Jenn Bennett - Grim Shadows

No need to tell him twice. He pressed his eager mouth to hers, smiling as he kissed her several times in quick succession. Then he slid his hand around the side of her neck to hold her captive and lingered a little longer. He was just about to deepen the kiss when another female voice addressed him.

“If you wanted a private balcony room, you should’ve told Daniels.”

Hadley jerked away. Standing in front of the table was a tall woman in her mid-thirties with pale nutmeg skin of indeterminable ancestry. Her hair was cut short in an Eton crop, styled into shiny brown finger waves molded close to her head, and she was dressed in a soft blue gown that glittered with beads.

He jumped to his feet to greet her. “Did you miss me?”

“The poker games upstairs sure did,” she said, a smile curling her lips. She set a pocket-sized cigarillo tin on the table before hugging him. Then she held him at arm’s length to look him over. “Your hair’s blonder on top. And you’re missing something.” She glanced down at his maimed hand.

“Gardening accident.”

Never one to believe his stories, she rolled her eyes to the ceiling before glancing at Hadley.

He placed a hand on Hadley’s chairback. “Velma Toussaint, this is Hadley Bacall, a curator at the de Young Museum. Hadley, this is Velma. She owns Gris-Gris.”

The women nodded at each other politely.

“Curious energy you’ve got there, dear,” Velma remarked.

Hadley’s eyes widened. She shifted in her seat as Velma looked askance at Lowe, as if asking for an explanation.

Not his place to tell Hadley’s secrets, so he just gave Velma a smile that was probably cockier than he intended. “Hadley knows why I’m here to see you. We’re working together, so she’ll be using the charm with me.”

“Well, then. Isn’t this interesting,” she said, keeping her eyes on Hadley as she flicked open the cigarillo tin’s lid. An herbal scent wafted out. Inside the slim box sat a glass vial and several small pouches made of red flannel, each about the size of a quarter. The tops were tied with white string. “Five mojo bags. They will keep your enemies away and give you protection from magical tracking spells, but only for a brief time. To activate a bag, you must feed it by anointing it with oil. A drop will do, right on the outside of the bag. Keep it in your pocket and don’t let anyone else touch it.”

“How long will the effects last?”

“Fifteen minutes, an hour. It’s hard to say. It’ll be strongest right when you feed it. Gradually wears off. One-time use only. When you’re done with it, you’ll need to throw it away at a crossroads. Any crossroads will do. Just toss it out of your car window if you’re in a hurry.”

“What’s inside them?” Hadley asked, sniffing the contents of the tin.

Velma shut the lid. “Herbs, charms. Innocuous ingredients. It’s the way they’re combined and prayed over that gives them power. And it’s the intent behind their deployment that makes them work. So while you feed a bag, if you have a specific enemy in mind to avoid, best to think hard about them. Understand?”

Hadley nodded.

“You’re a peach, Velma. How much do I owe you?”

“Just tell your sister-in-law to come see me. I’ve got a client who needs to have a word with their dead grandmother.” Velma slid the box toward Lowe and smiled as she took her leave from the table. “Don’t be a stranger.”

Lowe watched her depart as he stashed the tin in his inner suit pocket.

“Fascinating,” Hadley said.

“She is,” he agreed. “And now that we have some protection, we can begin searching for the third crossbar.”

Her reply was lost under a booming voice from the stage. The tuxedoed house band was taking its place to play their first set of the night. And as the drummer teased out a snappy rhythm, the clubgoers who’d been taking a breather at the bar now returned to the dance floor like ants infiltrating a picnic. Then the chords of “Bye, Bye, Blackbird” started up, and conversation became an impossibility.

He glanced at Hadley.

“Care to dance?” he said near her ear, raising his voice to be heard over the music.

She quickly shook her head and stiffened her posture. But curious eyes slid toward the dancers and a soft smile tilted her lips. She gave him a look that said “maybe.”

He pulled her to her feet and led her past tables to the crowded dance floor. And before she could change her mind, he gathered her close, one arm around her back, hands clasped, and swayed her into the crowd. A look of exhilaration swept over her features as they fell into step with ease. She was a good dancer, only looking at their feet long enough to catch the beat. He wasn’t sure why this surprised him. But he soon took advantage of it, swinging her around and laughing as she mouthed the song’s chorus along with the crooning singer on stage.

