Nora Roberts - The Pagan Stone

As she left the room, Gage pushed away from the table and followed her.

“Look, you’ve already proved a lot today.”

Reaching in her purse she hunted for her cards.

“There’s no need to deal from your magic deck tonight. You’re tired.”

“You’re right, I am tired.” But it was annoying to be told so when she’d gone to the trouble to mask it. “I imagine in the days before the Seven, and during it, you and Cal and Fox function at a state well beyond tired.”

“When it comes to that, choices are limited to none. It hasn’t come to that yet.”

“But it will. And while I’m not above needing or wanting to prove something, this isn’t about that. I appreciate the concern, but-”

She broke off when he took her arm. “I don’t like being concerned.”

The look on his face was one of barely restrained frustration. “No, I bet you don’t. I can’t help you with that, Gage.”

“Look. Look.” The frustration rippled again, more visibly. “Let’s just get something straight, right from the jump.”

“By all means.”

“The way the others have hooked up, that’s not in the cards. Not those,” he said pointing at the Tarot deck. “Not mine, not any. It’s not about love songs and playing house for me.”

She angled her head, kept an easy, reasonable smile on her face. “Are you under the impression I want you to sing to me, and play house?”

“Cut it out, Cybil.”

“No, you cut it out, you arrogant ass. If you’ve got some jitters that I’m somehow going to spin you in my web until you’re serenading under my window and picking out china patterns, that’s your problem.” She shot a finger at him and her smile was no longer easy and reasonable, but had hardened to a sneer. “If you actually have it in your tiny brain that I would want that, you’re just stupid. Which is redundant due to tiny brain, and I hate being annoyed enough to be redundant.”

“Are you going to stand there and try to tell me that when the rest of them are falling off the cliff like lemmings, you haven’t given a thought to grabbing hold and dragging me off with you?”

“What a lovely image, and quite the testament to your views on our friends’ feelings for each other.”

“It’s apt enough,” he muttered. “Add in Quinn’s buzzing vibes and it strikes me as pretty damn reasonable to lay it out.”

“Then let me lay this out. If and when I decide I want a man for the long term, it won’t be because Fate crammed him down my throat. If and when,” she repeated, “and contrary to what you with your sexist stupidity might believe-not every woman is looking for long-term-I won’t need to grab or drag. If I did, I wouldn’t want the son of a bitch. You’re safe from my wiles and whims, you narcissistic jerk. If that doesn’t reassure you, you can kiss my ass.”

She shoved by him, marched into the dining room to slap the deck on the table. “I need to clear my head first,” she said to no one in particular, then sailed out into the kitchen and through the back door.

After a quick glance at Cal, Quinn headed out after her. “She’s mighty pissed,” Quinn commented when Layla stepped out behind her.

“So I see.”

After a rapid stride up the deck and down again, Cybil whirled to them. “Even in my current state of blind rage, I’m not going to say all men are arrogant, ignorant pigs who deserve a good kick in their precious balls.”

“Just one particular man,” Quinn translated.

“One particular, who just had the nerve to warn me that any secret, cherished dreams I might have regarding him are held in vain.”

“Oh God.” The hands Quinn put to her face muffled a sound caught between a groan and a snorting laugh.

“I shouldn’t mistake the fact that the four of you, who’ve run over the cliff like lemmings, I may add, are a precursor of my future bliss with him.”

“As I’m not certain his healing powers are a match for the Wrath of the Cyb, do we need to call nine-one-one?”

“If so,” Layla considered, “we should let him suffer a little while longer first. Lemmings?”

“To be fair, though God knows why I should be, I’d say that remark was more due to his concern over his own situation than his opinion of any of you.”

Quinn cleared her throat. “Ah, just to throw a wrench at the monkey, it’s also possible he went asshat because he’s projecting somewhat, due to complicated feelings for and about you.”

Cybil merely shrugged at Quinn. “That would be his problem.”

“Absolutely. But in your position I’d take some satisfaction from that. The possibility that he’s not as worried you’ll fall for him as he is he’ll fall for you.”

Now Cybil pursed her lips. Temper throttled back to give consideration room on the road. “Hmm. I was too mightily pissed to see that angle. I like it. I ought to give him the Treatment.”

“Dear God, Cyb.” With exaggerated horror on her face, Quinn gripped her friend’s arm. “Not the Treatment.”

“What’s the Treatment?” Layla demanded. “Does it hurt?”

“The Treatment, designed and implemented by Cybil Kinski, is many faceted and multilayered,” Quinn told her. “No man can hold against it.”

“It’s approach, attitude, response.” Absently, Cybil brushed at her hair. “Knowing the quarry and adjusting that approach, attitude, and response to his specific qualifications. You can add in seduction and sex if that’s acceptable to you, but it’s really more about luring them to exactly where you want them. Eye contact, body language, conversation, wardrobe-all of that specifically tailored toward the man in question.”

She let out a huff of breath. “But this isn’t the time for that sort of thing. No matter how much he deserves it. But after this is over…”

“Okay, I have to know,” Layla decided. “How would you tailor the Treatment for Gage?”

“It’s elemental, really. He prefers sophisticated women with some style. Though he probably thinks otherwise, he’s more truly attracted to-because he respects-women of strength. She shouldn’t be coy about sex, but if she’s sure, buddy, let’s roll, he’s not going to think about her twice afterward. He likes brains, leavened with humor.”

“Ah, don’t hit me,” Layla said, “but it sounds like you’re describing yourself.”

That put a momentary hitch in Cybil’s stride, but she continued. “Unlike Fox, we’ll say, he isn’t inclined to nurture. Unlike Cal, he isn’t drawn to his roots, or to putting them down. He gambles, and a woman who knows how to play the game well would draw his attention. One who knows how to win, and how to lose. He can be drawn in physically-but what man can’t-but only to a point. He has excellent control under most circumstances, so control would be key in drawing him.”

“She’d have notes on all of this if she were going to do it.” Like a proud mama, Quinn beamed at Cybil. “Then she’d do a detailed outline.”

“Of course, but since this is just hypothetical…” Moving her shoulders, Cybil continued. “He requires challenge, so you’d have to walk the line between interest and disinterest, giving him just enough of both. No running hot and cold, which, oddly enough, some men can’t resist, but finding just the right temperature-then varying it at unexpected moments to keep him just a bit off balance. And-”

She stopped, shook her head. “Doesn’t matter, as I’m not going to do it. The stakes are too high to play that kind of game.”

“When we were in college, she used it on this guy who cheated on me, then suggested we have a threesome with the girl he cheated on me with. Oink.” After slinging an arm around Cybil’s shoulders, Quinn gave Cybil a hard squeeze. “Cyb wound that fuckhead up like a clock, then just when he thought his alarm was going to go off, slapped him off the nightstand. It was beautiful. But yeah, probably inappropriate under our current circumstances.”