Which means the Bargainer is masking his presence here yet again.
“What’s wrong?” Des asks, not looking at me. He continues drawing, using the sketchbook and charcoal I recently bought him.
The sight wouldn’t be so strange if the charcoal and sketchbook were in his hands. But they aren’t. Instead, they float in midair three feet from him, and Des’s drawing is coming to life without him ever touching it. His arms are folded firmly over his chest.
“Nothing,” I say.
“Liar.”
I sigh out a breath, staring at his drawing from where I lay on my bed. “Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?” I ask.
“What?” The charcoal comes to a stop.
My cheeks are beginning to flush. This is humiliating. “Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?” I repeat.
The Bargainer turns to me, frowning. “Why would you ask something like that?”
I feel my stomach plummet. He isn’t denying it. “Oh my God, you are.”
He disappears from his perch only to appear right next to me. A moment later, his sketchbook and charcoal hit the floor behind him.
“Cherub,” he says, taking my hand, “I have no idea where you got this mad, mad idea. Why the hell would I be embarrassed to be seen with you?”
And just like that, my worry dissipates. I think I hate myself a little that Des has so much control over my emotions.
“You always use your magic to hide yourself around me,” I say.
He squeezes my hand, and I feel his touch all the way to my toes. “Callie, you have this absurd notion that I’m a good person, when I’m at the top of the Politia’s Wanted List. There are bounty hunters looking for me this very moment. They’re not the only ones either; I have clients and enemies that would happily use you to get to me. Masking my presence is second nature, especially around you.”
That made sense.
He hasn’t let go of my hand, nor has he left the side of my bed. It’s like we are poised right at the edge of something, and the longer he stares at me, the farther I begin to tip over the edge.
His silver eyes darken, and I suck in a breath at the look. I’ve seen that molten expression on a few men before.
But they were never Des.
My pulse begins to race.
I’m pinwheeling over the edge, falling into those eyes, that face.
If only what I liked about Des ended at that face. Then it might be easier to deny what I feel for him. But the thing is, the Bargainer saved my life months ago, and he’s continued to save it every day since. I like it that he’s fucked-up like me, that he’s wicked and sinful and makes no excuses for it. I like it that he doesn’t care that I might be a little wicked and sinful too.
I like it that he’s taught me how to play poker, and that I’ve made him watch Harry Potter … and read the books. (He hadn’t touched them before me, the heathen.) I like it that I get to travel the world with him every time he decides to take me on one of his bargains, that my room has become a collection of knickknacks of us.
I like it that he drinks espresso in tiny little cups, and that I can share my secrets with him, even if he keeps most of his to himself. He’s the highlight of my evenings.
Scratch that—he’s the highlight of my life.
And I’m content to be his friend, but tonight while he looks at me like that, I want more.
“Stay the night,” I whisper.
Des’s mouth parts, and I swear—I swear—I see a yes forming on his lips.
He blinks a few times, and just like that, the moment’s gone.
He clears his throat, releasing my hand. “Cherub, that’s inappropriate.”
“I’m an adult.” He’s pulling away from me, both physically and emotionally, and I know I shouldn’t try to chase after him when he’s like this, but I want to.
For a brief a few seconds, Des had been mine. And I’m pretty sure I didn’t imagine it.
“You’re sixteen,” he says.
“Exactly. The House of Keys thinks I’m an adult, I don’t know why you don’t.”
“You have day of the week panties,” Des says. “That means you’re too young for me to stay over.”
“How do you know I have day of the week panties?” I ask suspiciously.
He rubs his temples. “I should go.” He begins to stand, his impressive stature unfolding before my eyes.
I scramble to my feet as well. “Please don’t.”
We’re beginning to sound like a broken record. I push him too far, and he flees. The scariest thing of all? The more distance he puts between us, the more desperate I am to close it, and the more I try to close it, the farther away I push him.
I’m losing my best friend, and we both know it.
Des drops his hands. “Callie, if I stay, I give in. If I leave, I don’t.”
Then just give in.
But he doesn’t, and he won’t. Because despite everything the Bargainer says about himself, he’s an honorable man when it comes to me. And that really is the root of our problems. He might actually be the best man I know.
Present
Well shit.
Out of the frying pan and into the fire. That’s all I can think about on the flight over to Catalina Island.
We land in front of Des’s embarrassingly impressive house, and I walk out of his arms without a word. I can feel him at my back, his gaze assessing me.
The devious fucker is surely trying to figure out how to best approach me.
