Darius thought Belle was handsome.
The demon was lucky the look wasn’t longer than a glimmer. Suddenly Duvall wasn’t feeling as appreciative of him.
As soon as they entered the voluminous gilt-and-marble Old French lobby, half the personnel inside rushed over. They hadn’t missed the melee out front, and would want to stay on the good side of the race who made their existence here possible. His patience thin, Duvall waved away their worried barrage of apologies.
“This is more remorse than I require,” he said, unwilling to deny he was angry when that would cost him a migraine. “I imagine the paparazzi
might
have gathered too quickly for you to realize who they were lying in wait for. I trust our rooms our ready?”
“Of course, sir.” A female manager stepped forward from the hand-wringing circle to assure him of this. “As requested, we prepared the Mayor’s Bower on the top floor.”
“Good. Please accompany my wife there yourself.”
The manager’s wide eyes darted to Belle, taking in that
wife
just as the porter had. “Of course, sir. Right away.”
Both she and Darius began to move. “Wait.”
“Yes, sir?” Thankfully, the manager was professional enough to pull her nerves and her expression under control.
“I believe there’s an employee suite on that floor. Our chauffeur may be staying there. Have someone see that it’s arranged to suit his needs.”
Given that Darius was a Spink, they’d have to switch out the bed for a larger one, at the least. Whatever else he required, Duvall trusted the hotel to figure out. The manager snapped her fingers for one of her underlings to take care of it.
“You,” Duvall said to Darius as a bouquet of employees moved off with Belle at their center. It pleased him that his wife was taller and more elegant than the rest, a lovely rose among carnations. It seemed to please Darius too, because the demon’s head turned to her again. Duvall fought not to grind his teeth. “Come have an illicit smoke with me in the stairwell.”
“Sir?” Darius said, dragging his attention away from Belle. She was looking back at them, her eyebrows raised in question. Duvall smiled and gestured for her to go on without him.
“She’ll be fine,” he said curtly from the side of his mouth. “They won’t let anything happen to the wife of the goose who’s laying the golden eggs.” He took Darius’s arm and began steering him toward the nearest STAIRS sign. Despite the demon’s size, Duvall was stronger. When Darius resisted, perhaps without thinking, Duvall almost pulled him off his feet. This drew glances from the other guests in the lobby, but Duvall didn’t care. He opened the door, went in, and held it for Darius behind him. He could tell the demon didn’t want to join him. Whatever else he was, Darius was no fool.
Because he was no fool, he knew refusing wasn’t an option.
“I don’t smoke,” he said, following reluctantly.
“Neither do I, which gives you plenty of time to explain why I should trust you to guard my most valuable treasure.”
“The gargoyles vetted me,” Darius said as the door slammed shut with a hollow boom.
“So I hear.” Duvall began quickly climbing the concrete steps, not so subtly letting Darius know he was faster too. “What I’m wondering is why they vetted you at all. Administering a trust test is rather special treatment for a limo driver. Chauffeurs only need a criminal check. I’m thinking you couldn’t pass
that
, and the trust test was your substitute.”
The Spink demon’s size hadn’t allowed them to walk side by side. When Duvall turned to confront him, the demon was four steps down from him. His immense shoulders brushed both walls.
“Fuck,” he said wearily.
“Not the most reassuring answer,” Duvall pointed out.
The Spink demon rubbed his forehead. “I was involved in ... some illegal dealings. The police rolled me up along with my former employer. In return for not having my visa revoked, I gave evidence that helped take down a criminal organization. One of the conditions of my parole was that I submit to the gargoyles’ test.”
Though not police, gargoyles were the self-appointed guardians of Resurrection - and highly magical beings themselves.
“And?” Duvall prompted.
“And I told the gargoyles I’d do anything to avoid going home, even learn to be a good man.”
Darius was meeting his stare squarely. Duvall sensed he was being truthful but knew firsthand the sort of loopholes that could be woven into that. He leaned his shoulder lazily on the cinderblock. “I don’t suppose you include seducing other men’s wives in your definition of a good man?”
“Lord, no.” The demon seemed genuinely startled. Duvall should have been satisfied, but he found he couldn’t quite leave it there.
“What if you thought the husband in question was a sanctimonious over-entitled prick? Would you consider it okay then?”
Darius’s wide gray mouth twitched with what was probably humor. “I couldn’t say how I’d feel in that situation, only that I’m not stupid enough to put the moves on a clearly intelligent woman who just as clearly adores her spouse. She’s not a walk-on-the-wild-sider, sir. If you don’t know that yet, you should.”
