Black Arts, White Craft (Black Hat Bureau 2)

“Nasty.”

A hefty thud interrupted our bickering, and I pivoted to find Asa sprawled across the tile, unconscious. Boxer briefs stretched to their limits, the fabric puddled around his lean waist, dipping low on his hips.

And no, I was not ogling him. I was assessing him. Visually. For medical purposes.

“Ace?” Clay brushed past me to crouch over his partner. “You okay, buddy?”

Peridot-green eyes blinked open on the ceiling, and a line appeared between his brows. “Where…?”

“You’re in my shop.” I shifted my weight, awkward in his presence. “Have been, for an hour or so.”

For all that the daemon claimed me as his, he didn’t give me the tingles.

Asa, on the other hand, blasted shivers over my skin in a prickling wave that stole my breath.

“The last thing I remember was filing our expense report.” He touched his scalp. “Why is my hair wet?”

“You and Rue got into a food fight,” Clay explained while examining him, “with that twenty-dollar cupcake you insisted we pick up on our way in.”

“Twenty dollars?” I did the math in my head and swooned at the figure. “Per cupcake?”

“Who buys cupcakes?” Clay made a disgusted noise. “Homemade or bust.”

“I can’t bake.” Asa let his eyes close. “I should have chosen another gift.”

“Your gift was fine.” I bit my bottom lip. “Better than fine. Amazing. The whole town appreciates them.”

“The whole…” his alert gaze pierced me, “…town?”

“You sent one cupcake on the first day, two on the second, three on the third…” I soaked up his dawning comprehension. “There were dozens of them. I had to share, or they would have spoiled.”

A laugh burst out of Clay, and he slapped his thigh, thoroughly enjoying himself at his partner’s expense.

“I told you that shopgirl wasn’t listening.” He snorted. “She was too busy licking her lips over you.”

A flash of jealousy startled me, but that wasn’t my style, and I tamped it down as far as it would go.

The woman whose employee ID number might be printed on the last gift receipt I had yet to throw away had done nothing to deserve shoving designer cupcakes down her throat until icing shot out her nostrils.

Wrist itching like crazy, I tucked my hands behind my back and scratched under the bracelet.

“That would explain the bill.” Asa peeled damp hair off his defined chest. “Why did you say I’m wet?”

“The daemon decided to wash the frosting out of his hair. Your hair? I helped rinse when he couldn’t get out all the bubbles.” I knelt beside him, unable to keep my distance any longer. “I hope that’s okay.”

“You washed my hair,” he said softly, and he threaded his fingers through mine. “Thank you.”

There was a weight to the words I didn’t understand that curled heat in my belly. “You’re welcome.”

To cover how long our hands were clasped, I used that same grip to raise him into a seated position.

“Let’s skip the mushy stuff,” Clay cut in, “and focus on the important parts.”

“You have no memory of leaving the hotel,” I clarified, “or coming to my shop?”

“No.” Asa folded his legs under him in lotus position. “As I said, I emailed accounting and then…”

“Nothing,” I finished for him. “If it helps, the daemon—to simplify things, let’s call him that—told me you were asleep. He said Clay didn’t plan to visit until tomorrow, which, I think, is what set him off.”