“What’s wrong?” Des asks, not looking at me. He continues drawing, using the sketchbook and charcoal I recently bought him.
The sight wouldn’t be so strange if the charcoal and sketchbook were in his hands. But they aren’t. Instead, they float in midair three feet from him, and Des’s drawing is coming to life without him ever touching it. His arms are folded firmly over his chest.
“Nothing,” I say.
“Liar.”
I sigh out a breath, staring at his drawing from where I lay on my bed. “Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?” I ask.
“What?” The charcoal comes to a stop.
My cheeks are beginning to flush. This is humiliating. “Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?” I repeat.
The Bargainer turns to me, frowning. “Why would you ask something like that?”
I feel my stomach plummet. He isn’t denying it. “Oh my God, you are.”
He disappears from his perch only to appear right next to me. A moment later, his sketchbook and charcoal hit the floor behind him.
“Cherub,” he says, taking my hand, “I have no idea where you got this mad, mad idea. Why the hell would I be embarrassed to be seen with you?”
And just like that, my worry dissipates. I think I hate myself a little that Des has so much control over my emotions.
“You always use your magic to hide yourself around me,” I say.
He squeezes my hand, and I feel his touch all the way to my toes. “Callie, you have this absurd notion that I’m a good person, when I’m at the top of the Politia’s Wanted List. There are bounty hunters looking for me this very moment. They’re not the only ones either; I have clients and enemies that would happily use you to get to me. Masking my presence is second nature, especially around you.”
That made sense.
He hasn’t let go of my hand, nor has he left the side of my bed. It’s like we are poised right at the edge of something, and the longer he stares at me, the farther I begin to tip over the edge.
His silver eyes darken, and I suck in a breath at the look. I’ve seen that molten expression on a few men before.
But they were never Des.
My pulse begins to race.
I’m pinwheeling over the edge, falling into those eyes, that face.
If only what I liked about Des ended at that face. Then it might be easier to deny what I feel for him. But the thing is, the Bargainer saved my life months ago, and he’s continued to save it every day since. I like it that he’s fucked-up like me, that he’s wicked and sinful and makes no excuses for it. I like it that he doesn’t care that I might be a little wicked and sinful too.
I like it that he’s taught me how to play poker, and that I’ve made him watch Harry Potter … and read the books. (He hadn’t touched them before me, the heathen.) I like it that I get to travel the world with him every time he decides to take me on one of his bargains, that my room has become a collection of knickknacks of us.
I like it that he drinks espresso in tiny little cups, and that I can share my secrets with him, even if he keeps most of his to himself. He’s the highlight of my evenings.
Scratch that—he’s the highlight of my life.
And I’m content to be his friend, but tonight while he looks at me like that, I want more.
“Stay the night,” I whisper.
Des’s mouth parts, and I swear—I swear—I see a yes forming on his lips.
He blinks a few times, and just like that, the moment’s gone.
He clears his throat, releasing my hand. “Cherub, that’s inappropriate.”
“I’m an adult.” He’s pulling away from me, both physically and emotionally, and I know I shouldn’t try to chase after him when he’s like this, but I want to.
For a brief a few seconds, Des had been mine. And I’m pretty sure I didn’t imagine it.
“You’re sixteen,” he says.
“Exactly. The House of Keys thinks I’m an adult, I don’t know why you don’t.”
“You have day of the week panties,” Des says. “That means you’re too young for me to stay over.”
“How do you know I have day of the week panties?” I ask suspiciously.
He rubs his temples. “I should go.” He begins to stand, his impressive stature unfolding before my eyes.
I scramble to my feet as well. “Please don’t.”
We’re beginning to sound like a broken record. I push him too far, and he flees. The scariest thing of all? The more distance he puts between us, the more desperate I am to close it, and the more I try to close it, the farther away I push him.
I’m losing my best friend, and we both know it.
Des drops his hands. “Callie, if I stay, I give in. If I leave, I don’t.”
Then just give in.
But he doesn’t, and he won’t. Because despite everything the Bargainer says about himself, he’s an honorable man when it comes to me. And that really is the root of our problems. He might actually be the best man I know.
Present
Well shit.
Out of the frying pan and into the fire. That’s all I can think about on the flight over to Catalina Island.
We land in front of Des’s embarrassingly impressive house, and I walk out of his arms without a word. I can feel him at my back, his gaze assessing me.
The devious fucker is surely trying to figure out how to best approach me.
