Hold Me If You Can (9 page)

And practicing his skills under the radar of the genie lords would be fantastic. Because, as amazing as the spinach salad was, Mari was right. He was rusty.

They could help each other. She would give him opportunities to practice until he was ready to wipe the world clean in one swoop. And then he would give her dreamless peace the way he hadn’t been able to save Prunella.

At last, perhaps, he would be given the chance to atone for the fact he had not been able to save his own daughter. Save Mari. Save the world. All in the name of his beautiful daughter.

He smiled and felt the world shift to his power for the first time in centuries. The dream genie was reawakening, and soon the world would receive the greatest gift of all.

It was time.

He held out his hand. “I agree to the deal, my dear.”

Mari shook his hand, and he smiled as he scanned her mind. Oh, yes, she would be easy to cleanse when it was time.

The world would soon be resting in dreamless serenity.

Dreams of hot, sexy warriors were good.

Nightmares of being sucked into bottomless pits of fire, poisonous smoke, and monsters with really big teeth? Not so much.

Or at least, she
really
hoped it was an illusion.

Scalding hot air rushed past Natalie’s face as she catapulted down a bottomless pit of blackness. Glowing red eyes flashed in the darkness, claws ripped at her skin. Piercing shrieks of agony and howls of the damned ripped through the darkness. She screamed, scrambled to stop the fall, but there was nothing to hold on to. Her fingernails tore as she grabbed for the rocky walls, her grip failing as she plummeted toward the fire, toward the darkness, toward
hell.
The scent of sulfur burned her nose, tears stung her cheeks, and her skin bubbled with heat.

“Natalie. Come back to me.” Nigel’s voice penetrated the fire and brimstone assault, and she clung to it, gasping as she fought for air, for consciousness.

She caught the scent of chocolate, and it overrode the acrid pungency of the demon-infested sinkhole. The pit of hell sucked at her, trying to drag her back into it. She inhaled more deeply, latching desperately onto the smell of decadent chocolate, using the familiar scent to draw her back into consciousness, into safety.

It’s only a dream, Natalie.
It
has
to
let
you
go.
The heat began to fade. The screams retreated. She became aware of a cold, hard cement floor against her back. It hadn’t been real. There would be no scratches on her arms. No burns on her skin.

Not real. Not real. Not real.

“Come on, Natalie. Back to me now.”

Nigel’s urgent demand jolted her the rest of the way into full consciousness, and she jerked her eyes open. She was lying on her back on the floor of her back room, fluorescent light glaring. She threw up her arm to protect her face, half-expecting a demon to leap out at her, teeth bared—

“Natalie! Look at me.” Nigel moved, and suddenly a shadow broke up the blinding glare as Nigel leaned forward, his broad shoulders blocking the light.

She saw he was sitting on a crate, looming over her. It was Nigel. Not a demon. Not a monster. He smiled and laid his hand on her cheek. “You’re okay. It was only a dream.”

“Oh, God.” She put her hand to her forehead, felt the sweat beading. Relief shuddered through her body.
Nigel
was
with
her.
His boot-clad feet were on either side of her head, and he was leaning over her, his forearms propped on his thighs. His presence was huge and powerful, chasing away the final remnants of the hell she’d just visited.

“Nigel,” she whispered. “You’re here.” Her voice was raw, as if she’d been screaming, and it hurt to talk, as if she really had been falling down the hole of hell before Nigel had commanded her return. “I had another episode, didn’t I?”

“You had something,” he agreed. “But you’re okay now.” He brushed his fingers over her cheek, and his touch eased her. “Are you working with Mari and Angelica?”

His touch might be gentle, but the pink rose on Nigel’s cheek was so bright it was almost glowing, and muscles were ticking in his cheek. His palms were dark with embers, and his eyes were hooded and dark. The man was on edge, and he was fighting to stay in control.

“I’m not working with them. I’d never do that.” She started to sit up, but Nigel’s hands went to her shoulders, holding her down on the bed of newspaper.

“Your face is still gray. Stay.” His touch softened, urging her not to move instead of ruthlessly forcing her to bend to his well. But she knew it was still an order. He was in her space, and it didn’t feel all that nurturing and protective. The darkness in his eyes was edged with a dark unrest.

“I need space.” She twisted out of his grip and sat up.

He caught her before she pulled away, and he tugged her toward him until she was wedged between his knees. He was pure, lethal force, danger, and anger. Not directed at her specifically, but swirling like a rising tide of aggression. His gentle concern seemed to have vanished, replaced by a dangerous undercurrent of power.

