Pyromancist (Seven Forbidden Arts 1)

Sitting on the bed and sipping his coffee, he listened to the sounds she made. When he heard the water come on, he imagined what he’d missed out on in the graveyard. He imagined her under the spray, naked. When it turned off, he saw her wrap the towel around herself in his mind’s eye, but what was missing from the picture was him at her back, his hands on her wet skin, moving the towel down to where her hips curved out. The images that flashed through his mind rewarded him with a painful hard-on, which wasn’t where he was supposed to be going with this mission.

Frustrated, he paced the room. He checked his watch. It was almost time to make contact with the team to report with a daily update. So far, there was no sign of Erwan d’Ambois. There were a million places he could hide. Eventually, with the means at their disposal, they would find him, but it would take time. Precious time. The government demanded an end to the fires. They wanted a culprit, someone to blame. The quicker, the better. They’d reckoned it would be faster to draw the old man out using his grandchild as bait. Cain was very specific when he asked about the probability of achieving success with such a method. Joss had said it was their best chance, and now he regretted suggesting this strategy. He couldn’t know he’d develop a sudden sense of responsibility toward Clelia—possessiveness if he had to call a spade a spade—or that Cain had more on his agenda than solving another crime.

There were things that didn’t add up. The rumors about Clelia’s mother still bothered him. It was too much of a coincidence, but Clelia was clean. He’d tasted her blood twice. At that thought, his cock twitched. Brushing away the unethical thoughts, he double-checked the perimeter alarms.

At eight sharp, he punched the code into his phone that gave him a direct, secure line to Cain.

“A beautiful morning,” Cain said. “I’m having breakfast on the deck. I could get used to this. May try my hand at some fishing later.”

“Any new info?”

“Has Erwan made contact?”

“Not yet. I’ve left a secure number with a message from Clelia with the fishermen and in various brasseries. If any of them had contact with him, he would’ve called by now.”

“We need to get her out of there. You’ve got eyes trained on you.”

His gut clenched. “Who?”

“Lann picked up a little spying eye in the sky. It was piggybacking on a weather satellite.”

“Lupien?”

“Hard to say, but not every jackass can afford private satellite time.”

He started shoving the electronic equipment back into his bag. “You know where I am?”

“Courtesy of your peeping tom. You’re running out of time as we speak. Lupien is probably already on his way.”

Fuck. “Why didn’t you contact me as soon as you got the information?”

Cain chuckled. “I enjoyed spying on you too much.”

“Cain,” Joss said, his muscles tensing, “this isn’t a fucking game.”

“You seem to be playing it nicely.”

His tone was clipped. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Is seducing her an effective method of obtaining information? Shouldn’t you try torture?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Joss hissed.

“I’ve never heard you emotional before.”

“Cut through the crap, Cain. The fires could’ve been a set-up to get you here. It could be a trap.”

“Maybe. Most probably. Which is why we have to act even faster than what we thought. Time has run out. A firestarter was found dead in Normandy this morning. I don’t have to tell you how many of them are left.”

Damn. That left two—Lupien and whoever he was after.

“Lupien is now officially the most powerful firestarter in existence,” Cain continued. “He’d take great joy in burning you alive.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Bring the girl to the safe house. We need to keep her on the water. Lann can use his art here to counteract any possible attacks from Lupien.”

“Then what?” he asked, zipping up the bag.

“Then you better hope Erwan loves his granddaughter very, very much.”

His hand stilled on the strap. “You still owe me forty-eight hours.”

“I’m a man of my word, Joss.”

“Fine. We’ll come in.” They didn’t have a choice.

“I’ll send the team. Where must they meet you?”

“My house.”

“One hour.”

“We’ll be ready.”

The bathroom door opened as Joss cut the call. Clelia stood in the door, dressed in a pair of jeans, a strappy tank top, and canvas trainers. The black straps of her bra that showed under the top were unassumingly sexy. The fabric was tight, pulling over her breasts and stressing their curves. He looked away.

Pouring another cup of coffee from the flask, he held it to her. “It’s still warm. Sugar?”

She shook her head and took the cup between her palms, but didn’t drink.

“You don’t drink coffee?” he asked.

“I’m not fussy.”

“I should’ve asked.”

She snorted. “It’s not like I’m a guest.”