Prince of Air and Darkness (3 page)

Hunter suppressed a growl of frustration, for somehow Kiera seemed to have taken charge when
he
was supposed to be holding the reins. He’d planned to stand and give her a gallant kiss on the knuckles instead of a handshake when she finally arrived. The anachronistic gesture would have charmed and unsettled her in equal measure, and he would have firmly established his control. Now, however, it was too late to stand up, and he would feel silly kissing her knuckles when sitting down. Annoyed that his strategic choreography had been ruined so easily, he managed a winning smile as he clasped her hand warmly.

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Malone. As you so rightly guessed, I am indeed Hunter Teague. Would you like a cup of coffee before we begin?”

Kiera brushed red curls out of her face and shook her head. “No, thanks. I’ve had so much coffee already I might float away. But if you want a warm-up, I’ll get you one.” She was already pushing her chair back before he had a chance to respond. “I’m buying, since I kept you waiting.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Hunter said stiffly, even as he tried to school his expression. He had meant to buy
her
a cup of coffee.

Kiera laughed. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those old-fashioned guys who think women should never pay for anything. I’ll write this off as a business expense. You drinking decaf or regular?” Once again, she didn’t wait for his answer. “Regular,” she said to herself confidently and was halfway to the counter before he could get in a word.

Hunter was glad there was a line at the counter, because he needed a little time to reassess the situation. He was ashamed of himself. Surely he could improvise better than this, even if she had spoiled his well-laid-out plans. Of course, he’d never tried to seduce someone on command before, so perhaps he wasn’t at his best. Besides, this was just the first meeting. He would do a better job of tailoring his sensual attack once he gained a little insight into her personality.

Hunter rallied his mental troops as Kiera returned to the table and set a fresh cup of coffee in front of him. She dug a yellow spiral-bound notepad and a mechanical pencil out of the bulging monstrosity of a purse she carried. He’d thought a professional web designer would take notes on an iPad or a smart phone. He found the pencil and paper both surprising, and strangely charming.

“So, Mr. Teague,” she said, “tell me a little about your business and about what you imagine your website will look like.”

“Please, call me Hunter.”

“All right,” she agreed easily.

“As I believe I mentioned on the phone, I’m a massage therapist.” He watched her face closely for her reaction, and was rewarded with a spark of interest. He’d chosen his fake profession with care, wanting something that would inspire sensual images in Kiera’s mind.

“You did mention it.” Her smile changed into something more like a grin. “You don’t look like any massage therapist I’ve ever seen.”

Aha, now he was getting somewhere. He took a sip of his coffee and raised his eyebrows. “Oh? What should a massage therapist look like?”

She was still grinning. “In my experience, they’re always these petite New Age women with hands so strong they could crush bricks.”

He put down the coffee cup and pushed it aside, leaning forward ever so slightly, letting his Faerie glamour surround him and reach for her. “Well,” he murmured, “I may not be a petite New Age woman, but I do have strong hands.”

He expected her eyes to get that smoky, glazed look women usually got when they felt the touch of his glamour, but Kiera remained distressingly clear-eyed. Of course, being half-fey herself, she was undoubtedly more resistant to glamour than the average mortal.

“What led you to such an unusual profession?” she asked.

Hunter tried not to be disgruntled by her failure to fall instantly under his spell. Luckily, he had invented an entire past for himself and had his lie ready to hand. “An old girlfriend of mine was in training to be a massage therapist. She practiced on me and taught me how to return the favor. I discovered that I had a knack for it, and that I enjoyed the work.”

The way she was looking at him was worrisome. He could tell at once that she doubted his story, though he didn’t know why that should be. It seemed like a perfectly reasonable explanation. He wondered if he had made a tactical error in choosing massage as his profession. Perhaps it was too female-dominated an industry, and he was raising her suspicions by his unusual choice. But the possibilities were too tempting. If she resisted all his other charms, surely she would not be able to resist him when he talked her into sampling his services. Imagining her lying naked on the massage table stirred something deep in his belly. When he took the fantasy a step further, imagining his hands on the smooth, bare skin of her back, heat flooded him.

