Page 30 of Wicked Deeds

I must have looked startled because Damon said, “What?”

“She just laughed. I think.”

His eyes widened. “You talk to her like you do Callum, when he’s wolfed out?”

“Yeah. Though she only speaks Fae. She understands some English but it’s not quite the same.” She seemed smart, so hopefully, as Callum had said, we’d learn from each other.

Damon was holding his hand out to Lianith who sniffed it politely. “We need to get her settled somewhere for the night. I’ll take care of it. You need to shower before your squad gets here.”

“You were working,” I objected.

“It can wait. And it won’t take long to see which guest room she likes,” Damon stroked Lianith’s ear and smiled when she butted her head into his hand like she had with me. Letting them bond might make this all go more smoothly. “Callum said she eats raw meat.”

“I’m sure we’ll find something.” He stopped patting Lianith, came around the desk and kissed me fast. I leaned into it, heat rushing though me as it always did, but all too soon he ended it.

“Go on, go get pretty.”

“I’m already pretty,” I said, pretending to be offended.

“I know,” he said, “but go get even more pretty so everyone will be jealous of me tonight at the gala.”

I laughed. “No. Everyone will be jealous ofme.”

Chapter Eight

“Just out of curiosity,how hard is it to get you out of that dress?” Damon asked, grinning at me from the far side of the back seat of our limo.

I glanced down at the mounds of embroidered midnight-blue silk satin spilling out over the seat. There was a reason Damon was sitting over near the door. My dress took up enough room for three people. Beautiful, but unwieldy. Like the ornate deep-blue sapphires spilling from my ears in loops and whorls. I’d used an illusion on the bracelet Cerridwen had given me, to make it look like sapphires, too. I could remove the illusion now, but the rest would have to wait. The gala had wrapped up before midnight and we were headed home.

Where I would get rid of the dress and drag the man into bed. So, I could be patient. As much as I wanted to let Damon take my clothes off, the dress had cost a mint. One of the ones he insisted on paying for because the theme for the evening required an actual damned ball gown not a mere evening gown. So I wasn’t going to let him ruin it. My girlfriend-of-billionaire dresses got resold or donated to charity auctions when I wasn’t going to be able to wear them again. This one fell firmly into that category.

“Too hard to contemplate in the back of a limo,” I said, holding out a hand to ward him off. Not really necessary with the wall of skirt acting as a barrier.

Pity. We didn’t often use a limo, but tonight had been the kind of event where you had to arrive in style and the gown wouldn’t fit into a regular car. The best thing about the limo was it had a lovely soundproof partition between the driver’s section and the back. And I could reinforce it with an aural ward if Damon and I wanted to indulge in other activities on the way home.

But tonight we were going to have to wait. Which was a waste of the massive back seat.

I pouted. Ball gowns were ridiculous, and this one was worse than most. The bodice was fastened with tiny buttons and the skirt had about a thousand layers of tulle supporting it. It did, however, have pockets hidden in the side seams. I insisted on them whenever it was possible. There had been a couple of slinky evening gowns where I’d had to go without, but the designer had managed it this time. But even with pockets, it was a hundred percent impractical. The satin was treated with nano tech to stop it wrinkling, but nothing could alter how much space it took up.

“It’s unfair that they wrap you up in these beautiful things and then make you hard to unwrap,” Damon said.

I shrugged. “Well, you know, you can complain to the people who put on your galas about their dress codes.” Tonight had been a Marie Antoinette theme. A bit on the nose for billionaires, but at least they hadn’t gone full fancy dress.

As much as I didn’t enjoy wearing ball gowns, I did love Damon in a tux. Something about the black and white against his dark hair and brilliant blue eyes just did it for me. Even more than usual.

“Hmm, if I can’t take it off. What about an alternative approach so to speak?” Damon asked, loosening his seat belt and sliding a little closer, pushing more of the fabric into my lap.

At least it wouldn’t wrinkle. But I still didn’t think he was going to get far. As much as I wanted him to, as I watched his eyes go hot and intent. “I’m warning you, there are about fifty layers of tulle beneath this.” I flicked my fingers at one of the roses embroidered on the skirt.

His brows flew up. “Isn’t that…scratchy?”

“Welcome to women’s clothes,” I said, teasing him. “They’re often dumb, or hadn’t you noticed? But there are layers of other things between me and the tulle.” I wasn’t an idiot. I could put up with a dress that was tight or heavy or awkward, but I wasn’t going to put up with one that was actually painful.

“So you’re just too hot, not itchy?”

“Fortunately I know how to do a cooling charm now. So as least I didn’t sweat my way through six courses.”

The ballroom of the Phenix Hotel had been decorated with extravagant garlands of white roses intertwined with tiny golden bees and lilies. In between the flowers were tall white candles in golden candlesticks. On the tables, on stands around the room, and lighting the elaborate chandeliers.

---