Pandora's Box (21 page)

“You’re just tired.” He sounded less upset than she did about it. Hell, the man was comforting her, when her failures could
result in him being locked inside that damn stone for another millennium.

He winced. “Could you maybe avoid thinking of it in quite those terms?”

“Well, it’s true, damn it.” She was near tears. “You could be stuck in there just because I’m not smart enough to figure this
out.” Her voice thickened. “What if I fail you, Riordan?”

“You won’t.” He sounded confident.

And different. This was Riordan the man, she knew. Not the farce he so often enjoyed playing. Trickster puca. The BobGoblin.
She couldn’t believe she’d ever fallen for that act.

He touched her empty glass and turned his face toward her. “Would you mind?”

Her breath caught. He wanted to taste. At least this was something she knew she could do for him. They’d shared evening meals
this way for some time now, and she was just glad he felt close enough to her to comfortably ask for a favor like this. “No.
I don’t mind at all.”

Nodding, he poured more wine into her glass, emptying the bottle. Her eyes widened a little. If she finished off this glass,
she’d be snoring under the table. But she wouldn’t refuse him. It was little enough to offer him and well within her control.
Unlike the curse, damn it all. So they would have wine.

She reached for the glass then, gently taking his hand in hers, pressed his fingertips to her jaw and throat. She raised the
glass, parted her lips and let the sweet wine flow into her mouth. She held it there for a moment, letting it breathe and
wrap around her tongue until her taste buds tingled.

Riordan sighed and relaxed against the cushions.

She swallowed and watched him. “More?”

“Please.” He sounded rapt, his fingers still lingering at her throat and lips, while the sweet taste lingered on her tongue.
It was much like their other evenings together, and yet different, too. Normally, they shared their meal at the table, where
it didn’t seem quite so intimate. Eating together at the kitchen table had felt stimulating but mostly harmless, like holding
hands with a good-looking but platonic friend. But this was different.

She raised the glass again, sipped more of the wine, taking her time and letting them both take pleasure from it. She’d make
this indulgence well worth a morning’s hangover.

He chuckled, sounding tipsy.

After swallowing, she smiled at him. “Can you actually feel the effects of the alcohol, too?”

He shook his head lazily. “No. Not literally. I could get drunk from taste alone, though. It’s been so long, you see. Sensory
deprivation for so long. And now, I feel so much. See? This is what you give me. Friendship. Help. Compassion. Dedication.
Kindness and affection. You’re amazing to me. I don’t deserve you. I know that. But thank you.”

“Oh, Riordan.” Her breath hitched.

“More?”

He sounded like such a kid for a moment, she laughed again. “I get it. I’m being buttered up so you can get drunk on my hangover.”

“Saw right through me, did you?”

Still smiling over the rim of her glass, she watched him, so at ease. She let the wine linger in her mouth, let the tastes
and scent waft upward until they tickled her nose.

“I still remember . . .” Riordan sounded drowsy. “The celebration we had for my coming of age, a decade or so before I was
condemned. Everyone was dancing, playing, laughing. Eating and drinking the most wonderful things. Anything I wanted to experience,
my slightest whim . . . all were granted. My magic, at last mature and mine to wield, swirled around us. It was almost too
heady.” He paused, obviously lost in the memory, as she took another drink of wine. He turned his head and she felt his gaze
caress her, almost a physical presence. “But being here like this, with you, I feel almost overstimulated. More so even than
then, and I thought nothing could top that experience.”

Feeling drunk now and touched beyond words, Mina covered her mouth, letting the tears well up. “Oh, Riordan. God, it’s just
going to kill me when you finally hate me.”

He stilled, his hand still cupping her throat, fingertips resting gently against hers. “But why would I hate you?”

“You don’t now. But when I can’t break this curse, you will.” Her voice broke. “And you’re all I have left.” If she were sober,
she’d really hate sounding so pathetic.

“Sssssh.” He took the half-empty glass out of her hand and set it on the table. Then he tugged her closer, pulled her onto
his lap. “You have it all backwards. Don’t you see? You are my everything. And you have been since the moment we met. But
you . . . you could have anyone you wanted.”

