“No, no one asked me.” She pouted.
Middy almost choked, but it was Tally that was going to get the throat hug in three . . . two . . .
“That’s too bad. Perhaps Middy will bring you one of the gift bags.” He placed his hand on the small of Middy’s back to guide her out the door.
She wasn’t sure what to do with that. He’d chosen her over Tally. That was unusual. Or maybe he just wanted her to think that and, later, he’d be sneaking into Tally’s room after he left Middy’s. And Midnight wondered if Tally would let him. She’d said she was happy with Martin, but she wasn’t acting like herself.
Middy didn’t know why she’d gotten upset to start with.
She didn’t even like Dred Shadowins, so what did she care if Tally flaunted her wares in his direction? What concerned her more was her friend’s actions and the motivation behind them. She’d always trusted Tally, so she must have had a good reason for acting as she had. Tally had never let her down. She wasn’t going to start mistrusting her now.
Dred Shadowins, however, was another matter entirely.
Especially when it became apparent that they were going to have to teleport again.
“Dred, I think I already mentioned this, but teleporting does unnatural things to my stomach. I don’t want to hurl all over you before the Masque. I feel bad enough about the cranberry.”
“Here, let’s try it this way.” Dred turned her around so that her cheek was pressed against his shoulder and . . . and he smelled like Bay Rum. It was different from how he’d smelled before, but it was a warm and languorous scent that made her think of that feeling in her stomach when she drank warm, buttered rum. She almost felt that sweet warmth spreading throughout her senses every time she breathed him in.
His arms closed around her and anchored her to him.
She hooked her hands up over his shoulders and held on for all she was worth. He smelled so good and he was so warm that she gave a happy sigh.
He let go then and his fingers trailed lazy paths up and down her back and finally to the bare skin of her shoulders beneath the cascade of her hair. His touch on her exposed flesh sent erotic shivers tingling through her.
“You better not let go when we teleport,” she murmured into his shoulder.
“I didn’t, Middy. We’re here.”
She sprang away from him like a cherry-chocolate pop tart erupting from a toaster with a too-tight spring. “I, um, knew that.”
“Didn’t that make for an easier trip?”
Middy opened her mouth to answer, but Chancellor Vargill pounced on them.
“Shadowins, so good of you to sponsor this little soiree.”
His ruddy features colored further, making him look like a shiny Solstice ornament.
“So good of Middy to make it happen.” Dred nodded to her.
“Ah, yes, Middy. She’s been a jewel to give so much to the foundation. Much of this was done on her own time.”
Martin Vargill clapped her on the back with the enthusiasm of a rabid soccer fan.
Dred’s eyes were immediately drawn to her glitter-dusted breasts as the motion from Vargill’s good-natured backslap-ping almost rattled them out of their restraints. She looked up and met his stare and if it was possible, his gaze burned hotter. She felt like she was going to burst into flame if he stared any harder.
He didn’t even care that he’d been caught! Most warlocks would look away and then try to steal another peek when she wasn’t looking. Not Dred Shadowins, he appraised her boldly and with blatant appreciation.
Martin was not oblivious. “I see you young people would like to enjoy your evening. I’ll expect you tomorrow to go over donations, Middy.”
She was alone with the viper! Well, as alone as one could be at a charity event.
“Dred, you’re still staring.” She slapped his arm lightly.
“Sweetheart, you wouldn’t have doused them with glitter if you didn’t want me to look.”
He did have her there. She just hadn’t expected his looking to be so . . . so intense. She felt naked. “Just because I may have invited a glance doesn’t mean you can strip me naked with your eyes.”
“When I strip you naked, you’ll know it.”
Middy blushed furiously. “Didn’t I just say with your eyes? I didn’t say you’d done it.”
“You’d allow it, though?” He pulled her close to him.
“Care to dance?”
“I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I don’t want to play.”
“Don’t you want to hear the rules first?” he asked.
“I didn’t think you played by any rules,” Middy said, but did let him lead her to the dance floor.
“I play by a very rigid set of rules, though they are my own.” His hand slid down to the small of her back and he pressed her more intimately to him.
