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“Okay, then. Do you have anywhere in particular in mind?”
“I know a place you might like.”
“Where?”
“You’ll see.” He pulled her flush against him, aligning her body to his, and slid a hand down her back to palm her ass. “Before we go anywhere, I want a kiss.”
“A kiss?” She looped her arms around his neck. “Hmm, I can make that happen.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Personally, Raini, I think it was pretty brave of you to pick a casino for the party venue,” said Harper, speaking via video call. She, Devon and Khloë were having lunch at Urban Ink; they’d called Raini to check how the party preparations were going. “I mean,” Harper went on, “you realize your dad, uncles, and most of my relatives will spend the evening cheating at cards and fiddling the machines?”
“Yup,” replied Raini, prepping the coffee machine. “But it’s worth noting that there probably won’t be a reason to go ahead with the party, so I’m not stressing over it.”
Khloë frowned. “Why wouldn’t we go ahead with it?”
“Because this is about provoking my cowardly foe,” Raini reminded her. “If it works, they might react way before the party date.”
“You could still go through with it, though,” the imp insisted. “Finding your anchor is something to celebrate. Why wouldn’t you want to? Why wouldn’t you want to share your joy—”
“Enough with the fake pout,” said Raini, rolling her eyes.
“I just really want there to be a party. So much shit has gone on lately, we deserve a celebration of some kind. Tell me I’m wrong.”
“Our friendly neighborhood boycotter could actually show up and cause a stink.” Devon sipped some of her soda. “I would’ve thought that they’d have made another shitty move by now.”
Raini grabbed a mug out of the cupboard. “Yeah, I don’t think my plot to piss them off is working.” She hadn’t made it a secret that she was planning a party to celebrate finding her anchor. She’d booked a venue, catering service, music band, and all that jazz. She’d also sent out lots of electronic invitations, including to Dwain, Demi, Marcella, and Euan.
Raini had also gone on plenty of fake dates in the Underground with Maddox. He’d taken her to dinner, to a bar for drinks, to the hellhound racing stadium, to her favorite ice-cream parlor. They hadn’t felt like fake dates at all. It hadn’t felt like they were putting on a show. It was more like they were an anchored pair enjoying each other’s company and learning more about each other, solidifying their bond.
She’d learned that Maddox had no problems with PDA. He touched her often in public, and that never felt fake either. The touches—whether a feather of his fingers across the back of her hand, a light massage on her nape, a hand splayed on the curve of her spine so that the heel of his palm rested on her butt—held a proprietary edge. His touches always had, but it seemed … more now. Or maybe that was just her. Maybe she was getting too caught up in the fantasy that he might want more than a brief bed-buddy arrangement. Because, to her utter annoyance, she did.
Coming to feel something for him beyond their anchor connection hadn’t been part of her plan at all. At first, she’d wondered if it was merely the novelty of being with someone who wasn’t caught up in the succubae package. But no. Maddox wasn’t a “nice guy,” wasn’t sweet and funny and open. He didn’t shower her with pretty words and compliments. She couldn’t even really describe him as “good.” He was a ruthless, unforgiving, calculated man who gave no fucks about anyone outside of his circle. But Raini didn’t need “nice.” She wasn’t looking for Prince Charming—he sounded kind of boring, really. And having grown up around imps, who weren’t exactly big on ethics, she wasn’t sure she’d know what to do with a perfect guy.
Other traits were important to Raini. She wanted someone she could trust to always be loyal to her; someone she wouldn’t have to hide parts of herself from; someone she could rely on to always be there for her and with whom she’d always be safe. Raini instinctively knew that Maddox could be that person. The problem was … she didn’t know if he’d be that person only because she was his anchor. She didn’t know if she mattered to him beyond that.
Sometimes, he looked at her in a way that made her think she meant more. But Raini wasn’t sure if she was merely seeing what she wanted to see; wasn’t sure if it had all been part of their “we’re a couple” act. She so far hadn’t found the guts to ask.
Just then, Ciaran teleported into the kitchen, his expression uber serious.
Wariness slithered up Raini’s spine, and her demon went hyper alert. “Sorry, girls, I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you all again later.” She ended the video call before they could question her and then turned to the male imp. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”