“Oh, right. That’s why Jackson wanted brainless Tiffy with the inflatable boobs more than he wanted me.”

That surprised a laugh out of him. “Inflatable boobs? They make those?”

“And why Teague’s so enthralled with me he hasn’t called or visited me in weeks. Obviously, it’s because I’m so fascinating
he suffers from performance anxiety. He feels unworthy.”

Riordan shook with laughter now.

“And that’s why even a horny shape-shifter who hasn’t had sex in two thousand years finds me so irresistible he hasn’t laid
a hand on me.” She spoke softly now. “Except platonically.”

Riordan stilled. His hands, which had been rubbing gently up and down her back and shoulders in an effort to soothe, stilled
as well. Then they began to move again. Just as gently, but with leashed intent. She could feel power trembling in his fingertips.
Leashed power. Not Riordan’s leash. The Druid’s leash. But then, the man Riordan was today would know how to leash his own
power.

“Mina mine. The truth is, Jackson’s a fool for wanting any woman but you. And Teague, if he’s too damn blind to see you for
the wonder that you are, is completely unworthy. As for your platonic puca . . . if you only knew.”

“Only knew what?” She was breathless. Pulling back, she stared hard into the blur that was his face. At times, she could almost
see the glow of his eyes, feel his regard. This was one of those times. How she wished—

“How
I
wish.”

She could feel the smile in his voice.

“Yeah, sometimes the mind-reading bit is helpful. Some times it’s dangerous. I’ve wanted, so many times . . .” He paused,
obviously wrestling with himself. He turned his gaze toward the coffee table, where her nearly empty glass and the empty wine
bottle sat. Then, seeming to come to a decision, he turned back to her. “I’ve wanted you more than my next breath. More than
my magic. More than my freedom. Of all the punishment I’ve endured, knowing that I can’t have you . . . seeing you and knowing
I can never have you . . . that you’ll be someone else’s—
that’s
the hardest.
That
could break a man.”

“Oh.” Mina stared, moved beyond words. “You . . .” She exhaled shakily. Gaze steady on the glow she saw beyond the blur, she
raised her hands. Paused.

He didn’t move. He didn’t object.

Carefully, she touched his chest. It was hard. Warm. Tingly. She slid her hands toward his throat, where his tunic ended in
a V. Settling her fingertips inside the V, she felt the heat rising, felt his breath on her face and moving beneath her touch.
Carefully, again giving him a chance to stop her, she slid her fingers to his neck, his throat, where she felt him swallow,
then his jaw, skimming the edges of the mystery beyond her sight.

“Mina . . .” But he still didn’t stop her.

She slid her fingers higher, felt the crackle of magic beneath them and the formation of . . . lips. His mouth. She stilled,
feeling both shocked and exhilarated. His face.
She
could feel his face.
Carefully, as if someone might stop her, she slid her fingers higher, to trace lean cheeks, imposing cheekbones, the sharp
blade of a nose. “So arrogant.” Enthralled, she tried to smile. “You blueblood, you.”

Amazingly, she felt his lips curve under her palm. Just an impression, not substantial. But more than she’d had before. Gently,
she trailed her touch across what seemed to be eyelashes. They moved. A blink? “Oh, I wish I could see.”

“But you do see me. You saw me even when I tried to hide.” His voice lowered. “You are my world right now. I have nothing
without you. And you give me so much.”

“Sssssh.” She moved closer, as if, fingertips still lingering, she could finally see his face.

When she was so close she could feel his breath—his breath!—she tipped her face so their foreheads and chins were aligned.
Their mouths aligned.

Then, groaning, he seemed to break free and his mouth was on hers. It was and yet it wasn’t. She could feel a crackle of hot
energy, the will that strove relentlessly to break through the magic and physically form. The crackling remained. But his
heart was so close this way. And suddenly her hands had a will of their own, wandering his cheeks, his silky hair, those wide
shoulders, a chest that made her heart skip a beat even now.

His wandered just shy of her breasts and she could feel his chest heaving once, twice, before his fingers curled in on themselves.
Gently, so carefully, he pulled back. “I can’t do this. Mina mine, I swear to God I would have you if I could and savor every
moment. How I want to be the man to show you at least a fraction of the love you deserve.” He paused. “But I am not. And I
wouldn’t hurt you for anything.”