“Turn it off,” she said. She was way too on edge to deal with this kind of attitude from him. She tugged, trying to free herself to give herself distance from the energy swirling around him. “Nigel,” she said gently, “let me go.”

Sudden awareness flashed in his eyes, and his gaze went to his hands, where he was gripping her so tightly. He jerked his hands back and loosened his knees, as if he were shocked to discover he’d been holding her so aggressively. “Shit. Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She scooted back instinctively, even though a part of her wanted to reach out to him and help him chase away the shadows. “What’s wrong with you, Nigel?” This aggressive side just wasn’t like him. She knew him, she’d been watching him, and he simply didn’t do that kind of thing.

“More than you want to know.” He didn’t stand. Didn’t move. Just kept his forearms resting on his thighs, his knees apart, as if she was still sandwiched between them. She could still feel the pressure of his legs on her hips when he’d held her between them. Heat poured through her at the reminder of how much more powerful he was than she. She supposed it should be terrifying, but it wasn’t. Because it was Nigel, and that made the knowledge compelling. Exciting. Stirring.

“Tell me,” she said. “What’s wrong?” But even as she asked, she realized what it was. Relief rushed through her. “You need to draw, don’t you?” Without his art, he had no outlet for the darkness inside him. “Do you want a pen?”

“No! I can’t afford to draw.” For a long moment, he simply breathed, as if he were trying to pull himself together. Fighting off an inner demon. His ribs expanded, his shoulders broadened, his muscles flexed.

She took a step toward him, wanting to touch him, to help him… but she didn’t dare reach for him. Her urge to do it was too compelling and too scary, reminding her too much of how she’d felt with the Godfather. So, instead, she began to edge toward the door. Away from her desires, and away from the adrenaline surging inside him.

Finally, he raised his head, and his eyes were softer. Not nearly as lethal as they had been. He was back under control. “Do you practice black magic?” he asked quietly.

“Of course not. I already told you that.” When he didn’t come after her, she stopped slinking toward the door and forced herself to stand still. To face him. To face herself and the desires racing through her to touch him, to tap into the storm brewing inside him. She wanted to help him. Wanted to restore his peace. “I don’t know anything about magic. It’s not my shtick.”

He nodded once and ran his fingers through his thick hair. “I knew that.”

She frowned at his acquiescent tone, and she knew he really did believe her. “Then why did you ask?” But even as she posed the question, something inside her relaxed at his acceptance of her answer. He trusted her. He wasn’t a man who put any stock in the claims of women, and yet he had faith in her, even when she was apparently leaking Angelica smut all over everything. As he always did, he saw her as the woman within, not the person on the surface.

Instead of answering her query, he held out his palm. It was still blackened, and embers were sloughing out. The ashes were no longer red hot. Just white, as if the fire had gone out, leaving behind remnants and soot. “Give me your hand.”

She started to reach for him, and a chunk of charred ash dropped off his hand onto the floor. It sizzled on the concrete and then flickered out. She stopped and closed her fingers. “I’m not fireproof.”

He inclined his head once in silent acknowledgment, and then raised his hand higher, inviting her to trust him. But who was he asking her to trust? The creative genius who used to sit pensively and draw, or the one who had yanked her close with unrest in his soul? Who was the real man?

The artist. Yes.

But so was the turbulent warrior.

“Give me your hand,” he repeated.

She saw the dark, threatening depth to his eyes, the muscles flexed so rigidly in his shoulders. He crooked his index finger. One movement. One flick. So subtle. A plea for her help, a need so desperate he wouldn’t ever admit to it. But she felt the tension in his body, his fear that she would say no. Beneath the violence and the anger was the man who had watched over her so carefully from a distance for the last three weeks, the warrior who had come to her aid today when she’d needed him.

This man, this warrior, this living creature of fire… he needed her.

It was who she was to help. Any man. But especially,
especially
Nigel. The need to help him was so much stronger than she’d ever felt with anyone else. “Okay.” She unfurled her fist and set her hand in his.

For a moment, he simply held her, his grip light and tender, almost as if he was mesmerized by the feel of their connection. Her belly tingled with anticipation, and she realized exactly how much her soul yearned for his touch. For him to pull her into his strength and kiss her—

“Oh, God.” A cold fear swept through her, and she started to pull away, but he tightened his grip.

“How long have you had this?” he asked.

