?” It came out more like a squeak than a demand. He took a deep breath, but all that did was highlight the scent of her: ambrosia.

  “I thought I could do with a shower.”

  He stood slowly, keeping the shower curtain up over his belly. “You had one earlier.”

  She gave him a scorching look. “But I feel dirty.”

  Gods help me.

  He shook his head as she stepped forward. “There isn’t enough room for two people.”

  “Let’s find out.” She eyed his exposed chest like it was dessert.

  He tugged the shower curtain higher. “Let’s not.”

  “But—”

  Struggling, he managed to step out the bath and keep the curtain around him. He then pushed her toward the door, careful to keep a hand on her shoulder. “You’re drunk. You need to sleep.”

  “No, the last thing I need is sleep.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.”

  “Why won’t you kiss me?”

  “I already did.”

  “Didn’t you like it?” Something almost like hurt flashed across her face. Then she twined her arms around his neck.

  “Sure did. But it’s time for sleep.” He somehow managed to get the both of them out of the bathroom. What was he going to do? She was persistent, strong, and his willpower wasn’t all that wonderful when it came to resisting her.

  He scurried out from under her arms and grabbed his pack. She grabbed his ass, her hand sliding over the shower curtain. Her jerked upright, bag in hand. Seraphina placed a series of kisses down the back of his neck, while her hand worked to loosen the plastic around his waist.

  Trick fumbled the bag open, found what he needed, and undid a small plastic ziplock packet. He tried to pour only a pinch of the brilliant blue powder onto his hand, but the angel knocked him, and a teaspoon’s worth pooled there. He was about to pour half back into the bag, when her hand snaked around the front of the curtain.

  No time.

  Spinning around, he blew the powder directly into her face.

  For a moment, nothing happened.

  “What—?”

  Then Seraphina’s eyes rolled back, and she collapsed.

  Asleep.

  Carefully, he lowered her to the ground, and checked her airway and pulse. All okay. He turned her into the recovery position and stood, head bowed in relief. Then he straightened, pulled the shower curtain free, and went back into the bathroom to hang it up. He turned off the shower and examined the bruise on his hip: already black and purple, it would fade in the next hour. It still hurt.

  Returning to the room, he gathered up Seraphina’s clothing, and popped it in a pile on her bag, wondering what he should do about the naked angel. She lay on the ground, every superb angle of her visible.

  I should put her to bed.

  She was going to feel embarrassed and sore tomorrow morning, he’d bet on that.

  Should I dress her?

  Yes, but putting clothes on a dead weight was hard work. He decided on her panties, and then figured she’d be under a bedspread for the remainder of the night. Once he’d tucked her in, he grabbed some pillows from the bed, found a spare blanket, and set up a little place for him to sleep on the floor—between the bed and the door.

  Now, to finish my shower.

  He was done in a minute or two, his erection long gone, thankfully. He dressed and climbed under his blanket. At least the floor is carpeted. Retrieving his tablet, he replied to a few emails, and read the latest from Hades, which outlined the terms of their current job.

  The god had underlined ‘Failure will result in death if task not complete in a week’.

  Asshole.

  Tucking the tablet away, he rolled onto his side, staring at the door.

  If he were to tell anyone that he’d had a beautiful angel climbing all over him—and that he refused her advances—no one would believe him.

  And you know what, I like it that way.

  Trick fell asleep, a small smile tilting the corners of his lips.

  Chapter 28

  Seraphina’s head pounded, her mouth dry as desert sands.

  What happened?

  Raising a hand to her forehead, she frowned when she realized she wasn’t wearing a shirt. Or bra. Or pants. Jerking up the bedspread so she could peer underneath, she was relieved to see she at least wore panties.

  Did I have sex with Trick?

  Panic infused her, but it subsided when memories of the night before returned—with a vengeance. Her getting Trick to move the slave brand’s location, then stripping naked, and following him into the bathroom, where she tried to climb all over him...

  She thumped the pillow over her head in embarrassment.

  I can’t believe I did that.

  And Trick had been horrified, wrapped in a shower curtain, dripping wet—that was clear as day in her memories, despite how inebriated she had been. What was in that drink? It certainly wasn’t a regular mead, to get her so drunk.

  But the worst part of the whole silly affair?

  That Trick had behaved with honor. More honor than Paschar ever had. The one time she had become drunk with her former lover, he had happily taken what was offered, then lectured her the following morning on her lack of decorum and chastity.

  She’d never over-imbibed near him again.

  I haven’t been drunk in over forty years.

  She certainly hadn’t intended to be last night.

  And I have never come on so strong to a male before. I am going to have to apologize.