“But—”

“Can I just hold you for a while?”

She laughed, shakily, her heart breaking a little. “Like you’d have to ask. Yes. Please hold me.”

Settling her more comfortably in his lap, he wrapped his arms around her and leaned back against the couch cushions.

Sighing, at peace and yet aching, she dropped her head to his shoulder. She could sleep like this. Her eyes drooping, her
head muzzy from the wine, and his arms so warm and encompassing. She felt safe. Loved even. Even if she couldn’t keep him.
How could it feel so good and hurt so much at the same time?

* * *

Long minutes later, after her breathing had deepened, Riordan dropped his head forward to rest on hers. He held her like that
for a long, long time. Until he knew she might wake soon and then it would be too late. He had to erase this. He couldn’t
let her wake with these memories. It wasn’t fair.

Puca to the rescue, he mocked himself. And, as they say, the drunkard’s sleep is the puca’s kingdom. He’d been completely
mindful of this fact when he told her his feelings. The woman had polished off almost a full bottle of wine, all by herself—and
had been sweet enough to share the experience with him.

He wouldn’t reward that generosity with a broken heart. She deserved the normal life she craved so badly, not life with a
damned horse or faceless man, or later, nothing but a nagging voice in her head and a cornerstone hanging from her neck. Mina
was wrong. She was the one who would grow to hate him. He didn’t think he could bear that.

Resolute and aching, he brushed a hand over her face, laid his cheek to hers and whispered a few words in her ear. He paused,
remembering and wishing, but it was done.

She would remember none of this when she woke. Come morning, he would just be her puca again. Her quest and her burden. But
at least he’d had tonight with her. He’d have to commit the experience to memory so he could savor it for a long time. Because
even if he did manage to break free of this curse, be it days, decades or lifetimes from now . . . He smiled. He knew he’d
never find another woman like his Pandemina.

A woman so unafraid to open the box and find him inside.

He’d left her.

The awareness was there even before Mina opened her eyes. She found herself, not snugly cuddled in the lap of her favorite
puca, but tucked in her own bed. Alone.

“Riordan?”

No answer. She frowned. What time was it anyway? She sat up, groaning as the action sent her head pounding. Right. The wine.
She should have known better.

Well, actually, she
had
known better. She just hadn’t cared. Given the same choices and a promise of the same outcome, she would choose the hangover
every time.

Grinning ruefully, she swept the blankets aside to discover she was still wearing last night’s clothes. Riordan, apparently,
had played the gentleman, which was quite the shame. Or not. She’d rather be completely aware if the guy was going to take
advantage. Aware and participating.

Sure, he said a relationship between them was impossible, but there must be a way. Had to be. With that thought, she headed
toward the bathroom for toothpaste and ibuprofen. Not necessarily in that order. And when she emerged twenty minutes later,
she was freshly showered and anticipating a puca waiting for her.

But he wasn’t there. Probably just giving her privacy. After pulling on jeans and a sweater, she went to seek him out. Maybe
he was making her breakfast. She remembered the wine and smiled. Something else they could enjoy together.

As she neared the kitchen, she heard faint noises indicating that she’d guessed correctly. Riordan was in the kitchen and
he was cooking. Smiling, she snuck up on the chef and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind. “ ’Morning, my handsome
stallion.”

He stilled, then laughed shortly. “You’ll never let me live down that Catherine the Great comment, will you? Now back off
before you get burned.” He sounded oddly strained.

She let her hands slide free and backed up a step. Moving to the side, she tried to peer into a face that she knew was there.
Had to be there. She’d felt it herself last night. “Is something wrong?”

“Hmm? No, of course not. I’m just making you breakfast. Even swap, remember? I cook, you help break the curse.”

“No, the deal is you cook and I let you taste it with me.”

He shrugged. “That’s okay. I’m good for now.” He slid the eggs onto a plate and set it on the table for her. “Chow, baby.
We have some curse-breaking to do.” He turned back to the counter, set the skillet in the sink and ran water into it like
she’d showed him. “I’ve been reading up—”