She tensed at his demanding tone. The artist was gone. All that was left was the fierce warrior who’d pinned her between his thighs. Which, she had to admit, was a little bit exciting. Terrifying, but also deliciously compelling. “Had what?”

“Your fingers.” He pointed at her fingers.

Spots now dotted along her cuticles. What had been a grayish tint before was now speckled and dark. “What is that?”

Nigel thumbed the discoloration and swore. “It’s smut.”

“Smut?” She wiped her free hand on her jeans, but the stain didn’t come off. “Like the fallout from using black magic spells? The backlash?”

Nigel nodded. “Mari and Angelica use black magic for most of their experiments. Every spell they do gives off residue. If they don’t put it somewhere else, it’ll taint their auras.”

“So?”

He smoothed Natalie’s hair back from her face, an absent gesture that made her whole body tingle. His muscles were vibrating with tension, violence and aggression were still bubbling beneath his taut skin, and yet his touch was so gentle. A caress. “Both women,” he said softly, “have auras that are completely clean. They send the smut elsewhere.”

She stiffened, and a cold feeling of violation came over her. “To where?” A faint thudding beat through her, the ominous approach of something unpleasant.

“Angelica was off-loading to a guy we called the Chameleon because he was constantly shifting form to murder. He was killing dozens of people.” Nigel rubbed her fingers, as if he were also trying to get it off. “But Angelica pulled him out of the field, and it looks like he’s been replaced. I can feel the energy of Angelica and Mari in your fingers.” He met her gaze. “You’re being smutted, sweetheart. By Angelica and Mari.”

“I am?” It sounded bad, but she tried to remain calm. How bad could smut be? It couldn’t be worse than being haunted by deedubs and being so insane that you almost orgasmed yourself to death, right? “So, what exactly does that mean?”

“It means you’re being contaminated with demon blunt.” Nigel released her hand and stood up. She’d forgotten how tall he was, how imposing. If there was a man to have around when she was discovering she was being contaminated by demon blunt, he would be it.

Seemed like if anyone could take down demon blunt, it would be him. “What will it do to me?” She didn’t really want to turn gray, but if that was the extent of the damage, she’d live with it for now.

“Everyone reacts differently. Depends on your predisposition, but it’ll eventually take you over and you’ll be in bad shape—”

“Bad shape?” She set her hands on her hips, struggling not to panic. “What does that mean? Don’t be vague, Nigel. I need to know what I’m dealing with.”

But he shook his head, his face frustrated. “I wish I could tell you, but it’s different for everyone. We just have to wait and see—”

“Natalie?” Maggie poked her head around the corner. “I was looking at your recipe file so I could make more virility balls, and I had a couple ideas. Do you mind if I play around with the recipe? I think I can make them taste less magicky, so people who don’t want suggestions will buy them just for the flavor.”

Natalie caught the scent of the purest cocoa, so rich and so divine it transcended any scent she had ever experienced. It was the same olfactory delight she’d been smelling when she’d woken up, only much more potent. Her body ached with need, and she inhaled again, only this time she noticed the underlay of warmth, of humanity, of life. “Maggie? Is that you?” Her head felt light, almost giddy, and her stomach rumbled.

“Is what me?” Maggie frowned. “And why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” Natalie inched closer. She sniffed again, and this time she was sure of it. Her newest staff member had a fragrance that was compelling beyond words. “God, you smell good.”

Maggie backed up a step. “You’re weirding me out a little bit.”

“Why? Because I love your delicious bouquet?” Natalie reached for her sous chef, but Nigel grabbed her arm and pulled her back toward him. “Hey!”

“Quiet.” His arms folded her against his chest, pinning her to him. “Maggie,” he said calmly. “Go experiment with the recipe. Natalie would love any help you can give her to enhance her business. See what you can do.”

“Yeah, okay.” Maggie shot them a wary look, then turned and hurried out the door.

“Wait!” Natalie struggled to get free of Nigel, desperate to follow her employee to the front of the store. “I need to go after her—”

Nigel spun her around, pressed her back against the wall, and pinned her there with his body. “Natalie.”

She tried to wiggle out of his grasp. “Let me go.”

“No.” He wedged his knee against her inner thigh, trapping her leg against the wall. “You’re stalking her.”

Natalie inhaled, trying to catch another whiff of that fading scent. It was vanishing, twisting out of her reach in tormenting fashion. “Of course I’m not stalking her. That’s ridiculous—”