An uncomfortable twinge of shame prodded him. Duvall shouldn’t need a demon to tell him he’d insulted Belle.
“Also,” the demon added, his charcoal eyes twinkling. “I wouldn’t call you sanctimonious.”
That left over-entitled prick. Duvall narrowed his eyes at the Spink, who was now grinning openly.
“All right,” he said. “Point taken.” Temper cooling, Duvall magicked his suit jacket back into existence and buttoned it. “I’d appreciate it if this conversation remained between us.”
“Understood,” Darius said, looking as if he did a bit too well.
Deciding his pride would be better served by shutting up, Duvall turned sharply and finished trotting up the stairs.
Chapter Two
BELLE
supposed she’d have to give up her daydream of being carried over the honeymoon suite’s threshold. She tried not to be annoyed by that, because - really - she wasn’t such a girly girl.
“Would you like the bellhop to unpack for you, Princess Belle?” the manager asked as they trundled in with the luggage cart.
The scarlet uniformed bellhop was an adorable young woman with a mouth full of needle-sharp white teeth. Every time she smiled, which she did frequently, she gave Belle a start.
“Perhaps just the tall case,” Belle said. “My hang up clothes are in there.”
“Very good, princess,” the manager said.
Being called
princess
every five seconds was giving her a start too. Aware of her democratic sensibilities, Duvall only called her that to tease. Not sure she ought to tell people to call her Belle instead - because what if that made her husband look like he’d married an idiot? - she gazed around the place they’d be staying in.
Belle wasn’t a pauper. She’d started a successful rent-a-maid business and was now considering switching into refurbished junk. All the same, she’d never seen anything like this outside of a TV show. The living room boasted three giant floral arrangements, as dewy as if they’d been picked a minute ago. The furniture scattered across the gleaming expanse of hardwood reminded her of pictures of Versailles. The couches and chairs and tables perched on delicate baroque legs - gilded with real gold leaf, from the look of it. A painting resembling Monet’s
Water Lilies
only better stretched along one tall wall. An acanthus columned arch led into a kitchen, and across from that, the dining area’s crystal chandelier cast rainbow sparks everywhere. The carpet presented such a realistic depiction of a field of bluebells, Belle didn’t see how human hands could have woven it.
Elven hands, maybe.
“Okay,” Belle said. “I see why this a ‘bower,’ but why call it the Mayor’s? This is fit for a king.”
Though Belle was simply stating a fact, the manager looked pleased. “The Mayor is our highest elected official. And very popular. I take it the suite is acceptable?”
“More than,” Belle said, overwhelmed. She didn’t want to know how much this place cost per night. “Is that a terrace behind those French windows?”
“Yes, princess. It runs around the suite on three sides. We’re fifteen floors up here. The view of downtown is excellent.”
Belle had no doubt it was. She heard the needle-toothed bellhop humming in the next room, apparently enjoying the process of hanging up a stranger’s clothes. Belle remembered another reason she wished Duvall was with her.
“Um,” she said to the manager. “My husband mentioned the local currency is different. I haven’t had a chance to exchange the money I brought for tips.”
The manager was around Belle’s age, very pulled together and attractive. She had the unflappable demeanor many people in her line of work strove to cultivate. Nonetheless, Belle saw she’d surprised her.
“You needn’t worry about gratuities. Serving a prince like your husband is an honor.”
Belle wasn’t sure what to say to that. As far as she knew, even in Resurrection honor didn’t pay bills - a fact of life the bellhop at least was liable to care about. Minimum wage would only go so far.
“All done!” that individual chirped, beaming with her two zillion teeth. In honor of the holiday, her cute red cap bore a band of tiger stripes. “I’m Anemone if you need anything while you’re here.”
“I’ll let you know,” Belle said through her bemusement. If Anemone secretly turned into a shark, Belle wasn’t letting her draw her bath.
The manager cleared her throat at her subordinate.
Giggling, Anemone dropped into a quick curtsey. With a respectful bow of her own, the manager and the girl withdrew, leaving Belle alone in the gargantuan suite of rooms. She glanced toward the bed chamber, wondering if she should finish unpacking. She was strangely reluctant to venture in alone. She wasn’t used to the sort of surprises that might lurk here. Would she find a giant four-poster carved out of solid gold? Would it have twenty mattresses and twenty featherbeds piled upon a pea?
