Dreams of the Necromancer (Memento Mori 2)

“Oh.” She sighed. “I wish I weren’t broken.”

“Then we’ll mend you.” It was then that his impulse to touch her was too much to resist. He reached out and gently tucked one of the dark strands of still-damp hair behind her ear. By all the gods, he wanted to lean forward and kiss her. He had stolen several such embraces over the years, and it always felt like the first. Or as though it were a kiss given on the stage. Because she doesn’t understand who I really am. We might as well be actors in our roles.

But the way she smiled at him then, shy and a little unsure, her green eyes flicking to his for a moment before glancing away, tested his resolve again. He wanted so very desperately to pull her onto his lap.

He remembered his shock and embarrassment when she asked him if they had been lovers. How she had delighted in teasing him; how she still delighted in it. But the flirtatious comments were meant to tease, and it was clear she used them like armor. This moment—this quiet, simple moment, when his fingers traced over her shoulder—wasn’t part of her game.

Neither was the slight blush that colored her cheeks.

Damn it.

He leaned in slowly, giving her every chance to turn away from him. When his lips ghosted over hers, he thought for a moment she might allow him to steal just one more kiss from her. But at the last second, she turned her head from him and mumbled a quiet apology.

Smiling sadly, he kissed her cheek slowly. Partially to savor the feeling of her soft skin against his lips, and partially to tease her with what she could have had. And as he pulled back, the much darker color on her cheeks proved he had done just that.

A victory and a loss, all the same.

“No apologies required, my princess.” He picked up her hand and kissed her fingers, just as slowly as he had her cheek. He resisted the urge to capture one of her digits in his mouth. Down, you vulgar imbecile. “Much too much happening all at once, hm?”

“Putting it mildly.” She was still muttering, clearly embarrassed.

“Shush.” He tipped her head up to him with the crook of a finger under her chin, just as she had done to him the night prior. “As you so aptly put it, you don’t know me. I hope I get the chance to fix that.”

Her leg bounced beneath the table as she reverted to one of her nervous habits. She nodded and then, clearing her throat, quickly went to pluck the empty plates from the table.

“What, precisely, are you doing?” He smiled.

“Cleaning up.”

“I see that. Why?”

“If you can see what I’m doing, why did you ask?” Some of her spunk returned as she struggled to get her footing, even if she was still blushing. “Don’t be obtuse.”

“Like I said, I’m not obtuse, I’m esoteric. And you haven’t answered my question. Why are you cleaning up?”

“You cooked. Least I can do. Besides, you have an enormous, super fancy dishwasher.” She opened it and eyed it scrupulously. “Does this thing have Bluetooth?”

“I believe so.” He sat back, draping his arm over the chair, watching her. He couldn’t help but be amused.

“Why the hell does anyone need a Bluetooth dishwasher?” She shook her head.

“I don’t know. I’ve never used the feature.”

“Then why do you own it?” She loaded the dishes, and, after fishing around in a few drawers, found a tablet and, clicking it shut, searched for the right series of buttons.

“I don’t know as I purchased it myself. I believe the interior designer I hired chose it.”

The look she shot him was withering.

He merely smiled.

With a roll of her eyes, she finally pressed the run button. “Rich people. You’re the worst. Do you even know how to work this thing?”

“Of course. And I’ll have you know that I give roughly half my income to charity.”

“Doesn’t make it any better.” She walked to the fridge and opened it. “Holy shit, is this thing Bluetooth, too?”

“Yes. As is the rice cooker. That one I have no explanation for at all and will echo your pejorative comment of ‘rich people.’”