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Then a man materializes in front of me.
And what a man. Tall and broad-shouldered, he’s wearing a bespoke suit that hugs his muscled body in all the right places. His face, framed by thick, silky-looking dark hair, is even more impressive. Ocean-blue eyes glint at me from beneath straight black slashes of eyebrows, and his high cheekbones appear to have been carved by a sculptor, along with his chiseled jaw and dimpled chin. Oh, and there’s a hint of stubble on that gorgeous face, as if he hadn’t shaved this morning.
It’s official. He’s hotter than Adonis, the most popular uber singer on Gomorrah. Wait—maybe he is a celeb. Something about his face does look familiar…
As I study each feature, I catch myself wanting to kiss those firm yet plush lips. Which is beyond insane. We’ve just met, and I have huge problems with touching in general, let alone touching that leads to the exchange of bacteria-laden bodily fluids.
Puck. I’m still staring at him. How long is it socially acceptable to stare at someone? Worse yet, my furry wristband has just turned an embarrassing coral pink—the color of sexual arousal.
At least this guy doesn’t know that my looft displays my emotions this way, or what each color means.
Hold on. All this time, he’s been staring at me just as intently. I’ve got to say something. Anything.
What comes out is a lame “Hi.”
A sensual smile touches those kissable lips. “Hi, Bailey.” He extends his hand. “I’m Valerian.”
On autopilot, I clasp his palm, noting with some small corner of my mind just how big and warm it is. He squeezes my hand gently, then releases it, his smile widening at my continued dumbstruck silence.
For four straight seconds, I don’t reach for the sanitizer—a record of some kind.
Then my common sense kicks in, and I get the bottle out and sterilize my hand, finally processing his introduction.
Valerian. That’s the guy who hired me for all those VR-related jobs.
This is what he looks like? Until now, we’d been communicating via encrypted email. If I’d known all the facts, our meetings would’ve been in person. Maybe even in some romantic, scenic locations, like the shore of that beautiful lake on—
With effort, I tamp down on the inappropriate fantasy forming in my mind and say in as even of a tone as I can manage, “Nice to meet you in person, Valerian. Are you on this Council?”
“I’m not.” The way he says it, though, makes it sound like he omitted the word yet.
I blink up at him. “Then how did you manage to get into the castle? For that matter, how were you invisible?”
“He was invisible?” Felix asks. “How—”
“Same answer to both.” Valerian’s sensual lips curve again. “As you know, I’m an illusionist. While you talked to Kain, I gave both of you the illusion of being alone in the room. Same when I came to the castle. I made it so nobody could see me. Oh, and I carry a device that turns off any cameras around me.”
My earpiece fills with grumbling. “So that’s why I can’t see anything. Let’s hope the camera comes back on when he leaves.”
Ignoring Felix, I process what Valerian has said. When Hekima did his illusionist thing, he shot those energy arcs at everyone’s heads. Apparently, that’s not the only way that power is used. The reality is much scarier: You may have no idea when an illusionist is working his mojo.
Then something very disappointing occurs to me. Given Valerian’s powers, he might not actually look like a sex god. I bet no one looks like this, and certainly not this Valerian guy.
How sad.
The weird part is that he seems equally fascinated with me, his eyes scanning my face as if he plans to draw me later. “I know this will sound like a pickup line,” he murmurs, stepping closer, “but I can’t shake the feeling that you look familiar. Have we met?”
I catch a pleasant whiff of warm male skin and pine, and my mind fills with images of sunlit forest meadows and long, lazy kisses on a picnic blanket. I swallow to combat the sudden dryness in my throat. “I don’t think so, but you look familiar to me, too. Have you ever visited Tranquility? The rehab facility on Gomorrah?” Or did you make yourself look like a celebrity? is what I don’t ask.
His hypnotic eyes gleam with amusement. “Afraid not. I keep my vices under control.”
I’m suddenly dying to know all about those vices, but I force myself to focus. “Based on the jobs you’ve given me, you’re into VR. Maybe you took some video game design classes here on Earth? Or on Gomorrah?”
“I’m self-taught.” He looks at his watch, then at the door. “We don’t have much time, so I’d like to get to the point.”
“Sure.” I conceal my irrational disappointment. “What point is that?”
