Necromancist (Seven Forbidden Arts 6)

He let a slow smile crack up his face. “A man never forgets his first fuck.”

Something like vulnerability flashed in her eyes, something he didn’t care for at all, but it was too late to take back the crude remark.

Her mask fell into place, obscuring her expression. “I see you took the coward’s way out, again.”

“Coward?” He lifted an eyebrow. “You’ll swallow those words and much more soon. That’s a promise.”

“Is that supposed to scare me? Since you didn’t deliver on your last promise, I don’t expect you to deliver on this one.”

He was starting to enjoy the game. “My last promise?”

“I believe your last words to me were, I’ll be right back.”

“Oh, I delivered. I distinctly remember my hand over your mouth to muffle the scream that announced to the whole house just how well I delivered.” He leaned back on the barstool and lifted his arms. “As you can see, I’m a man of my word, because I’m back, just like I said.”

Her cheeks flushed red, but she kept her composure. “Nine years late.”

“We have a lot to catch up.”

“I’m not here to play catch up.”

He gave her another once over. “Then what are you here for?”

“Business.”

“What business would that be?”

From the breath she pulled in, it was clear she was trying to rein in her temper. He smiled inwardly at the effort it took.

“The publicity for your shows,” she said, her fingers fumbling with the buttons as she removed her wet coat.

“Yeah, I heard you took that PR job after giving up singing. Didn’t make it into your first year at the academy.” He was still pissed as hell about that.

Ignoring his jibe, she moved his coat aside and sat down. “You missed our appointment, not that it came as a surprise.”

From close up, he could study her face. Her eyes were the same amber with the darker edge, large for her small face and glowing against her pale skin. The most luscious lips he’d ever seen, blue from cold now, turned up at the corners in a smile that were void of any warmth, but there was still that flush on her cheekbones and perky nose. It was difficult to discern the color of her hair with it being wet, but he knew it was chestnut. She wore it drawn back into a bun at the nape of her neck. Droplets ran from the tendrils that had escaped the hairdo and splashed on the silk fabric of her dress. Her perfume had the fragrance of Casablanca lilies, and it clashed with the stale odor of the smoked-filled space.

She shivered and rubbed her arms, drawing his gaze to the motion.

“I forgot my umbrella in the underground,” she said.

She almost sounded apologetic for being wet and cold, as if she had to justify it. The insecure part of Alice peeked out its head. He picked up his coat and held it to her, but she shook her head.

“No, thanks.”

Hardheaded, pretty little mule. The gods help him, but she’d drive him more nuts than what he already was. Holding her gaze, he draped the coat over her shoulders, silently daring her to defy him. She pretended it didn’t matter, indifference her choice of weapon, but the color on her cheeks deepened as he fastened the first button, trapping her arms in the confines of the fabric.

He leaned in. “We had an appointment?”

She stood her ground, staying put even as he invaded her private space to the point of their noses almost touching.

“Kate said she put the meeting on your agenda.”

“She probably did.” Unable to resist the urge to touch her, he wiped a wet tendril from her temple. “I never check.”

This time, she turned her face to escape the touch. “You kept four people waiting, four very busy people with tight schedules.”

He dropped his hand back on the bar, giving her the illusion of victory. “Sue me. You won’t be the first.”

“I don’t need the drama. We have enough of that at the theater.”

“Why don’t we just get to the point, Alice?” He said her name like a favorite treat, as if he could wrap his tongue around it and lick it. “Let’s talk about the real reason you’re here.”

She wiggled her arms under his coat and handed him a piece of paper she took from the folder on her lap. “I brought you The Times interview questions to go over for tomorrow.”

He took the paper but barely glanced at the print. “That wasn’t the point I was referring to.”

“That interview is important,” she continued, ignoring his words. “It took me years to build a relationship with the newspaper staff, and I won’t let you ruin it.”

“That’s not why you’re here. You could’ve emailed the questions. Couldn’t wait to see me?”

She gave a cocky smile. “As you said yourself, you never check your schedule. I doubt you read your emails.”