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I slid my hand between my legs, and he chuckled and batted it away.
“Eli. . .please.”
A few casual strokes of his devilish tongue, and he prompted, “No intercourse because. . . you dislike me?”
“No.”
“Ah. You fear I’d disappoint?”
“No.”
“Because you love me, but aren’t ready for marriage?”
I looked down at the beautiful man who continued to torment me just enough to keep me hanging on a precipice. “Yes. . .”
“I do love you, Geneviève,” he swore.
And then he stopped teasing.
Chapter Six
By morning,I was in far cheerier mood than I had thought possible at this unholy hour of the day. I didn’t even remark on the designer jeans or new undergarments in “my” drawer that obviously cost more money than reasonable people spent on clothes.
“No shirt?” I glanced over my shoulder at the naked faery watching me from the bed. The sheets weren’t covering anything, and I let myself look my fill. Witches weren’t particularly hung-up on modesty, and fortunately, neither were the fae.
“You can borrow any one of my shirts.” Eli’s voice was mild, but it felt like a test of some sort. “Or bring a few to put in my closet.”
I grinned. “But pretty things magically appear here, why would I do that?”
“Because I am fae, bonbon.” He stalked toward me. “I like the scent of you on my sheets. Wear my shirt, or you could hang some of your things next to my clothes.”
I shrugged like it was no big deal. “Sure. I like the dark blue one of yours.”
Eli left to his closet and returned with six blue shirts—and I tried not to admit that I liked the smell of his clothes, too, although I know he saw me sniff one of the shirts.
“I wore that one briefly yesterday,” he said.
“I’m terrible at being courted.” I pulled on a sleeveless shell he’d brought, too, and then put his shirt on over it like it was a jacket. “Maybe you should—"
“You’re exactly the one Iwantto court, Geneviève,” he said with a quick kiss, nothing more than a brush of lips but it somehow still made me feel like some foolish maiden about to swoon. Then he added, “So,no, you aren’t terrible.”
The buzzing of my phone told me that my designated driver was outside. Eli glared at the phone.
“Do what you need,” I said. “Ally will take me home and then we’ll handle the Christophe Hebert problem.”
“You could stay here,” Eli suggested. “Sleep more.”
“I need to deal with Iggy, and you need to go over to the bar.”
“I need to hire a manager.” Eli sighed, but the reality of the matter was more complicated.
The fae need a “normal” amount of sleep—and sunlight. I was the opposite. For most of my life, I’d needed little sleep, maybe four hours a day unless I was injured. I had a peculiar metabolism that meant that I could do a low-grade activity while my body recharged. Watch a show? Take a bath? Things that required no activity on my part recharged muscle and organs. After the attempt on my life, that changed. I could sleep longer, but if I wanted to stay awake, there was a cure.
That cure was waiting downstairs in a cup.
“This afternoon,” Eli said. “I’ll be at your side to locate Madame Hebert in Houston, but there is a faery bargain left unanswered. If you do not accept the bargain by tomorrow, you are on your own, Geneviève. I cannot offer you aid or pleasure. Think about that, about how you tremble at my touch, about who else could provide the strength or pleasure you need . . .”
“Eli . . .”
