for a second that you could’ve slept through that racket.” Another wary sound came against the door, the impatient rapping of knuckles over the wood. “Is your assistant with you?”
“No.” Jack’s chuckle reached her. “He hasn’t come back from the party yet.”
She almost smacked herself as soon as she said it. Why couldn’t she have lied and said Aaros was sleeping off his drunken state in his rooms? The whole conversation would’ve been over, with Demarco gone, and only Jack left to deal with.
“So you’re alone?” The knocking halted for a breath. Two. “Can I come in, then?”
Against all reason, Kallia flushed. “Excuse me?”
“No, not for—not like that,” he added quickly. “You can even just crack open the door. I only want to see if you’re all right.”
“What for? Nothing’s wrong. And you can hear my voice now, loud and clear.”
“Oh, I hear it. And something doesn’t sound right.”
Kallia let out an exasperated groan. She had to give the man credit—his instincts were as sharp as a hawk’s. Frustratingly so. She pressed a hand to the door for stability, and somehow felt Demarco’s stalwart presence instead. Like the coarse, warm feel of his palm, finding hers against the wood.
He wouldn’t leave. Not until she bloody well opened the door.
Muttering a curse, Kallia cast a quick glance to the sofa, finding her audience now leaning right against the space by the door hinges with his arms crossed, waiting. Jack nodded expectantly down at her hand paused over the doorknob.
With a hard swallow, she slowly pulled the door open a crack. Just enough for her to see a sliver of her visitor. “Look, everything is perfectly fine.” Her plastered grin stiffened at his prolonged stare. “What is it?”
Of course, after putting up such a fuss, Demarco went quiet. He only looked over what little he could see of her, trying to piece something together. “Sorry, it’s just … I could’ve sworn I heard a scream.”
“Blame your imagination.” Kallia gestured over herself in one quick sweep. “As you can see, I’m perfectly all right.”
With a tight nod, his lips screwed in thought. “You said you’d been asleep, yet you’re still in your performance dress.”
Curse him.
“Can’t a magician accidentally doze off in her dress and heels?” she snapped, her face flaming up. “What is this, a midnight interrogation?”
“I didn’t mean it to sound like that.” He raised his hands up in defense. “Honest.”
“Good, then. You got what you wanted.” Kallia gripped the door. “Have a good night, Mister—”
“Daron.” He stopped a hand at the door, a few inches above hers. “Call me Daron.”
A slow tide of heat rushed beneath her skin. A prick of fear. In the other corner of her vision, Jack’s head tilt in observation. No longer amused.
She shivered, suddenly hesitant to meet Demarco’s eye. “Why?”
“Because I think I’ve offended you enough times. It’s only fair I give you my full name so you can spit upon it at your leisure.” His tone warmed, the smile in it falling. “It didn’t sit well with me, how we left things tonight. I’m here to apologize.”
“Again?” Kallia groaned. The way he chased down forgiveness was so new to her that she still didn’t know quite how to react. Already, something strange was happening with her pulse. She wanted him gone before Jack could sense it. “I get it, Demarco. Apology accepted—”
He gently stopped the door from closing.
“I’m the last person who should be giving performance advice. I know that.” Inches from her, he pressed closer, keeping the door open. “I’m sorry for doubting you. For doing all the wrong things, it seems.”
A short strand of dark hair fell past his temple, and the urge to smooth it back distracted her. “You should be focusing on other things.”
“Trust me, I know.”
Kallia’s chest tightened. A coiled spring about to snap. Her gaze retreated to the shadows. There, she found Jack’s expression focused and unsmiling, as he pressed closer to study every word. Every cadence, every sound.
Her gut tightened. Thinking fast, she channeled as much viciousness into her expression. “Mister Demarco,” she fired off, nostrils flared. “How many times must you apologize to me before you actually mean it?”
He faltered. “I’m … I do.”
“Oh really?” Kallia cut out a brief cackle, shaking her head in disappointment. “You know, I’ve met men like you. They say one thing and mean another, weaving sugar-coated stories just to get their way. Don’t tell me that’s not what you’re trying, using every line to get into my room at this late