Hunter reached for his cup of coffee once more, startled by his reaction. Kiera wasn’t pretty enough to justify the lust she had somehow inspired in him. He wondered if she had a touch of Faerie glamour about her, despite being mortal. But of course, that couldn’t be. A half-blood could possess glamour—as Hunter himself did—but only if she’d gone to Faerie and partaken of food or drink. In which case she wouldn’t be mortal anymore.

Whatever doubts she might have had about his explanation, she banished them with a shrug. “So, you’ve recently moved here from New York, and you need to establish a new clientele.”

“That’s right.”

“Do you have a business card?”

“Of course. It’s my personal card for now, until I have my business up and running.” He pulled a gold business card holder from his pocket, flipping it open and passing a card across the table. He’d decided that the card should be plain and understated—let Kiera put her mind to the task of designing an image for him. The harder she had to think about the allure of massage, the more susceptible she would be when he moved in for the kill.

Kiera took the card and glanced at it briefly. She started to tuck it into her coat pocket, then pulled it out again and looked at it more closely. Her eyebrows shot up. “Why, this is the same building I live in!” she said.

“Is it?” he exclaimed in feigned surprise.

“What a coincidence.”

He smiled. “Yes. And a convenient one at that.”

She smiled in what was probably supposed to be agreement, but he could see at once that the thought of him living in the same building made her uncomfortable. He stored that observation away for future reference.

“All right,” Kiera said brightly, sticking the card in her coat pocket, “that gives me the essential address and phone information. Now tell me a little bit more about how you envision your website.”

He tried to look appropriately helpless. “To tell you the truth, I haven’t the faintest idea. When I was in New York, I built my clientele by word of mouth, and I haven’t a clue how to attract new clients through a website.” He smiled hopefully. “I was rather thinking that was where
you
came in.”

“Yes, of course. I just wanted to know if you had something in mind to begin with. What kind of image would you like to build?”

“Peaceful,” he answered promptly. “Relaxing. Sensual without being sexual.” He almost smiled to see the faint hint of color in her cheeks at his mere suggestion of sex.

Kiera scribbled a few notes, then stuck the end of the pencil in her mouth without seeming to notice she was doing it. “And what vital information do you need displayed?”

He launched into a detailed description of his “business” and his offerings. He’d read up on several forms of massage on the Internet, and had settled on Swedish and deep tissue massage as his specialties, as they seemed to have the broadest appeal. He’d called a number of spas in the area to inquire about the prices, making sure his own were reasonable. He’d even bought a couple of instructional books and videos, so he knew the basics of what he’d be expected to do. He’d had no one to practice on, of course, but he was sure the touch of his hands would be sufficient to hide any deficiency in his training.

By the time he was through, Kiera had covered several pages with scrawled, illegible notes, and had left many a tooth mark in her pencil. She was chewing on it again as she glanced over the notes, and Hunter found his attention riveted to her lips as she toyed with the pencil. Images came to mind, visions of those lips wrapped around something other than a pencil, and his cock stirred restlessly.

An interesting development,
he thought, frowning. He’d assumed he would have to use plenty of imagination to arouse himself sufficiently to do his job, but Kiera seemed to be inspiring him all on her own. He couldn’t imagine why. Not that she was ugly. In fact, if she dressed more appealingly and made some effort to tame her hair, she might even be pretty. But Hunter had never before felt much attraction to mortal women who weren’t drop-dead gorgeous.

Kiera extracted the pencil from her mouth and nodded briskly. “I think I’ve got enough here to work with,” she told him, closing the notebook. “When do you need the project done?”

He gave her his most charming smile. “I am more concerned that the project be done right than that it be done fast.”

“All right. I can have some mock-ups for you in about a week. I’ll come up with three design schemes, then a couple sample pages for each scheme. You tell me which one you want to pursue, or if you want me to give you more options. Once we’ve agreed on a design scheme, we can talk about what else you might need. I can do business cards or a Facebook page or brochures. But all that comes after. Sound fair?”

“Sounds perfect.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet and counting out four crisp hundred-dollar bills.

Kiera blinked in surprise when he handed the money to her.

“We did agree on four hundred as a down payment, didn’t we?” he asked.

