Necromancist (Seven Forbidden Arts 6)

A realization hit her. They weren’t two people making love. In this case, there was a winner and a loser. His hug wasn’t a gesture of caring. It was the consolation he offered to the loser of their fight. He’d meant to hurt her, and she’d welcomed it. Why did the tender way in which he held her hurt so much more?

She fought to get up, and he let her. Clothes lay scattered over the floor. Where it had seemed so hot, so out of control just an hour ago, it now seemed shameful, not because she’d slept with him, but because of what she wanted him to do to her. In those moments of passion, she’d felt free, relieved even, but now reality came crashing back.

Bending to retrieve her underwear, she caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror. Her hips were wide, her stomach round, and her thighs plumper than when Ivan had first met her. Behind her, he got to his feet in all his naked glory. The timing couldn’t have been worse. Next to her, he was sculptured perfection, his skin glowing with a golden color. She hastily pulled on her clothes to cover her untanned skin, a skin the London climate had not blessed with a bronze tan. She smoothed down her hair, not bothering to redo the bun. When she straightened from putting on her shoes, Ivan stood next to her, holding her glasses.

Turning her to him, he pushed them back onto her face. “It’s dinnertime. Stay.”

It shouldn’t sound as if he offered dinner in exchange for sex. Normally, it was the other way around—dinner, then sex. This wasn’t a date unfolding in the reverse. Dinner with him would only be another consolation prize to make the loser feel better. Her body could take the battering he’d dished out, but not her heart.

“I better get home,” she said.

His eyes turned hard as he dropped his arm to his side. “Of course.” He pulled on his jeans and adjusted his cock. “I’ll walk you.”

“I’ll take a cab.”

“I said I’d walk you.” He donned the T-shirt. “I can do with fresh air.”

She wrapped her arms around herself and waited until he was dressed. He picked up the toy and disappeared into the bathroom. The water came on, again.

A short while later, he returned with a black velvet bag that he pushed into her hand. “This is yours.”

For a lack of words, she dropped the bag in her jacket pocket.

“Do you need to go back to the theater for your handbag?” he asked.

“Yes.” She hadn’t even told Johnny she was going out, not that he’d worry. In her line of work, she was always around and about.

He grabbed his sweater from the chair and ushered her to the door, but instead of opening it, he held her back.

“Why did you stop singing, Alice?”

The words came easy, a practiced line. “I liked publicity better.”

“Is that what you tell yourself?”

“It’s the truth.”

She walked out the door and didn’t stop until she was outside on the pavement. Ivan pulled the hood of his sweater low over his eyes, but it didn’t prevent people from recognizing him. A few pedestrians turned to stare. Ducking her head, Alice walked quietly next to him, trying to be invisible. To be honest, she had nothing to fear. Nobody was paying her much attention, and even if someone recognized her face, it wouldn’t be reason for gossip. As publicity manager for the theater, she had every right to be with Ivan. Yet, it felt as if everyone could see the evidence of the sex they’d just had on her thighs through her dress.

In front of the corner store, a young girl stopped in her tracks.

“Ivan Kray?” She overtook them and blocked Ivan’s way. “It’s really you, isn’t it?”

In seconds, women surrounded them. Some brushed their hands over his body while others snapped photos with their phones. Alice backtracked to the wall where she was out of the way and leaned against it. Ivan smiled at a girl who produced a grocery slip and a pen. He handed out one autograph after the other.

In the midst of scribbling his signature on the casing of a smartphone, he lifted his gaze to Alice. He shot her a brilliant smile, much warmer than anything he’d given her while they’d fucked, except for that consolation hug in the end. She returned the gesture with an inexplicable ache in her heart. That was what she wanted, wasn’t it? No emotion, only lust.

The horrible, terrifying truth hit her when he returned his attention to signing his name. Ivan hadn’t crushed her feelings by fucking her hard. If anything, he’d reinforced them. She still wanted the emotion, but now more than ever. She wasn’t getting over him anytime soon. The futileness of their situation made her knees weak. Ivan wanted sex, and she wanted love. She was screwed. When he wasn’t looking, any longer, she crossed the street. Half a mile down the block, she glanced back. He was in the same spot, his head bent over his adoring fans.