Man about the House (Wicked Wraiths) (2 page)

“I don’t normally dress like this, you know,” he carried on when she just nodded. “It was a bet. I lost –”

She eyed his sparkly top. “Obviously.”

Not expecting that, Corvin lifted an eyebrow. “Why obviously?”

Glass clinked as she finished clearing the table and then wiped it down with a wet rag. Stuffing it between two glasses she nodded toward Storm. “Two guys dressed in drag and a woman? Either you three are real kinky or you both lost a bet with her.”

Corvin glanced at the other two, who were still sniping at each other, and smiled. She was right on the money. A girl with brains as well as looks; what more could he ask for?

She started to slide the heavy tray off the table, bracing to take the weight. In a heartbeat Corvin was by her side. He didn’t give her an option as he lifted the laden tray from her hands with ease. For a second she was trapped between him and the table, his arms on either side of her as he gripped the tray. The scent of mimosa wafted up from her hair.

He closed his eyes and filled his lungs. His mother had a mimosa tree outside her home on Olympus, a scent he remembered from his earliest days. The smell of home and comfort all wrapped around another scent… clean skin and an earthy, musky scent that had to be Janelle herself.

His breath punched its way out of his lungs as his cock hardened to full attention. God, he wanted her. Like right now. If he wasn’t so sure he’d get a glass where it hurt, he’d throw an obscurity cloak around them, boost her up on the counter and sink deep into her lush body.

Now, do it now
! His cock jerked at the thought, and his balls drew up tight and aching against his body. Trying to be circumspect he rolled his hips, an attempt to readjust himself without using his hands. Risking a glance down, he winced. Another lesson learned, women’s clothing was so not designed to disguise a raging hard-on.

“What are you doing?” She tried to yank the tray back from him. All she achieved was a new level of tray instability as the contents slid across the surface. “You’ll get me the sack!”

Corvin tightened his grip, stopping the bottles before they started a lemming leap for the floor. “Then let go. I got this.”

She ducked out from between his arms and gave him a look. It was another of those very female looks, one cold enough to freeze over all seven levels of hell. Corvin suppressed a sigh. He was doing real well with this one. First she’d run off and now she was pissed with him. Perhaps he should just call it a day here?

Then her expression softened a little. “Well, come on, if you’re coming,” she said and turned to walk away. Tray easily balanced, Corvin followed her like a lost little puppy dog.

“You can put them down there. I’ll put them in to clean in a moment.”

Janelle eyed the tall stranger over her shoulder as she led him through the back corridor and into the kitchen. He put the tray down and, to Janelle’s astonishment, began to unload the glasses right into the dishwasher.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?”

He looked over his shoulder and Janelle was pinned by that bright blue gaze. Even dressed in women’s clothing, there was no mistaking he was a male in his prime.

“What does it look like? I’m loading glasses. You know, for such a pretty woman you do ask some dumb questions.”

“Okay, now I know you’ve had too much to drink. Thanks for your help but I can take it from here.” Janelle snorted. Pretty, did he really think that washed with her? She brushed past him to start loading glasses herself. Used to the job, she was far quicker.

“Huh. What? I haven’t had too much to drink at all.”

Janelle looked at the multitude of glasses on the tray. They were all from his table. By rights he and his friends should be passed out insensible on the floor.

“Yeah, right. You’ve had a skinfull and anything female will do. Now, I have a job to do and I really don’t need to lose it. So if you don’t mind, I’ll take it from here.”

“You’re pissed because I called you pretty?” Astonishment rang in his tone as he turned to face her. “God, you must get pissed a lot then.”

Janelle didn’t look him in the eye, steadfastly loading the remainder of the glasses. “And why’s that?”

His chuckle rolled around the room, rebounding off the metal cabinets with a tinny sound. “Are you kidding me, lady? You’re gorgeous. I’m sure you get guys hitting on you all the time.”

Janelle looked up as she slammed the dishwasher closed. “Yeah, mostly drunk idiots who see the ‘prettily plump’ –” God, she hated that phrase. “ — waitress as an easy mark.”

