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And then I step into the interrogation room to find Trix waiting for me in one of the leather chairs, wearing a micro mini that shows off her elegantly crossed legs and a come-hither expression, and I decide to give myself the luxury of forgetting about Willow for a while.
I’m about to ask Trix if she wants to take this upstairs to my apartment, when she reaches into the valley between her breasts and plucks a tiny blue pouch from her cleavage. “The stones you requested, sir. My sister came home early just for you.”
Fresh excitement rushes in, banishing thoughts of Trix in the sex swing in my bedroom with her legs up over her head. “Tell your sister she’s a goddess,” I say, leaning against the table beside her. I press a kiss to the top of her head then pluck the pouch from her fingers. “How much do I owe you?”
“Felicity will send an invoice for the dry cleaning later,” she says with a wink of one lavender eye. “And my delivery fee is an apology for getting engaged without giving me a so-long fuck first.” Her pink lips push into a pout. “I mean, I saw it coming, but still… My pussy and I are still very, very sad.”
“What do you mean you saw it coming?” I ask, remembering her comment about dreaming that my cock was about to get taken off the market. At the time I’d dismissed it as teasing, but maybe it wasn’t. Some fairies have the gift of prophecy, or at least enough of it to catch glimpses of the future in their dreams.
“I told you, I was having nightmares about losing my favorite playmate,” she says, running a finger down the slope of her breast to the deep V at the front of her dress. Her cleavage is truly spectacular, but for some reason it doesn’t have the usual effect on me. The man downstairs remains at rest in my boxer briefs. “It was awful. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in a week.”
“Have you had prophetic dreams before?”
“A few times.” She cocks her head. “But, yes, now that you mention it, these particular dreams were crisper than usual.”
“My fiancée had a similar dream.”
Trix leans back in her chair, bouncing one stilettoed foot. “Really? Is she part fairy?”
“Prophetic dreams are part of her pack gift.” Irritation at Willow creeps in again as I let my gaze roam up and down Trix’s fantastic legs and I continue to feel…nothing.
Nothing except the urge to return to the cocktail party and kiss my bride-to-be senseless in a dark corner.
Trix laughs. “Oh boy. Well, you won’t be getting anything by her, will you? That should make married life interesting.” She stands. “Congratulations on your engagement, by the way. I hope you’ll be very happy. You deserve happiness, lover, and I wish you nothing but the best.”
“Thank you,” I say, accepting the hug she offers. And still, even with her breasts pressed against my chest, my dick remains stubbornly off-duty.
“Good-bye, Maxim,” Trix says as she pulls away. “Call me if you need more dry-cleaning, okay? I’m happy to hook you up.”
“Will do,” I say, walking her to the door.
I deliver her to the waiting Hermione, who will escort her to the exit, in keeping with our current security procedures.
Then I settle into the chair Trix vacated with a frown.
A lot of good Willow’s open-bed marriage policy will do me if I can’t get it up for anyone but a certain little wolf.
The thought makes me wonder if Willow thinks this open-bed policy is going to apply to her, as well. And then I start imagining Willow in bed with another man, right under my nose, and I see red.
Bright, violent, murdering-the-bastard-who-fucked-my-wife red…
I remind myself that we won’t actually be getting married and that this is a non-issue, but I have to fight the urge to track Willow down and make it very clear to her that the only one fucking her after we’re married will be me.
And from there I can’t stop thinking about fucking Willow, a lapse of control that results in a hard-on so thick and furious I’m not fit to leave the room for another ten minutes.
But that ends up being perfect timing for reconnecting with Hermione as she returns from showing Trix out to the lobby.
Drawing her to one corner of the room, I ask, “How’s our tiger?”
“Groggy, and still not making much sense,” she says. “After his stunt the other day, we’ve been keeping him on a steady diet of tranquilizers.”
“How long to sober him up enough for these?” I tip my palm toward her, giving her a peek at the pouch.
“Truth stones?” Her eyes widen. “Fuck, Maxim, don’t get caught. I had a friend who lost both her legs to fairy vigilantes.”
I nod as I tuck the pouch into the inside pocket of my suit coat. “Trix and her sister are discreet. You know my trust isn’t easily won, but I have faith they’ll keep this transaction between us.”
Hermione pulls in a breath and lets it out through a tight jaw. “All right. Then I’ll start sobering him up for questioning. Give me three days. I want to wean him off the meds slowly, so he doesn’t have an adverse reaction.”