What an unexpected pleasure it was to watch her cheeks flush with excitement. He liked seeing her happy. It was infectious. They danced through another up-tempo song, and then he drew her closer for a Gershwin ballad. Closer still, holding her with both arms as she flattened her palms against his chest. He bowed his head to catch the scent of her hair and felt her breath tickling the skin between his ear and shirt collar. It made him dizzy with arousal and an aching, over-warm contentment.

“Take me home.”

He barely heard the words against his ear. Barely believed them. His breath came faster. Maybe he was giving them unintended meaning. Maybe she only wanted a repeat of the chair. Which, to be honest, he wouldn’t turn down in a hundred years, especially if they weren’t interrupted by her maid.

But if there was a chance she meant something more . . .

“I want to forget about everything,” she said. “Please.”

“Not sure I can do what we did again and survive—a man has his limits,” he said. “Let’s just dance.”

Tension tightened her shoulders for a moment. Then she relaxed and spoke into his ear again as if she were bartering for goods at one of the street markets in Cairo. “No clothes.”

“You or me?”

She hesitated for a moment, and then said, “Both of us.”

HE DIDN’T HAVE TO talk her into riding on the back of Lulu again. It felt good to have her arms around him, but he would’ve given anything to be in the darkened backseat of a taxicab instead. And the torturous wait didn’t end once they got to her apartment building, where tenants were coming and going and chatting in the lobby. They hurried into the elevator, only to be forced to make small talk with the elevator man. By the time they made it inside her apartment, Lowe had adopted her counting technique.

He couldn’t lock the door behind them fast enough.

“Please tell me there’s no maid getting ready for bed in another room,” he said, shrugging out of his outer garments while she did the same.

She smiled nervously. “No maid.”

“No maid coming later?”

She shook her head, backing farther into the darkened apartment.

Thank God. “Where are you going?”

“It’s warmer back here.”

He paused mid-step, his eyes nearly fluttering shut with anticipation. He followed the sway of her hips through a hallway into a room that was warmer in both temperature and color. Dusky rose covered the windows and floors. Her black cat lounged on a pile of crumpled clothes in the corner, his tail lazily switching as he yawned at his owner in greeting.

“Sorry,” Hadley mumbled as she turned on a stained-glass dragonfly lamp. “No maid.”

Well, well. He rather liked seeing her messy. His gaze fell to the unmade bed, and alongside it, a wide vase of lilies sat on her nightstand, all different sizes and shapes and colors. His lilies: the ribbons were still tied to the stems.

It was all he could do not to grin like an idiot.

She untied the scarf around her head and dropped it on the bed. They stared at each other for several beats. Gone was the smiling confidence he’d held in his arms on the speakeasy dance floor. She looked wary now. A hand flattened over her stomach, as if she were trying to tame her nerves.

She was distressed.

Not exactly what a man wanted to realize while he stood in a woman’s bedroom. But what did he expect—that a few minutes in his lap a week ago would wipe away years of aversion? Sad thing was, he stupidly hoped it had. And something base inside him saw her unguarded and fragile, and it wanted nothing more than to rip off her clothes, throw her across the bed, and sink inside her.

What little blood was left in his brain whispered that this might not be the best approach.

Hadley was a prickly cactus. He could take his time to slowly, delicately find his way between her defensive spines. Or he could craftily trick her into shedding the spines on her own.

He crooked a finger. “Come here.”

She hesitated, then closed the distance between them, stopping a foot away.

“This is what we’re going to do,” he said, removing his suit jacket. “I’m going to take off every stitch of clothing.” He hung the jacket on the metal footboard of her bed and watched her eyes following its path. “And you get to keep your clothes on”—he slid a glance over her breasts—“for now. But only if you help me undress.”

She made a small noise, looking him over as if his clothes were an unsolvable puzzle.

He unfastened a cuff link and dropped it in his pants pocket. “You’ll be touching me while I keep my hands to myself. You’re still in control.” She absolutely wasn’t, and he hoped like hell she wouldn’t notice. Like a cardsharp using sleight of hand to trick his mark, he added a little misdirection. “Now, I’m going to remove everything above my waist while you take off my boots. Whoever finishes last has to take care of my pants.”