He was still looking at her. She could feel his attention, the weight of that incredible blue gaze centered solely on her. She flicked a glance up. He had incredible lips, full and sensual, almost too feminine for such a masculine face. A small part — okay, a large part of her wanted so much to believe all this attention was real and not the drink. Compressing her lips, she ignored the heat blossoming in her lower belly.

“What? Easy mark? I bloody wish! So far you’ve done everything but tell me to fuck off.”

“Believe me, buddy, that’s an option.” Janelle’s voice turned chilly as she grabbed her tray and started scrubbing it clean with enough force to take the picture off the surface. “There’s the door. Don’t let it hit you in the ass on the way out.”

“So, damned if I do, damned if I don’t,” he muttered, his voice low. Janelle looked up, a frown on her face.

“Sorry?”

“I said, damned either way. So I might as well do something to deserve it. Wouldn’t you agree?” He started toward her, a hot, dark look in his eyes.

Janelle lost the power of speech. Her mouth opened and closed soundlessly as she backed up. His gaze held hers fast as he followed her, stalking her until her hips hit the metal cabinets behind her. The slight bump broke the spell he seemed to have on her. “Hey, you can’t do this! I’ll call security –”

His broad shoulders cut off her view of the room. He reached out a hand to cup her cheek. If anyone had told her just hours previously she was going to be cornered in the kitchen by a club guest, she’d have had security camped out in here already. Every club had horror stories of staff attacked by drunks who couldn’t take no for an answer.

She didn’t feel threatened though. Not by him. Instead, excitement swirled through her veins, the heat in her belly spreading out like wildfire. His thumb whispered over her lips and her pussy clenched hard in reaction.

He can’t mean this. He’s drunk… just playing in the fat pool
…

His lips were soft, gentle as he whispered a feather-light kiss across her closed mouth. Janelle forgot to breathe, her heart thundering in her chest. His hand slipped down to the side of her neck. Moving in closer, he curled strong fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck and tilted her head back to change the angle of the kiss. He was so close, his body heat beat at her even though they were both clothed.

His thumb smoothed the frantic pulse in her throat; a soft, soothing motion almost like he was calming a wild animal. It didn’t calm her though, just sent her breathing haywire. She whimpered in the back of her throat, a tiny noise of need and encouragement.

He smiled against her lips. His tongue swept slowly, seductively, across her lower lip, in a hot, wet brush of temptation and silent demand for access. Janelle’s body turned to mush, her knees threatening to collapse and dump her on the floor in a tangled heap of limbs.

“Hey! What you doing? Guests aren’t allowed back here. Oh my God, Janelle?”

The voice broke through the sensual scene. Janelle froze, eyes wide. Corvin broke the kiss, his lips hovering just above hers.

“Great, just great. Now I’ll get the sack,” she accused, pushing at his broad chest. “Happy now?”

Fuck, just as she was beginning to respond
. Anger flared through Corvin as he stepped back, snapping a glance over his shoulder to the bouncer who’d walked in on them. Just a few more minutes and he’d have had her where he wanted her… sitting on the counter with her legs wrapped around his hips, and his cock buried balls deep.

“Steve, this isn’t what it looks like –”

Corvin frowned at the nerves in her voice. She really was worried about losing her job.

“Yeah, I’m sure it’s not.” Steve’s voice was filled with perverse satisfaction. Corvin knew the guy’s next stop was the manager’s office, and Janelle would be out of a job.

“Sorry, mate, all my fault,” he said as he walked toward the door. “Didn’t give the lady much of a choice.” Pausing for a second as he drew level, he held Steve’s gaze with his own. It took less effort than flicking a switch to slide inside the mortal’s brain and grab his memories of the last couple of minutes.

Without remorse for the pounding headache the guy would get in the morning, Corvin wiped them clean. Everything that had happened since he walked through the door. All gone. It was breaking about seven rules in the “Rules for Demi-god Conduct on the Mortal Plane,” but Corvin didn’t give a shit.

Steve swayed on his feet. Blinking as his eyes refocused, he glared at Corvin. “Hey, guests aren’t allowed back here.”

Corvin waved dismissively. “I was on my way out. Just helping the little lady with the tray.” With a mental shove, Corvin locked this new “truth” into place, then walked out.