Most importantly, would she care if Duvall showed up to bounce on them with her?
That idea sent her gaze to the suite’s double doored entry. Footsteps sounded like they were approaching. Perhaps her husband and their driver had concluded their presumably life and death errand.
Deciding Duvall could do with reminding this was their honeymoon, Belle strode over to find out.
“Oh,” Duvall said, coming to a halt as she swung the door open. The huge demon hulked a few paces behind him in the corridor. She was under the impression they’d taken the stairs, but neither seemed winded.
Then again, fifteen flights might be nothing to them.
“Were you going out?” Duvall asked.
Their eyes met, and the arousal she never could stave off around him zinged through her. Annoyed by that at the moment, Belle crossed her arms. “I was looking for you. What were you two doing that was so important you couldn’t come up with me?”
“Um,” Duvall said evasively.
“We were discussing tips,” the demon interjected before Duvall could dream up a story that wouldn’t count as a lie.
“Tips,” Belle repeated, having learned a husband who couldn’t fib wasn’t the same as one who always told the truth.
“Sometimes staff are shy about holding their hands out to a faerie.”
“That’s a fact,” her husband agreed with a smidgen too much relief.
“The prince was going to provide me with a supply of cash. That way I can handle thanking them for you.”
Given his cue, Duvall drew out a gold money clip that was stuffed an inch thick with dark magenta and lime green notes. He peeled off six of the pink ones, each of which bore the numeral 1,000. Without a blink, Darius tucked them away in his breast pocket.
“The front desk can break those into smaller bills,” her husband said. “We’ll call you if we go out.”
Darius nodded, bowed to each of them in turn, and headed off to his room.
Belle might have bought this charade if her husband’s fingers weren’t twinkling faintly around their tips. She’d seen him perform a similar trick involving a condom once. With a restraint she thought she ought to earn a medal for, she waited until he’d shut the door to explode.
“You magicked that money!” she accused. “Darius will be tipping people with counterfeits!”
“What?” Duvall said, obviously startled by her anger.
“It’s not okay to do that. If someone gets caught with your fakes, they could be arrested. Even if they’re not, you’re devaluing the currency.”
“Belle,” he said, taking her by the arms. When she tried to yank away from his soothing, he wouldn’t let her go. “Belle, listen to me. I haven’t had a chance to go to the bank, so, yes, I magicked that money. Darius and I had a private conversation. I didn’t wish to share it with you.”
“You let him lie for you.”
“Yes, I did. I’m sorry for the ... disrespect that implied. You should know, however, that the money I gave him is worth more than regular bills. If Darius figures out it was magicked, he’ll probably keep it for himself and pay the tips from his own pocket.”
“It’s worth more than real?” Belle asked.
“Considerably more. It’s made of pure fae magic, and that’s valuable. Darius could probably buy his own limo just by grinding those few bills up.”
“Oh,” Belle said, feeling stupid now. “I ... I’m sorry. I should have given you more credit.”
Duvall stroked her lamentably straight hair around her face. “You didn’t know. If you’d been correct in your assumptions, my act would have been irresponsible.”
Belle let out a rueful laugh. Married a couple weeks and already her husband knew how much she disliked saying
I’m sorry
. The only thing that made her feel better was knowing he hated being in the wrong just as much.
“Are we all right then?” he asked, sliding his hands to cup her shoulders. With that one caress, tension melted out of her.
“We’re all right,” she said huskily. “Especially if you carry me into the bedroom.”
~
Duvall was aware he’d dodged a bullet. If pressed to explain his chat with Darius in detail, he’d surely have annoyed Belle. He didn’t want to do that. His body hadn’t forgotten their interrupted kissing session on the driver over. Now that they were alone again, everything he’d hoped they’d do surged back into his head.
Giddy with relief that their fight was over, he swept her up as requested into his arms.
She gasped at his swiftness, then looked pleased and embarrassed at the same time.
“You can be a girl with me,” he teased, smiling down at her. “I won’t forget how strong you are.”
As he carried her, Belle twined her arms happily behind his neck. “I love you,” she sighed. “Please warn me if there’s a twenty-four karat bed in there.”
“What?” he asked, nearly missing his step.
“A gold bed. I need to prepare myself if there’s one.”