“So you can change the rules as you play for your benefit?” She smiled up at him, the sweetness on her face a cover for the sharpness of her words.
“How is it you know me so well?” Dred didn’t answer her question.
“I read,” she quipped before she could think better of it.
They moved across the floor. “Oh, really? I’ve said that in only one interview I’ve given, but I’m sure a good little witch would not be caught dead with her nose in such a publication.”
Her face flamed. She started scanning her brain for everything she’d read about him in
Weekly Warlock
. She didn’t remember that particular interview and she’d read them all. No, he couldn’t know. Could he?
She was forced to look up into his face as he bent her back for a dip. “I don’t read that.” It squeaked out of her mouth like a mouse with a brick on its tail.
He pulled her flush against him again so that he could whisper in her ear. “Of course, you don’t.
Weekly Warlock
isn’t a magazine that a witch such as you would find interesting.”
Oh, that bastard! He knew.
He couldn’t.
Well, he does now, you sloppy bitch!
After all, she’d just admitted as much to him. Sometimes she was amazed that she was allowed to leave the house by herself. Really, she was aghast at her own incompetence.
Dred pulled her out of the dip.
“Exactly. What do I care what kind of conditioner is best for a warlock’s hair? I don’t bother to condition mine half of the time.” She was finding that she did care, very much, since her hand was on the back of his neck and his hair seemed to be curling over her fingers of its own volition. It was like silk, damn him.
Why did such an arrogant ass of a man have to be wrapped in so fine a package? Speaking of packages, wow!
It had been one thing to look at in the magazine, but another matter entirely having it there, in the flesh. Not to mention touching her.
Okay, so it wasn’t
really
touching her. There were several layers of fabric between her and it, but damn if she didn’t know it was there and, oh, my Circe,
awake
. She was very aware of her own bare state beneath her skirt.
“You don’t?” His hand tangled in her curls and seemed to cup the back of her head. “It’s so soft and . . .”
She thought for a second that he was going to kiss her.
That’s how they did it in every novel she’d ever read. He would tangle his hands in her hair, he’d stare at her mouth, and she’d chew her bottom lip and her breasts would be heaving and he’d . . .
Be interrupted by Tristan Belledare. “May I cut in?”
No, no, no! Middy could have growled in frustration.
She’d picked her irritating gentleman for the evening and it was Mordred Shadowins, not Tristan Belledare. How dare he ask anyway, after the way he’d treated Tally?
“It’s up to the lady.” Dred smiled.
Double damn! Why did he have to pick now to be a gentleman? A little voice piped up like a screaming teapot, telling her that he’d been a gentleman all along. He’d still been kind enough to teleport her back to her broom with a cranberry in his eye. That was downright chivalrous.
It just would have been extremely convenient if Dred could have felt the least bit territorial, if only for a moment.
She didn’t like saying no to something so simple as a dance.
It was rude, but she didn’t like Belledare.
That hissing voice started talking again and reminded her that she didn’t like Shadowins either, but she had made up her mind to have wild, passionate sex with him. So, a dance with someone else she didn’t like couldn’t hurt. Could it?
“Come on, Mids. Are you still mad at me for this thing with Tally?”
She was still very mad at him for the “thing with Tally.”
He’d not only broken her heart, he’d broken Tally’s trust in people in general. Middy turned her face into Dred’s shirt.
“Reporters from
Magickal Mayhem
are watching. Unless you want your face splashed all over tomorrow’s paper as the witch that was too good to dance with the local hero, I suggest you do it,” Dred whispered in her ear.
Middy found herself being pulled into Tristan’s arms. He was just as warm as Dred and smelled almost as good, but it wasn’t the same. There were no cracked-out butterflies slam dancing in her stomach when he touched her.
“Smile,” Tristan said before he turned them to face the photographer.
She was too startled to refuse and found what seemed to be a hundred lights flashing in her face. Middy was sure she was going to look like she’d been chewing on tinfoil, from the pained smile she’d plastered to her face.
