considering her desire.
“Then come with me.”
“You’ll give me the key if I go with you?”
“Not immediately, no.” He wouldn’t lie or play that particular deception. “However, I’ll consider your request. And perhaps we can come to some arrangement.”
Her expression wavered. He understood the curiosity that relaxed the tense muscles of her face. “How do I know you aren’t just luring me away to thrust a dagger into my back?”
“Because you have to ask for the only thing I want to thrust into you.” Was that the faintest of smiles curving her lips? “Is eating with me such a bad idea?”
Instead of answering, Roseâtre turned away and walked to the back of the stage. His cat went still, watchful. When he would have said something, the cat stilled his tongue. She paused near the curtains that shielded the backstage entrance.
Her shoes.
Anthony blew out a breath he hadn’t realized he held. The cat purred in approval as the Amazon turned and strode over the stage, a general taking to the battlefield. But no general ever looked as sexy as his princess did, the blue shirt riding her curves, long legs shaped to perfection by punishingly high heels, and a saucy hint of a smile on her kissable lips.
She ignored his hand as she walked past but he scented amusement, not irritation, and bounded across the stage to enjoy the view of her firm little ass rolling in invitation as she descended the steps to the theatre floor.
At audience level, she paused, her gaze opaque, unreadable. His cat hesitated, sensing a change in the air but uncertain whether it was the promise of warm rain or the threat of a thunderstorm cresting the horizon.
“Just food, Anthony.” She reminded him when he closed the gap between them.
Curiosity and lust burning in his chest, he prowled after her. Something shifted between them, but neither man nor cat was entirely certain of it.
“As you wish, princess.”
For now .
Chapter Seven
Roseâtre said little as they crossed the parquet of the Arcana Royale’s lobby. Overhead, the statue of the Great Sphinx gazed dispassionately at the ebb and flow of normal and paranormal alike. The lobby was a crossroads, populated by arrivals, departures and those unlucky few who had nowhere else to go.
The fashion changed, the hairstyles adjusted and the shoes were always evolving, but the lobby appeared much as it had upon her arrival with Cerveau all those years ago. It was startling to realize she had no idea when she’d arrived. After Pandora, sure, but the exact year seemed to bleed into so many other memories that she couldn’t pinpoint it.
Winter. Of that, she was certain. They’d been on a quest, one Cerveau, the librarian, had been determined to complete and for which Roseâtre cheerfully volunteered. Cerveau’s hunger for knowledge was a constant source of amusement for Roseâtre. They enjoyed the debate, the hunt and the dig.
Unfortunately, the lust for knowledge led them in the front doors of this very casino, colliding with an obstacle that Roseâtre couldn’t simply slay. Beyond the front door lay an entire city, an ever-changing, ever-evolving city where humans thrived on vice. But inside the Royale…life stayed the same. Her heels clicked decisively against the tiles. Behind her, Anthony was a warm shield at her back.
Shield.
It was a strange term to apply to the descendent of a blood-sworn enemy, but it fit. Like the tiger he became, he prowled on silent feet, shadowing her steps. If she stopped too suddenly, she imagined he would brush right up against her back.
Tempting as the thought might be, she forced her legs to keep moving. Cool air brushed her legs and slid under his shirt to tease her overheated skin. The lack of clothing didn’t bother her, nor did the wolf whistles and the catcalls. She was used to being noticed and she managed her walk the way she managed her stage performances—as though they were merely battles to be overcome.
At the bank of
“Then come with me.”
“You’ll give me the key if I go with you?”
“Not immediately, no.” He wouldn’t lie or play that particular deception. “However, I’ll consider your request. And perhaps we can come to some arrangement.”
Her expression wavered. He understood the curiosity that relaxed the tense muscles of her face. “How do I know you aren’t just luring me away to thrust a dagger into my back?”
“Because you have to ask for the only thing I want to thrust into you.” Was that the faintest of smiles curving her lips? “Is eating with me such a bad idea?”
Instead of answering, Roseâtre turned away and walked to the back of the stage. His cat went still, watchful. When he would have said something, the cat stilled his tongue. She paused near the curtains that shielded the backstage entrance.
Her shoes.
Anthony blew out a breath he hadn’t realized he held. The cat purred in approval as the Amazon turned and strode over the stage, a general taking to the battlefield. But no general ever looked as sexy as his princess did, the blue shirt riding her curves, long legs shaped to perfection by punishingly high heels, and a saucy hint of a smile on her kissable lips.
She ignored his hand as she walked past but he scented amusement, not irritation, and bounded across the stage to enjoy the view of her firm little ass rolling in invitation as she descended the steps to the theatre floor.
At audience level, she paused, her gaze opaque, unreadable. His cat hesitated, sensing a change in the air but uncertain whether it was the promise of warm rain or the threat of a thunderstorm cresting the horizon.
“Just food, Anthony.” She reminded him when he closed the gap between them.
Curiosity and lust burning in his chest, he prowled after her. Something shifted between them, but neither man nor cat was entirely certain of it.
“As you wish, princess.”
For now .
Chapter Seven
Roseâtre said little as they crossed the parquet of the Arcana Royale’s lobby. Overhead, the statue of the Great Sphinx gazed dispassionately at the ebb and flow of normal and paranormal alike. The lobby was a crossroads, populated by arrivals, departures and those unlucky few who had nowhere else to go.
The fashion changed, the hairstyles adjusted and the shoes were always evolving, but the lobby appeared much as it had upon her arrival with Cerveau all those years ago. It was startling to realize she had no idea when she’d arrived. After Pandora, sure, but the exact year seemed to bleed into so many other memories that she couldn’t pinpoint it.
Winter. Of that, she was certain. They’d been on a quest, one Cerveau, the librarian, had been determined to complete and for which Roseâtre cheerfully volunteered. Cerveau’s hunger for knowledge was a constant source of amusement for Roseâtre. They enjoyed the debate, the hunt and the dig.
Unfortunately, the lust for knowledge led them in the front doors of this very casino, colliding with an obstacle that Roseâtre couldn’t simply slay. Beyond the front door lay an entire city, an ever-changing, ever-evolving city where humans thrived on vice. But inside the Royale…life stayed the same. Her heels clicked decisively against the tiles. Behind her, Anthony was a warm shield at her back.
Shield.
It was a strange term to apply to the descendent of a blood-sworn enemy, but it fit. Like the tiger he became, he prowled on silent feet, shadowing her steps. If she stopped too suddenly, she imagined he would brush right up against her back.
Tempting as the thought might be, she forced her legs to keep moving. Cool air brushed her legs and slid under his shirt to tease her overheated skin. The lack of clothing didn’t bother her, nor did the wolf whistles and the catcalls. She was used to being noticed and she managed her walk the way she managed her stage performances—as though they were merely battles to be overcome.
At the bank of
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