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Expression softening, she lowered her brows and smiled, but worry still swirled in her hazel eyes, all the colors of the earth mixed in them. “Of course, babe.”
“Thank you. I’ll wire payment when I can.”
She shook her head, her long green curls bouncing with the motion, still none of the silver strands one would expect to see at her age. Magic had slowed her aging too—not stopped it like with him, but slowed it to as near as possible for a living being. “You’ll do no such thing. You’re my family.”
He gulped down the lump in his throat. “You don’t need—”
“Zip it, Icarus.” Her voice was scratchy, like she had a lump in her throat too, but the tone brooked no argument.
He’d learned decades ago not to argue with her when she’d made up her mind. “All right,” he said. “Thank you.”
“Now, who is it?”
“He goes by the name Adam Devlin, aka the Devil.”
NINE
Icarus feltit the second Adam entered the club, their connection a live wire electrifying the air around them. Adam’s gaze seared a path across his bare back, and Icarus could hear his heartbeat over the thumping music, over the heartbeat of the client in front of him. Mike, one of his regulars, was a sweet, handsome commodities trader from out of town who always called when he was in Yerba Buena. Polite, generous, and decent in bed, he was a good, calm, and safe night’s work. And as good an excuse as any to stall while excavation continued.
According to Atlas, Icarus had three days to deliver Adam back to the Canyon Lands. Three days to figure out what he was actually going to do. He could take this first one to gather his info, gather his wits, and gather extra money in case he needed to bolt. And no matter how loudly Icarus’s instincts screamed at him to run Adam’s direction, a night off from Mister Stranger Danger across the room was a smart decision. He needed to make more of those and less of the run-toward-danger sort.
Beside him, Mike slid some bills into the folio the bartender had left for them. “You mind if we grab a quick dinner on the way to the hotel?” He dipped his chin, and a blush reddened his dark cheeks. “I dropped off my bags and came straight here.”
Icarus lifted his chin with a crooked finger. “Of course not, babe. Need you—” The rest of his words died as a hand spread across his bare back, snuck beneath the drape of his open-back halter, and inched around to clasp his side. Icarus didn’t need to look to know who the hand belonged to. The heat and strength of the body that pressed against his back, the scent of whiskey that flooded his senses, and the muscled arm that draped over his shoulder, a single designer heel dangling from his fingertips, confirmed what he already knew.
As did Mike’s wide eyes.
“I need a word with you,” Adam said, voice deliciously rough.
Icarus shivered, and he was sure that Adam, snug as he was against Icarus’s back, felt it. Adam spread his fingers over Icarus’s hip, teasing the side laces of his leather shorts. Icarus would be lying if he said his dick didn’t perk right up. Rude of his dick, and of Adam, seeing as Icarus was standing at the bar next to a client. “I’m busy,” he said to Adam as he attempted to step forward, hand on Mike’s forearm.
He failed. Adam’s fingers dug into his side. “I’ll outpay him.”
Snatching his shoe from Adam, Icarus whipped his head to the side and glared at the too-presumptuous, too-fucking-handsome man. “That’s not how it works.”
One corner of the Devil’s mouth hitched up. “Fine.” He turned his smirk to Mike. “How much did you pay him?”
“Five hundred.”
Adam removed his hand from beneath Icarus’s blouse, and Icarus didn’t want to admit how much he missed the touch. Adam stepped more fully beside them and withdrew a wad of bills from his wallet. He held out the cash to a slack-jawed Mike. “That’s a grand. Enough for you to go away?”
Mike’s gaze bounced between the cash, the two of them, and down to Icarus’s erection straining the front of his shorts. “But he’s the best.”
Icarus chuckled. Leave it to the thirsty trader to try and negotiate.
Adam, though, had an answer for Mike’s thirst: quench it with a different one. He lifted a hand, catching the attention of the bartender, who, catching sight of Adam, bobbled his shaker. He finished pouring the drink, slid it in front of the customer, then hustled in their direction. “Didn’t expect to see you back so soon.”
“Unfinished business,” Adam replied, gaze flicking to Icarus, then to Mike. “Get...”
“Mike,” Icarus’s client supplied.
“Get Mike a barrel-aged whiskey.”
“Coming right up.”
“That settle us?” Adam said to Mike while the bartender accessed a secure cabinet beneath the back bar.
Mike shot Icarus a chagrined smile. “Sorry, Icarus, but I’ve never had the real stuff before. Rain check?”