Frustration and need clawed at him as he walked down the corridor to the main part of the club. He’d nearly cracked her, nearly had her where he wanted her.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Forgetting he was wearing heels, Corvin aimed a kick at a taped patch on the carpet. The heel caught in the frayed section and he stumbled. Swearing enough to make a marine blush, he managed to catch himself on a coat rack before he landed on his ass. “Fucking hell.”

Muttering he untangled himself from what must be the staff’s coats. One, a long mac, clung to him like a jealous ex-lover, causing a fresh bout of swearing as he tried to escape its clutches.

Good job Hex and Storm weren’t here to see him. They’d die laughing. “Gah, get off me!”

He managed to struggle free by flattening himself against the wall and scooting sideways. Not an easy manoeuvre in heels and a tight skirt. He was almost free when he knocked into a set of lockers. A door popped open, and a purse tumbled out. Typical for Corvin’s luck tonight, the top was unzipped. In slow motion, the contents spilled out onto the floor.

“Oh, just fucking great.” Dropping to his knees, he started to gather up the spilled belongings. With quick movements, he stuffed them back into the purse. One, a small scroll wrapped with a red ribbon, rolled away, forcing him to make a grab for it. As soon he touched it, a bolt of energy snapped at his fingers. “Ouch! What the fuck?”

He dropped it, shaking his hand to get rid of the sting. “Okay, what the hell are you?”

Carefully he picked the thing up between his thumb and forefinger to examine it closely. Magic buzzed and tried to crawl up his arm. He blocked it easily. It was a lower intensity than the first jolt. It was as though it had built up a charge, and when he’d touched it, it had arced through him like a jolt of electricity.

Corvin’s brow creased in confusion as he unfurled the scroll and read the inscription on it.

Thnall terantis Terathel,

Heran juris gerath,

Ceris armouret anak,

Heran Koras go-gothian totalis.

Aranath gosita terabi.

“What the hell? A wraith summoning scroll?”

This was higher level Fae magic. What was it doing just stuffed in a purse in a club locker that hadn’t even been locked? These things were dangerous in the wrong hands. Holding it in one hand, he looked through the belongings for some ID. He had to find out who this belonged to, then bawl their ass out for leaving it unsecured like this. Gods knew what a dark sorcerer could do with an active summoning scroll.

The wallet wasn’t easy to find in the general chaos that inhabited the bottom of any woman’s purse. It was like they were trying to form their own world complete with eco system in there.

“There you are.” His fingers closed over the small leather rectangle and he flipped it open in a quick move. Okay, who was she?

His eyes widened at the picture on the driving license. Janelle Allen. A quick glance confirmed the name and address. Corvin looked from the purse to the summoning scroll in confusion. This was Janelle’s? He unrolled the last bit of the scroll and a note fell out. Corvin fell on it like a vulture on prey. Unlike the scroll, it was just a normal note, written in pen on a page torn out of a pad.

Just in case you needed a little help — cleaning or otherwise. Trust me; you won’t be disappointed with either. Tori

Who the hell was Tori? The spelling and handwriting indicated a woman. And what did she mean about “otherwise?” Jealousy slammed into Corvin’s gut as he scowled and read the summoning spell again.

Ah, there it was. The spell had been adapted; it was part domestic spell and… Hell, the middle part was straight from a sexual summoning ritual. Whatever wraith she called with this would be bound to either clean her house top to bottom or perform in bed.

What was Janelle doing with a summoning scroll for a wraith? She was human through and through, at least as far as he could tell.

One who had been stressed about losing her job and was obviously busy enough to need to summon a domestic wraith.

One who also worried about her weight, if the battered fat-club membership card was any indication. Corvin’s lip curled. Why on earth she thought she needed to starve herself, he didn’t know. She had a figure to tempt a saint, all luscious curves and tantalising hollows. Even better, he knew she wasn’t going to break if he breathed on her the wrong way.

Busy… Stressed…

Wraith.

A wicked little plan unfurled itself in Corvin’s mind. A grin spread over his lips as he shut the wallet and shoved it back in the purse. Taking note of the details on the scroll, he put it back, too, and put the purse back in the locker.

Long strides took him out the corridor and back through the smoky, crowded confines of the club. Sliding into the seat opposite Hex, he looked directly at his friend and grinned.

“Hex, I need you to curse me.”