They were inside the room, so he looked. Everything appeared as promised on the Grande’s website. Duvall wasn’t a woman, of course, but to his eyes the bed was large and pretty, netted up like a wedding veil with magically preserved wildflowers strung on it. The four elaborate posts that held the canopy were gleaming, but he didn’t think they were gold.
“I believe it’s made of electrum,” he informed her, since she hadn’t turned her head. “Better for holding spells.”
“Electrum?”
“A silver and gold alloy.”
Then she did look and, to his dismay, wriggled like a cat right out of his arms. His faerie strength did him no good at all. “Holy crap,” she said, both hands pressed to her blushing cheeks. “If there are doves in there, I’m leaving.”
“Why would there be doves?”
Should
there be doves?
“It’s pretty. It’s romantic.”
Belle’s hands remained plastered to her face. “I think I’m not wearing nice enough underwear.”
Now he truly was befuddled. When he’d tried to take her in a limo, she’d practically demanded a fancy bed. Sometimes females of all races perplexed him. “Belle, I don’t care about your underwear. I just want you out of it.”
“Hold on,” she said, grabbing a small black case the hotel staff must have brought in for her. “I need five minutes in the bathroom.” She threw another leery glance at the festooned bed. “Better make that ten.”
She slipped away as slickly as a fae would have done.
“Belle!” he said to the shut bathroom door. How had this happened? Why hadn’t he guessed he was overdoing it? Looking back, every step he’d taken since getting off the train had been a stumble. His throat felt too tight to swallow, though if there’d been a carafe of orange juice in the room, he’d have downed the whole thing.
At least if he were tipsy, he’d have an excuse for being confused.
“Belle,” he said more quietly, one hand flattened on the door. “If you’d feel more comfortable, I can make all this go away.”
“No!” she said, sounding breathless - from what, he couldn’t tell. “I love it. Just ... let me dress up for you.”
His eyebrows rose. She was dressing up in there? As in lace and silk and wires that pressed women’s bodies into interesting shapes? Belle’s nicest clothes tended to fall in the range of business casual. Even on their wedding night - which had been delightful - she hadn’t worn fancy underthings for him.
“Is there silk?” he asked hopefully.
“There is,” she said, a muffled laugh in it. “Now go wait on the bed for me.”
He meant to wait, but was too overheated to sit still. He pulled off his jacket, unbuttoned his shirt and dragged out the tails, then gave up on undressing. As he paced from bureau to bed, his cock throbbed heavily in his pants. His skin hummed all over from the influx of magical energy he’d absorbed. All that power needed an outlet, more than doing a spell or two could provide. He was pretty sure he was going to ravish Belle, which he hoped would be all right. Usually ravishing was A-okay with her. She enjoyed being taken over. This honeymoon thing was just knocking him for a loop. Every detail felt like it had to be perfect, and - for the life of him - he couldn’t figure out what perfect was.
At least, he couldn’t until his beloved stepped out of the bathroom.
She’d brushed her beautiful straight brown hair, letting it hang long and unadorned the way he liked. Her face was freshly washed and her feet were bare. The diamond he’d bought her, which she hadn’t worn on the train, twinkled cheerily on her ring finger. This was all the primping he’d have requested, but she’d gone a step further.
The negligee that skimmed her body barely reached the tops of her long fit legs. The silk was blush pink to match her cheeks, the fine lace that scalloped its neckline like buttercream on a wedding cake. Nothing but her shaped the brief garment - no cups, no wires - just the press of her small sharp-tipped breasts and the gentle curve of her willow waist.
She was so lovely he lost his breath.
Nervous, Belle smoothed the fluttering hem over her upper thighs. “Susi said this was The One when we went shopping.”
“Susi is a genius,” he confirmed breathily.
Belle smiled like the sun rising.
“Come here,” he said, holding his arms to her.
She came, wrapping her own arms around his waist underneath the shirt he’d unbuttoned and left open. He could have banished it with his magic, but his wife liked undressing him. She rose onto her toes to bring their heights closer. The slight weight of her breasts pressed his chest deliciously through the silk.
“Lay that pretty mouth on mine,” she said, her voice smoke and poetry. “This time we’re not stopping.”
Fresh anticipation kindled, a match set to an already smoldering fuse. With a rush of breath, he molded his mouth to hers. The kiss that ensued was a slow explosion: deep, wet, tight from the hungry suction they used on each other. Duvall groaned as rich sensations spread through his groin. He gripped her bottom, which was blessedly bare underneath the silk, then dragged her mound to his erection.