Spell Cat by Tara Lain Page 0,24
miscommunication. Wasn’t going to think too much about Moran’s preferences for BDSM. The man now knew Killian didn’t prefer it, and truth be told, if he had to humor Moran a bit, he was into give-and-take. He was a witch. He could endure a lot that humans couldn’t. He didn’t like being hit, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t take a little paddling in good humor. Maybe it would knock some sense into him.
“Are you coming?” Killian put on his coat and headed for the door. He opened it, glanced at Al on the chair, and started to close the door. Wham. Furry missile around the neck. “About damned time.”
They drove in silence. He watched the road, and Al stared out his window with his back turned to his—what? Master? Certainly not. Partner? Occasionally. Pissed cat. Killian didn’t want to care.
He surrendered the car to the previously briefed valet, applied the small spell, and marched through the hotel lobby. Unlike at the coffee shop, no one here seemed to be able to see Aloysius. Good. Maybe he hadn’t lost all his powers.
Outside the door to Moran’s suite, he smoothed his hair again and removed his coat, so that Moran could appreciate how good he looked. The slim black slacks showed off his ass. The white silk shirt and blue sports jacket complemented his coloring. He’d worn the diamonds in his ears and nose. Didn’t want to appear too “teachery.” He smiled. Waist-length hair wasn’t exactly common in the professorial professions. Deep breath. Excited about this. Really. Mostly he wanted to squelch the clammy feeling of guilt that crept up his spine. No, he was not cheating on anyone, dammit.
He knocked gently. Instant response. Moran looked delectable. He’d chosen gray trousers, but topped them with a tight yellow sweater that clung to his well-developed chest and shoulders. He beamed. “Didn’t mean to appear overanxious. I’ve been waiting by the door.” He leaned forward and gave Killian a soft kiss. A muffled growl sounded from Killian’s neck. Moran pulled back quickly. “Oh my, he is a jealous one.”
Killian saw Moran’s frown. Damn the feline. He dumped Aloysius on a chair near the door, and the familiar turned and again gave him the furry shoulder.
Moran took his hands and led Killian to the couch in the sitting area. He carefully placed Killian on the cushions and uncovered the wine bucket. Good, champagne. Moran had learned. Killian watched the golden bubbly fill two glasses. Handing Killian one glass, Moran sat next to him and placed an arm on the back of the couch. He clinked glasses. “To us.”
Killian smiled and sipped. Hmm. Why didn’t I repeat the toast? He knew why and didn’t want to think about it. Moran had shaped up into perfect love-spell material. Killian would make this work, even if just for a little while.
“I’ve ordered lobster bisque and sole almandine. Not exotic, but I thought you might like it.”
Moran really had inquired about his likes. “It’s my favorite. And I skipped lunch, I was so anxious to share this meal with you.”
“You must be starving. Let me serve, shall I?” Moran went to a serving cart in the corner of the room and looked inside the heated cabinet. Then he pulled the curtains away from the bay window to reveal a lovely table set for two, with camellias floating in low crystal bowls and rose-colored candles.
Beautiful. “You’ve outdone yourself.”
“I certainly hope so. Come sit.” Moran held the comfortable armed dining chair, and Killian sat. “Would you like to stay with your champagne or switch to a crisp sauvignon blanc?”
“The champagne is fine, thank you.”
For the next hour, Killian ate with relish, and they chatted amiably. Aloysius ignored them completely. His inky fur practically bristled with indignation. Why the hell did the cat hate Moran?
Moran asked interested questions about Killian’s electric sports car. That won him lots of points. They finished the champagne, and Killian licked a few bites of a lemon crème brûlée from Moran’s spoon. Creamy, tangy, and sinful. He sighed.
“Full?”
“Delightfully.”
Moran nodded toward the sitting area. “Let’s sit in there, shall we?”
“Sure.”
Killian followed Moran toward the big plush couch. Why was he so nervous? Maybe because the moment of truth had finally arrived. He was going to have sex with a male witch. Not the first time, but it had been a while. His stomach tied in a big knot right on top of the crème brûlée. He saw green eyes and brown hair. He felt soft, liquid-fire lips