  Shoving the pillow off her face, she opened her eyes to an empty room. Thank the Lord.

  Sliding out from the sheets, she looked around for her clothes. There, in a pile on her bag. Trick must have put them there. Her cheeks warm from embarrassment, she hastily dressed, then went to the bathroom to brush her teeth. By the time she’d emerged, Trick had returned, with a tray of food and what smelled like coffee.

  “How’s the head?” He placed the tray on the small table.

  “Okay.” She stepped toward the table, and he slid away, toward the other side of the room. She tracked his movements, her gaze falling on a pillow and folded blanket near the doorway.

  He slept on the floor.

  After he’d called ‘dibs’ on the bed.

  He didn’t even try to share the bed with me.

  She scrunched up her nose. She didn’t like having to reevaluate her opinion on people, but it appeared that she had been wrong in her earlier thoughts on Trick. He might still be ruthless, and a general annoying ass, but he was also capable of being kind, which was a rare quality in any being.

  Living in the Human World has softened you.

  “You don’t like coffee?” he asked, noting her expression. He dropped his gaze back to his cellphone soon after.

  “I like it.” She poured herself a cup, and then stared at the food options: scrambled eggs or cereal and toast. She decided on the latter two.

  An awkward silence descended on the room, and she took a sip of coffee to delay her humiliation. Just do it.

  With a sigh, she lowered her cup and sat in the chair. “I am very sorry about last night.”

  Trick whipped his head up. “What?”

  She gritted her teeth. “I am sorry about last night.”

  He waved a hand in the air. “You drank nearly an entire jug of Djinn spiced mead. That stuff will knock even the sturdiest demon on their ass.”

  “But my behavior—”

  He grinned, exposing brilliant white teeth in an expression that only served to highlight his handsomeness. “Djinn mead is made by adding a single drop of Djinn blood to a barrel. It’s highly sought-after and expensive. But because it’s mixed with Djinn blood, it severely lowers inhibitions when drunk to excess. One or two glasses, and you would have just had a warm buzz. But three or more?” He chuckled. “I was lucky to escape.”

  Dismay burned through her. “Are you saying I could have...raped you?” She hid her face in her hands as she thought over the evening again, remembering how she had wrestled him on the bed.

  Paschar was right. I need to learn better control.

  She’d never thought she would agree with him. It hurt to be proven wrong.

  Trick placed a hand on her shoulder; she hadn’t even heard him move. “I may not be a trained warrior, but I can hold my own in a fight.”

  “That doesn’t make me feel better.” Shame spiraled through her. “What if you hadn’t been? What if you weren’t as strong as me?”

  “You would have stopped if I wasn’t interested, of that I have no doubt.” He shrugged and stepped away. “Problem was, Trick Junior was more than willing to accommodate you and you knew it. I just figured you’d hate me for it today.”

  “Trick Junior?”

  He winked, earning a surprised laugh from her. How did he do it? He’d somehow managed to reassure her, calm her down, and make her laugh, all in the space of five minutes. And she didn’t deserve it.

  “I really am sorry.”

  He smirked. “Not as sorry as me for saying no. But alas, missing out is my lot in life.”

  Seraphina rolled her eyes. “You are so deprived.”

  He grinned.

  She finished her breakfast in silence, but it was a companionable silence. She was strangely at peace just being in the room with Trick. “I think I might have a shower. I smell of sweat and mead.”

  “Okay, I’ll just be checking emails. I’ve been trying to find out if there’s any sign of when Lucifer will open Sheol back up. I definitely won’t be picturing you naked and wet.” He flashed her a grin. “Oh, did I say that out loud?”

  “Jerk.”

  “You love it.” He returned his attention to his phone.

  On impulse, she stood and strode over to where he sat in the corner. Leaning down, she kissed his cheek—just a swift press of her lips against his jaw. “Thanks.”

  Then she hightailed it out of the room, so she couldn’t see his expression.

  On the other side of the bathroom door, she stood with her back pressed to the timber panel and focused on breathing. She’d just willingly kissed Trick. Sure, it was just a peck, but she’d done it.

  And it had felt right, like she could kiss Trick on the cheek like that for the rest of their lives, and it would be the rightest thing in the world.

  I think I like him.

  Trick had proven he was someone she could trust—he hadn’t taken advantage of her, even though he could have. Instead, he’d hobbled around the room wearing a shower curtain while dodging her advances.

  If the mead lowers inhibitions, it means that deep down, I want to have sex with Trick.

  It was a terrible idea.

  But it wasn’t as if she had stayed faithful to Paschar’s memory—she’d been with other men. And she might be dead in two days’ time. She may never know physical passion again.

  Why not with Trick?

