Page 43 of Summoned
I restrain myself from asking how he knows. He’s probably been circling us like an invisible stalker, waiting to catch hold of some sordid little secret. Because that’s what the Black Joker does, doesn’t he? Just a second ago, he had fooled meinto thinking there was anything human about him. But his last answer helped me wake up. He clearly revels in every bit of his role.
“It wasn’t planned,” I say. “I didn’t go out with him because of Boyana. I ran into him outside the club, and he struck up a conversation.”
“A curious coincidence. Was it the first time that’s happened to you?”
“Being approached by a man? Hardly.”
A memory flashes through my mind—Georgi Ganev, Boyana’s great love, who kept texting me behind her back. One evening, out of pure boredom, I responded.
“Some might think you do it just to prove you’re better than her,” Gaetano says.
I force a smile, but irritation flares through my chest that he would even suggest such a thing. “There’s no need for proof. Iambetter than her.”
He presses his lips together. “Of course, Nicole. Now draw a card.”
Beneath my ribs, serpents slither through me, pushing me to argue with him. I’m not sure what I’m trying to convince him of. Maybe I just want to wipe that smug expression off his face—the one implying he’s not fooled by my façade.
I flip a new card.La Tentazione. I don’t recognize the word, but my cheeks flush. The illustration speaks for itself: a nude female figure, shown from the front, surrounded by tendrils of black smoke. Her breasts are full, with rosy nipples, and a dark triangle shadows the space between her thighs. She’s seated on her buttocks, propped up on her palms, head thrown back so her face disappears into the outline. Her legs are slightly parted—just enough to offer an invitation.
“My favorite card,” Gaetano says.
Tension forces me to swallow as the fire in his gazeintensifies. “What’s the condition?”
“You have five minutes to tempt me. Make me want you, and you’ll earn the right to ask your question. Fail, and I’ll be the one asking.”
A shiver ripples down my spine. “To tempt you? But how—?”
A ticking noise reaches my ears. A second later, a clock appears in the air between us, gently swaying back and forth. Its long hand begins to count down, while the shorter one remains fixed at the top. Instead of numbers, its face is surrounded by black symbols pulsing with an eerie glow.
The room’s temperature rises, or perhaps that’s just me. Gaetano rests his bound hands on the table. His expression remains composed, with a hint of curiosity and anticipation. He seems sure I don’t have the nerve to do what’s required.
“The clock is ticking, Baroness,” he says. “Five minutes. If the symbols glow red when time drains away, you may consider it a victory.”
The shiver across my skin becomes an electric jolt, like a current. Fuck. What am I supposed to do? My heart is pounding, my throat is dry, but I force myself not to let it show. Gaetano wants me to hesitate.
I exhale slowly and sink into my chair. “Are there…any limitations? On what I’m allowed to use?” I ask, letting my hand trail along the armrest.
I wait for his reaction. No movement or change in expression—save for the faintest narrowing of his pupils.
“None,” he says.
I cross one leg over the other. The fabric of the robe slips over my thigh, revealing a smooth stretch of skin. Nothing vulgar. Nothing overt. But just enough to catch his eye.
Leaning forward, with the clock’s ticking above me, I let my fingers drift along the edge of the table. I reach for hisbound wrists, but instead of touching him, I start to idly play with the golden chain. I trace the metal, slow and unhurried, letting my fingers brush the skin of his forearm in passing. His pupils dilate, just barely. It’s something.
“You know…” I murmur. “I wonder…Have any of yourharvestsever made you lose control?”
“I’m always the one in control,” he says. “And you have two and a half minutes left.”
My stomach clenches. ‘I’m always the one in control’ is supposed to be my line. Especially in moments like this: one-on-one, tension thick, a dangerously attractive man across from me. That’s usually my arena. I make them sweat, stammer, surrender. But right now, it’s the seams ofmyarmor that are splitting, and Gaetano is pulling the strings.
I check the black hands of the clock for confirmation. If I don’t act now, I’ll lose this round, too.
I rise and circle the table. His mouth curves into a smile as I grasp his hands. The heat that surges through my fingers at the contact is startling. I shift quickly, placing his hands in his lap.
Perching on the edge of the table, right in front of him, I lift one leg to settle it over his thighs. My robe parts, revealing the red lace of my underwear. I don’t shy away. Instead, I plant both palms on the table behind me, arching my back just enough to make the satin-covered swell of my breasts jut forward, copying the figure on the card.
Gaetano’s gaze slides down the line of the robe between my breasts, over the exposed skin of my stomach, to the lace that conceals almost nothing, and finally, the bare stretch of my thighs.
