Windfall Page 0,12
his, in a damp, slow, breathless kiss. His hands slid up into my hair, stroking those achingly sensitive places behind my ears, at the nape of my neck... I lost my train of thought.
Which made me jump tracks to another one when he let me up for breath. "We need to get you home." What that really meant was, to put him back in his bottle-yes, Djinn really had bottles, glass ones; they had to be glass and they had to come with stoppers or a way to seal them, no exceptions. The worst case I'd ever seen had been a soap-bubble thin ornamental glass perfume bottle; it was stored in the Wardens Association vault in the U.N. Building in New York, because that thing would shatter if you so much as gave it a hard look.
David's was a somewhat sturdy ornamental kitchen bottle, the blue-glass fancy kind that store flavored oils and decorative grains. I kept it in a very safe place, right in my nightstand drawer next to oils, lotions, and other things I wouldn't want casual visitors to inventory.
Which inevitably led to thoughts of my bed, soft sheets, cool soft ocean breezes sighing over my skin...
"Yes. Let's go home." His hands slid over my shoulders, stroked down my arms, and lingered on my hands before letting me go. The heat from him stayed on my skin. Afterimages of light.
My car was parked over in the far corner of the lot, away from casual door dings. She was a midnight blue Dodge Viper, and I loved her dearly enough for her to qualify as my second-favorite-ever ride. The first-place winner had been a Mustang, also midnight blue, named Delilah, who had gotten scrapped around the time I met David, as if I had to give up one really lovely thing for another.
David took the shotgun seat, and I prowled Mona through the morning traffic toward my apartment. I'd been really, really lucky when I moved-had to move, thanks to the overzealous actions of some real estate people, who thought that just because I'd had a funeral I'd broken my lease-and I'd ended up with a beachfront second-floor sea view. All of my furniture was secondhand, and nothing matched, but the bed was comfortable and the balcony was to die for.
The bed was the only thing that mattered right now.
I must have parked, but that part was a blur. Then stairs, and then we were in the hall and I was hunting for my key. It was after morning commute time for most of my neighbors, and the place was nearly silent, except for the distant, muted hum of a TV somewhere down near the corner. Probably Mrs. Appel; she worked nights and liked to wind down to a little HBO before nap time.
David came up behind me and put his hands on my shoulders, then let them drift down my sides, stroking. Gentle, slow moves. Anyone watching wouldn't have found it terrifically sexual-we weren't exactly humping in the hall-but I had to brace my hands on the door and close my eyes. There was something magic about his hands, about the slow, deliberate way he used them. They followed the line of my shoulders, circled my arms, and moved all the way down to my wrists.
He moved closer until he pressed against me like a second skin. I tried to fit the key into the lock again. Missed. My hands were shaking.
"Jo?" His voice was velvet, with a slightly frayed edge that rasped like a purr.
"Maybe you'd better let me do it."
I held the ring up. He took it from my fingers and leaned around me to fit the key in the lock and turn it.
Which shouldn't have seemed so suggestive, but maybe that was a combination of my boiling hormones and the heat of his body pressed against my back. Solid summer-warm flesh, hard in all the right places.
The door clicked open. I moved inside, flicked on soft, diffuse overhead lighting, and kicked off my shoes and dropped my purse.
He was behind me again, and this time there wasn't any holding back for the neighbors. His hands went right around my waist and pulled me against him, and I turned my head to look back at him.
Depthless black in his pupils, and the irises of his eyes were smoking-hot copper.
"I need you," he said, and moved my hair out