The surprise vanished under another of her lovely smiles. “Yes, of course. I just wasn’t expecting cash is all.” She took the money and tucked it into a pocket in her jeans. “You being a city boy, I wouldn’t have expected you to carry that kind of cash around in your wallet.”

“I pity any pickpocket or mugger who dares to mess with me.” He allowed a little of the savagery that was his birthright to show in his fierce smile. Kiera saw it and recognized it; he could tell by the almost imperceptible shiver that ran through her. If she was like most women, that savagery would both frighten and excite her.

Hunter rose smoothly from his chair, slipping into his leather coat and pretending he didn’t notice the effect he had had on her. She remained seated, looking uncertain of herself for the first time. He reached out to shake her hand, and she instinctively complied.

“It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Kiera,” he said, putting a hint of a seductive purr in his voice. Her palm was damp as he squeezed her hand, and he couldn’t help wondering if she was damp anywhere else.

She smiled, just a bit too brightly, the apples reappearing on her cheeks. “You too.”

Thinking that perhaps this reality was even better than the scene he had choreographed in his mind, he bent to press a kiss against her knuckles. His lips felt the tremor that shook her. She was falling already. As a Prince of the Unseelie Court, Hunter should have felt a glow of satisfaction at her reaction to him. He cursed the mortal blood he’d inherited from his father, the mortal blood that made him regret the pain he would cause her, instead of reveling in it. His life would be so much easier if only he could fully embrace the values of the Court to which he belonged; body and soul.

Releasing her hand slowly, he settled his hat on his head, and then swept out of the coffee shop.

****

Kiera sat unmoving at the table for a long time after Hunter was gone. The shop smelled heavily of coffee, but underneath that she detected bay leaves and sandalwood. Her knuckles still felt hot from the touch of his lips, and her throat was dry as parchment.

She’d never felt anything like this before. She had met Hunter less than an hour ago, and already her hormones were screaming that she had to have him. All right, so he was quite a treat for the eyes, and his deep, cultured voice had a naturally seductive throb in it that would make any woman’s knees weak. But really! She was thirty years old—far too old to go all soft and gooey because a handsome man looked at her. She smiled to herself. All right, a drop-dead gorgeous man who oozed with blatant male sexuality. But she still had no right to feel this horny just from a meeting with a client.

Her mother’s voice came to her mind unbidden, talking about the quest for Mr. Right, telling Kiera how she’d recognized her “soul mate” at first sight. Today hadn’t been Kiera’s first sight of Hunter. She remembered seeing him sitting on a bench in Rittenhouse Square almost a week before he’d called to make an appointment. She’d felt an instant of shock the moment their eyes had met, and she remembered the electricity of it even now. Why, out of all of the thousands of men she’d seen in the crowded streets of Philadelphia, did that one stand out so in her mind?

Kiera laughed and shook her head at herself. Nuttiness must run in her family, and she was apparently suffering from a delayed onset. There was nothing the least bit mysterious about Hunter or her attraction to him. He was just a gorgeous guy, and she was an unattached woman who’d gone too long between boyfriends.

Not willing to go back to her apartment building—Hunter lived there, after all, and she didn’t think she wanted to see him again just yet—she ordered a decaf and curled up on an armchair in the corner of the intimate little seating area. Her mind seemed not her own, for if she didn’t concentrate every moment on not thinking about it, she found herself imagining Hunter stripping off his expensive clothes for her pleasure.

Kiera frowned at the image. She hadn’t thought about it before, but his clothes really had been expensive. Why, the leather coat alone must have cost a small fortune. And that business card holder had had a gleam to it that suggested it might be real gold. Was massage therapy so lucrative an occupation?

And now that the fog of sexual desire was finally beginning to fade, how could that man possibly be a massage therapist? Sure, looks could be deceiving, and stereotypes prove false, but it was almost impossible to imagine an obvious alpha male like him choosing that profession. She closed her eyes and tried to picture him putting his hands on the sagging flesh of one of the matronly women who resided in their apartment building, and her mind balked. Her mind balked even more at the image of him putting his hands on a
man’s
flesh. Something about it just wasn’t right.