  He would do right by her, she knew. And he could keep it professional afterward, she’d seen the way he handled the members of his guild…

  But the most important question: Did she want to do die without ever knowing what it was like to be with him?

  Chapter 29

  Rowan straightened her sky-blue silk shirt and checked to make sure her hair was perfectly slicked back in its bun. There. She was ready.

  I can’t believe I am doing this.

  Climbing out the limousine, she squinted against the bright Miami sunlight. She’d become a tad obsessed with Luke M. Starre’s private collection, to the point where she had tracked him down through her colleagues and called him. She’d reached his PA and explained that she was a researcher and would like a better look at some of the items listed in his catalogue.

  An hour later, Luke himself had called her back and, after talking with her for a little while, had offered her the chance to view some of the items in person. He’d even sent a private jet to collect her.

  This guy has serious money.

  Despite it being winter, the air was still sticky with humidity, the piercingly blue sky soaring overhead, cloudless and pristine.

  Right now, her home was covered in a fine layer of snow.

  Luke’s home—correction, mansion—stretched out before her, three stories high, with white rendering punctuated by navy blue shutters and roof. There were immense double doors at the entry, and a koi pond was located to her left. She’d passed a tennis court on the way up the driveway. I bet the backyard has a pool. It has to have a pool.

  Even Gran couldn’t afford a place like this. And Gran was rich as Hell from owning her hocus-pocus shop.

  Don’t just stand there.

  Gathering her thoughts, she strode toward the huge doors and pressed the doorbell, hearing it chime off in the distance. Thirty seconds passed; a minute. She was at the point of wondering if she should ring the bell again when it was answered.

  A young man in his twenties—maybe a year or two younger than her—stood on the other side of the portal. He was incredibly handsome, with features so clean-cut they put statues to shame. In fact, he was even better looking than Seraphina and her colleague, Mr. Trick.

  And she hadn’t thought that was possible.

  He had long brown hair tied up in a bun and a short beard, all so well-groomed it made her painstakingly slicked-back hair look like a bird’s nest. His eyes were a gray so pale they almost appeared white, and they contrasted starkly against his blue-framed glasses. He wore a dark gray suit, white shirt, and had a tartan handkerchief tucked in his breast pocket.

  He had the hipster vibe down pat, complete with his exposed ankles, and lack of tie.

  “Rowan Broome?”

  Blinking, she realized she’d just been staring at him. Heat flushed her cheeks. “Yes. I’m looking for Mr. Starre?”

  “You’re looking right at him.”

  “Really? I mean, uh, nice to meet you.” He was much younger than she had assumed. She held out a hand; he simply looked at it.

  She was about to remove it when his arm shot out, and he clasped her palm. But rather than shake it as she had intended, he raised her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to it. How quaint.

  “Trust me, the pleasure is all mine. Do come in.” He released her and stepped back into the entryway.

  Rowan followed him inside, her attention snared by the beautiful wooden floors, white walls, and lovely artwork that graced the foyer. “Is that a Rembrandt?”

  “It is. You have a discerning eye, I see.” He seemed pleased.

  “Thank you.”

  “Now, which pieces in my collection were you interested in seeing?” He slid his hands into his pockets.

  “As I said on the phone, my specialty is the Egyptian Old Kingdom.” She withdrew the book from her leather satchel. “I noticed you have a statue you claim is a representation of Khufu, the second pharaoh of the Fourth Dynasty, and a sarcophagus you credit to Menes, the first pharaoh of the First Dynasty.” While she did hope to see the Amenonuhoko, she hadn’t been able to pass up the opportunity to view these two items. If real, they were the archaeological finds of the century. There was only one complete three-dimensional statue of Khufu on record, and the remains of Menes—the first ever pharaoh, the one to unite the two Egyptian kingdoms—had never been found.

  It was almost physically painful that they might have been kept hidden in a private collection for so long.

  His gaze locked on the book. “You mentioned a third item?”

  “Yes. I have a minor interest in Japanese archaeology, and I saw you had a replica of the Amenonuhoko.” She’d spent the previous morning perfecting the pronunciation of the word. If she was interested in Japanese culture, then she should be able to speak without her American accent interfering with it. She wanted to appear authentic, like she had no ulterior motive for being here.

  “How fortunate. I believe all three items are in the same gallery. Follow me.” He walked toward a central staircase that led to a second floor.

  She hesitated at the bottom, wondering all of a sudden if this had been a wise idea. She didn’t know this man; he might be a rapist or a serial killer luring unsuspecting victims in with his wealth and amazing artifact collection.

  He’s an art collector. Dr. Phalathropolis vouched for him.

 

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