Great. Now she was going to get hate mail from screaming fan girls who all thought that Tristan Belledare was some kind of saint. Then there was Tally, but she expected to be there to explain the situation to her friend when the paper arrived. It had taken Tally a long time to deal with what Tristan had done to her. Middy wasn’t sure if Tally had ever really gotten over him. Now, this was going to be shoved in her face. It would look like the worst kind of betrayal. Tally had been so in love with him and she’d thought Tristan loved her, too. He’d said he did. Then she’d caught him with another witch and when poor Tally had asked him if he’d ever really loved her, he’d said no. It had shattered her friend’s heart into a million little pieces.
“Thanks, Tristan. Now, even Tally is going to hate me tomorrow. What do you want?”
“To warn you,” he said, still smiling for the reporters.
“Keep smiling, Mids.”
“My face already hurts from smiling, you witchinizing bastard. Spill.” She’d hear him out because he’d been friends with her older brothers when she’d been a witchling, but that was all he was getting from her.
“Dred Shadowins is evil,” he whispered in her ear. “It doesn’t matter that he gave you the money for the Masque.
He has it to spare. Don’t let him fool you.”
“Fool me into what, Tristan?” She fought the urge to add: “The same way you fooled Tally?” But she didn’t want to give the reporters any more ammunition than they already had about Tally’s humiliation. It had already been splashed over the headlines enough when it had happened.
Middy still remembered the pain in Tally’s eyes that it had been front-page news. It made her sick.
“I just don’t want to see you get hurt.” The way he touched her changed, his fingers lingering on her cheek, his breath was still soft against her ear. It was more intimate. A caress and Middy didn’t like it. “What about Tally?” She hoped that would be a sharp slap of reality. If she didn’t know better, she’d say that Tristan was trying to make her think that he had feelings for her. Tristan was handsome, but even if she’d been interested, he was the bastard who’d betrayed her friend. That wasn’t a line Middy would ever cross.
“Don’t trust her either. Your life is in danger.”
She laughed and it was genuine. “Tristan, are you drunk?”
“Leave with me, leave right now,” he pleaded earnestly.
“No. You haven’t even told me
how
I’m in danger. I’m not some silly girl who is going to be enamored of your charms and just leave with you because you feed me a romantic line about how you’re going to save me. I’d think you’d be more original.”
He moved her even closer to him. “Mids, I won’t deny I’d love to get you naked. In fact, I’m pretty sure you’re not wearing panties and I can’t tell you how hot that is, but I’m serious.”
Her face flamed. “How would you know if I’m wearing drawers or not?”
“My hand is almost on your ass, love. But that’s beside the point. The point is that you are in danger and you’re being really contrary about letting me save you.”
“You have to keep that hero image fresh, don’t you? Do you have reporters waiting outside to catch shots of you spiriting me off into the night away from Dred Shadowins? For my own safety,
of course
.” She sneered.
“Middy, he’s involved in smuggling cursed objects. The rumors about what happened in Shale Creek are true.”
They couldn’t be. Dred might be a bastard but . . . But what, exactly? But she didn’t want to believe that his hands were capable of such atrocity because she wanted them on her body?
She didn’t trust Tristan either. From what she’d seen, he’d never done anything that didn’t benefit him somehow.
She’d always thought there was more to Shale Creek than what he’d let on. So why was he telling her this? What exactly did he hope to get out of it?
“I don’t trust you.”
“Don’t trust me, fine. Don’t trust Shadowins either.”
“Who says that I do?”
His hand slipped lower on her hip. “Definitely no panties. Is that for Dred, then? Have you already slept with him?”
This line of questioning was really starting to piss her off.
“Tristan”—she smiled sweetly— “I can honestly say that I haven’t done any
sleeping
in Dred Shadowins’s bed.”
It was the truth. Of course, she’d twisted it to sound like a lie.
“Middy, since this may be my last chance to say it, I have to tell you. It’s always been you. Even when I was with Tally.” He leaned closer to her, and dipped his head to whisper against her lips, “I would be good to you, I’d take care of you . . . .” he trailed off.
By the Morrigan’s corset, he was going to kiss her! Not what she’d been hoping for. She tried to turn her head to the side, but there was no avoiding it. He had her locked in an iron grip and it was more of an invasion than a kiss.