Kim Harrison - The Undead Pool

His expression became serious, and his hand almost slipped from mine. “I’ve had a long time to think about it.”

“This can’t work!”

He looked down, then jerked his head up in frustration as his fingers tightened on mine. “I’m not asking you to marry me, Rachel. I just . . .”

My heart pounded, and he stepped closer, so close the scent of cinnamon and wine enveloped me.

“I like walking into a room and seeing your face light up when you see me,” he said earnestly, the sun from the open window making his hair glow. “I like arguing with Quen over the wisdom of employing a demon to be my security.”

My throat caught. This wasn’t going to happen, but something in me was withering. I wanted more—and I knew I couldn’t have it.

He touched my hair, and I twitched as he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “I want to wake up beside you, see your curls on my pillow. I want a chance at falling in love.”

My breath came fast. That was what I wanted too, and it hurt more than I thought was possible to survive. “Stop,” I said, hardly able to breathe the word. “I can’t. Don’t do this.”

I couldn’t help it, and a tear slipped out. His arms went around me, and I began to sob. His strength enfolding me felt so good, so honest. And it wasn’t mine.

Why not? a mystic asked, and I couldn’t answer.

“Please, just stop. Go away,” I said, my voice weepy.

But he didn’t. “I know you’re scared,” he said, rocking me so slowly it almost was no motion at all.

“I’m not,” I said, head buried in his shoulder, touching him, being held, finding strength though it hurt even more.

“You are,” he said, his words easing through me. “I want to love someone. I think I might already.”

A small noise escaped me, and I shoved him away. Love? “You son of a bastard!” I exclaimed, and he blinked at me in surprise. “How dare you walk into my kitchen and tell me you might love me. You know it won’t work! The elves don’t want it. The demons won’t allow it! We do this, and you lose everything!”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said, his shock evolving into an amazed wonder tinged with the bare hints of amusement. “I finally found out what you’re scared of, Rachel Morgan, and why you keep spending time with men and women who can’t give you what you need.”

“I am not scared,” I said, terrified. “I’m a realist!”

“You’re scared,” he said calmly. “And I’m going to prove it.”

“You’re . . .” I said, falling back when he paced to me, his expression intent. He was looking at my mouth. “Hey!”

His hands grabbed my shoulders firmly and yanked me across the few feet that separated us. “Trent, you, mmmph,” I managed to get out as he stole a kiss, a wild, wonderful, passionate kiss.

His lips were heavy on mine, an erotic mix of demand and softness. My hands against his shoulders were set to push him back, but I couldn’t, shocked at the sudden surge of desire that burst from my core, flaring through me like flash paper.

Eyes closed, my back hit the counter.

Emotion vibrated up through me. My hands clenched on him and my eyes opened. Heart thudding in my chest, I shoved him back and away. Oh God, it was a fabulous kiss. I could hardly think. “That might work on your secretary,” I said, looking him up and down and imagining him naked. “But I’m smarter than that. Get out! Now!”

I pointed at the door, the mystics in me glowing, adding to my ardor.

Trent didn’t move, eyeing me, reading my lie. “You are scared,” he said, and the scent of cinnamon made my knees weak. “Screw them, Rachel. They don’t matter. You are a demon, and I just told my fiancée to get out. Tell me you don’t want to see where this could go. I am not going to live with regret for not having tried.”

He stepped closer, and I retreated, wanting to touch him, wanting to run my hands between him and his shirt. I couldn’t move as he slipped into my personal space, and I shut my eyes, pretending that if I couldn’t see him, I wouldn’t have to tell him to leave. I wasn’t breathing, and vertigo spilled through me.

“Tell me you’ve not wanted to know for a long time,” he whispered, and I quailed as his hand touched my shoulder. “Tell me that, right now, and I will leave.”

The memory of his expression when he found me beaten and struggling under the city swam up, his anger at someone harming me and his shared pain at my bruises.

“Don’t. Don’t go.”

Trent’s breath came in with a shaky sound. His touch on my shoulder changed, becoming less fragile.

“Please don’t go,” I said, eyes opening to see his relief. “I don’t want to be alone anymore.” How could something be so wrong and so right all at the same time? No, not wrong, just difficult.

He pulled me close, our bodies touching their entire lengths. “You’ve never been alone.”

“But I have,” I said, the tears starting up again. Damn it, I didn’t want to cry, but it didn’t seem to matter as Trent kissed me lightly, his lips never the same place twice.

“Don’t go to the ever-after,” he said. “We can figure this out.”

The ever-after was the last thing on my mind, and I made a choking laugh. “I was hoping you would come to stop me. I really think I was.”

He was smiling as I wiped my eyes, and still we remained where we were, pressed against each other. “Hell of a way to make a man put his priorities in order.”

I tugged him closer, wanting to run my finger along a line of faint stubble. “What took you so long?”

My head pressed against his shoulder, and I felt his breath in my hair. “Scared, I think. I have so many eyes on me.”

“I know what you mean.” What had just happened? All I knew was my relief was overwhelming, a tired acceptance and a sensation that everything was going to be all right, no matter what. My hands traced the outlines of his shoulders, and I let them follow the lines of his muscles down lower, anticipation stirring in me as he tensed.

His breath came and went, moving my hair. And still we stood there.

“Where is everyone?”

His words sparked through me, a thousand feelings, only one question. A flash of passion flickered and settled into a steady, demanding burn. Trent was here. Everything was different. Nothing felt wrong. My hand rose back up, finding a new tension in his shoulder. But he’d asked me something.

“Out.” I tilted my head and breathed long and slow in his ear. Once. Twice. Three times. Neither one of us moved. We both knew where this might go. My heart pounded, and finally I leaned my weight into him, stretching until my lips found his earlobe and I gently fastened on it, tugging suggestively. “All of them,” I breathed, not letting go.

Trent shifted, and I suddenly found myself pressed up against the wall beside the archway. My eyes opened. Desire was hot in his eyes, and a faint smile crossed me as I wondered if I’d find out if he’d taken Al up on that circumcision curse. “Mr. Kalamack,” I said playfully, and he took my wrists and pinned them to the wall beside my head. There was just enough force in it, the demand tempered by passion, and it zinged through me, lighting me alive.

“I was kind of hoping you might not be a talker.”

I ran a foot up his pant leg, then back down. “Then give my lips something to do.”