Donovan flipped his hand and entwined his fingers in mine again. I jolted, trying to keep my heart from hammering out of my chest. He squeezed my hand, and the power and strength in his huge fingers left me breathless. “Connor never gives up. Now that he knows he cannot fool you, he will be thinking of other ways to seduce you to his side.”
“It takes more than a wink and a smile to get me into bed,” I said weakly. I tried to tug my hand out from his. This was too intimate. If Cress walked in and saw us now, she’d rip off both my hands and wear them as earrings. “So… uh…” Damn, this was awkward. Maybe I should remind him that he was taken. “Has Connor tried to corrupt Cress?”
“Of course.” Donovan grimaced. “Not that it did him any good. Cress’s heart is already as black as coal—it would be like trying to corrupt a demon to sin. But despite her penchant for killing things, at her core lies a strong impulse to protect the weak, which is at odds with Connor’s desire to dominate them. Also, I suspect he does not wish to woo her to his side because he is worried she would stick a dagger in his back as soon as it was turned. Cress has many faults, and she is, as you say, a giant pain in the ass, but she is loyal and very close to me, and he knows it,” he said grudgingly. “He will not try to trick her again. Her motto is fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, you better run.”
I nodded. “Fair enough.” A yawn escaped; I couldn't help it. It was so late, and all the tension and stress had finally caught up with me.
“You are tired.” Donovan stood up abruptly. “You will take rest.”
“I guess I am a little sleepy.”
The crowds parted as we walked through the pub, Donovan leading the way. Sodden revelers behaved like liquid before him, automatically drifting aside to let him pass. The thump of music followed us up the threadbare steps, quieting a little on the hotel floor.
I stopped at the first door and tapped lightly. The door cracked open. Cecil, back in full duocorn mode, had a mud-pack face mask on and held a martini in his hand. He raised an eyebrow. “Can I help you?”
“I just wanted to make sure you’re comfortable.”
The bitchy look on Cecil’s face disappeared. “Chosen. That’s sweet. I’m fine, though.” He cracked the door open a little wider. “I’ve made myself a little nest on the floor.”
I looked inside. Bart was already asleep, a big mound on the bed, chest rising and falling. The bed was still small, but the comforter and sheets looked suspiciously like the hideously expensive designer set I’d seen in Vogue Living. The walls, too, seemed to be papered in silk primrose rather than matching the chipped whitewashed walls of the corridor. A giant golden papasan chair sat on the floor beside the bed, covered with cushy pillows. Instead of a mini bar, there was a tiny antique drinks trolley with crystal glasses. “You’ve made yourself at home.”
He shrugged. “I’m a magical creature, Chosen; it’s my gift. I can’t change the size of anything, but I can make myself comfortable. I did your room, too. I didn’t have much to work with, but I did manage to jazz up your bathroom a little.”
I smiled at him. “Thanks, Cecil. You are wonderful.”
He preened for a second, then shunted his normal bitchy expression back on his face. “Now fuck off,” he ordered. “I need my beauty sleep.”
Donovan checked on Nate and Eryk, and found them in their tiny room, hovering three feet off the ground in a warded circle, cross-legged, heads back, snoring loudly.
“That can’t be comfortable.” I muttered. “Are they okay?”
“They will be once they recharge. We are all depleted.”
I turned to face him; he had dark circles under his eyes. “You need to sleep, too.” Mindful that Cress would come back at some point, I nodded back at Nate and Eryk’s room. “Since neither of them are using the bed, I can bunk in there with them—”
“No. You will stay with me.” He plucked the key out of my hand and opened the last door on the left.
It creaked open, and I looked inside. As promised, Cecil had redecorated in soft pastels and soothing cream shades. He’d made the room beautiful and cozy and luxurious, but still. There was only one bed.
“There’s… uh. You don’t… uh.” This was so awkward.
Donovan was already at his usual brooding spot by the window. “I will keep watch while you bathe.”
“Okay.” Nate and Eryk had brought up my suitcase, so I wriggled my toiletries bag out of my case and disappeared into the bathroom.
Cecil had done a lovely job. The bathroom was still tiny, but he had replaced the stained porcelain and rusty taps, refitting it with golden fixtures and a marble sink. The walls were tiled in a very chic emerald-green hounds tooth pattern, and he’d replaced the shower nozzle with a waterfall attachment.
I turned towards the antique mirror and took a look at myself. The golden overhead lights made me look far more beautiful than usual. My cheeks were flushed, my eyes bright. I looked almost feverish.
My goodness, being horny was almost painful. I felt like a cat in heat. I couldn’t suppress the ache, the empty, yawning feeling in my core, the desperate need to be filled. It wasn’t exactly a foreign feeling—I’d had a spectacular sex life with Vincent. I’d spent most nights since my breakdown craving the feel of his rough stubble on my cheeks, his hands on my bare skin.
But the idea of Vincent made me want to vomit.
Now, Donovan was just outside the door, and I burned for him.
My gut churned. Donovan seemed intent on staying with me and guarding me for the night. At some point, Cress would come back. She needed sleep, too.
Even if their marriage was arranged—even if they despised each other—she would murder me if I touched him.
And why would he want me to touch him? He was a god. I was an over-the-hill, dried-up old bag.
Although… I turned towards the mirror and eyed myself critically. I still looked good. Actually, I probably looked better than I did ten years ago. Like a lot of women my age, I spent most of my twenties and thirties starving myself to fit in with the rake-thin women in my social circle, and now, with a tiny bit of weight lingering from my medication and incarceration, my skin looked plumper. I looked less gaunt, more rosy. Softer. Who knew that the secret to avoiding wrinkles in your forties was to get a little chubby?
I stripped, dumped my jeans and shirt, and let my hair down. It skimmed over my bare shoulders, tickling me deliciously. With a groan of frustration, I stepped into the shower, turned it on ice-cold, and forced myself to stand there until the heat died down.
It didn’t help.
I rummaged around in my overnight case, looking for the pajamas I knew I’d packed, but there was nothing in there. In fact, it looked like most of the clothes I’d thrown in had been swapped out. I picked up a ridiculously sexy lacy black negligee out of the pile and frowned. Cecil.
I rummaged a little further. There was nothing else suitable for sleeping in, and the negligee was soft and silky, so I put it on and checked myself out in the mirror. Oh, good grief. I looked like I walked off the set of a daytime soap opera—a villain, the vixen coming to steal the heart of the virtuous male lead—all black lace, boobs, hips, and lips. There was no masking the flush in my cheeks, no disguising the glaze of desire in my eyes.
Fuck it. If I was going to get murdered after tonight, I’d go doing something I loved—staring at something beautiful.
I squared my shoulders and walked out of the bathroom.
Donovan was asleep on his feet, his head resting against the glass of the window. The hard lines of his face had softened, his jaw untensed. Every single one of my selfish, petty desires vanished.
I had no idea when he had last slept. The others had napped on the plane while he held my hand and watched over me. He must be exhausted.
