“It’s definitely one of those. Good night, you crazy lush. Have some good sex for all of us who aren’t getting any.”
She threw off a jaunty salute. “Aye aye. It’s a dirty job but someone has to do it.”
I hugged her and then watched her pick her way down the steps. The buzz was still with me but without Darcy’s overwhelming presence the big Victorian felt empty.
Chilled, I headed upstairs and into my bathroom. It was a study in black and white old-world elegance. Black tile, white toilet, and pedestal sink that was shaped like a scallop. A massive white claw-footed tub. I had a little wooden bath tray that my grandfather had carved for me that held a book, a candle, and a container of bath salts.
Looking at it made me think about Robin Goodfellow’s hewn treehouse. I turned my back on it and filled the tub and then stripped off my mud-stained clothes. After pouring in a generous dollop of bubble bath, I stepped into the tub and then closed my eyes, letting my mind drift along with the white noise from the water flowing from the tap.
When the water reached the tippy top, I used a toe to shut it off and then leaned back with a contented sigh.
“Thinking about me?” A male voice purred.
I jumped and water sloshed over the edge of the tub and onto the white fur bathmat. Instinct propelled me to cover my breasts from his intense blue gaze, but the movement was unnecessary as the bubbles preserved my modesty. Still, I wasn’t used to an audience while bathing.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I barked.
Perched on the edge of the tub like he had done so a thousand times before, sat Robin Goodfellow. “Waiting for you to come back to your senses. But then your friend showed up and your conversation with her was too delicious. As is this margarita. Anything special you use?” He held up one of the abandoned glasses, once more filled to the brim.
“Extra lime and a little bit of agave,” I said, unnerved that he was in my space while I was naked. “What did you mean when you said you’d been here all along? I didn’t see you.”
“Ah, it’s one of my little tricks. I can change my form, and even shrink down to the size of a pinhead if I want. Though some things stay proportional, no matter what size I am, if you get my meaning.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
My face blazed with heat. “That was a very private and personal conversation you eavesdropped on.”
“I know.” He grinned, completely unashamed. “I like your friend. She has some interesting ideas.”
Suddenly his voice changed into Darcy’s high-pitched Southern drawl. “And why the hell has no one invented a Bluetooth vibrator yet? There’s a command function that would get used constantly. Alexa, get me off and take the scenic route.” He chuckled and his voice returned to his normal deep drawl. “I can’t say she’s wrong.”
My body was so flushed with heat I was worried I might spontaneously combust. I pointed to the door. “Out. Get out.”
“Not until we talk, lamb. Have you given any further thought to my offer?”
“No. I thought you were a figment of my imagination until you popped in here.” Which reminded me. “Did you drug me with something? Why can’t I remember anything after being at your house?”
His expression sobered. “I swear to you it was not drugs. You were under a thrall.”
“Thrall?” I asked. “What’s that?”
“When a mortal slips under a trance from being in the presence of a faery too long, it’s called a thrall. Most mortals have a much higher tolerance for enthrallment. Odd that yours is so low.” He raised a brow as though he had asked some sort of question.
I stared at him. He’d said something about being a fae prince. At the time I thought it had been an odd joke but now…. “A faery. You’re telling me you’re a faery.”
He threw up a hand and said in a tone that echoed off the tile, “What fools these mortals be!”
My response was a blank stare.
His hand dropped to the side. “Shakespeare? A Midsummer Night’s Dream? Puck?”
My head went back and forth. “Is that supposed to mean something?”
He huffed out an impatient sigh. “Yes, Joey. I am a faery. Which is why I have magic and my soul essence can enthrall any mortal with enough exposure.”
Mortification was being quickly displaced by anger. “In my book, that doesn’t sound much different than being drugged, pal.”
“It’s unintentional. A defense mechanism to keep me from being permanently ensnared by mortals. Normally it takes days or even weeks for a mortal to fall under my thrall. As I said before, your tolerance is remarkably low.”
“Gee, thanks.” I squirmed, uncomfortable with only semitransparent bath water between my body and his intense gaze and wondered why on earth I was offended by a man who thought he was a faery telling me I was a magical lightweight.
“Of course, I take care of my thralls. I made sure you and your conveyance returned to your places of origin, didn’t I?”
He had. “So, you can enthrall me any time you want?”
He shook his head. “I’ve given you full immunity from my particular thrall. Which means I have no true defense against you. If you wanted to ensnare me the way mortals have captured the fae for millennia, I have no true way to stop you.”
My lips parted. If what he was saying was true…. “Why would you give me immunity then?”
His eyes glittered like emeralds. “Because I want to bargain with you. I have traveled the world searching for a true trader, someone who has just as much to gain as I do from our trade. You are that trader.”
I glared at him. “Are you saying I’m desperate? Look pal, I know there’s a stigma about women of a certain age—”
He leaned forward and placed his index finger over my lips, effectively cutting off my words. “I’m saying you’re unfulfilled. Just as you told your charming friend.”
Again his voice changed, this time into mine. “You know that something special feeling. A zest for life. I can’t remember the last time I had that.”
“That’s some talent you have,” I whispered.
He dropped back to his own lilting Welsh voice. “My point is that your life is literally passing you by. But I can help you change that. If only you’re brave enough to take the leap. Are you?”
Outside the bathroom window, I heard the slam of a car door. My mother, home from her boink fest.
“What say you?” He leaned back and waited.
“Joey!” The slam of the front door. “Josephine Whitmore!”
My heart pounded against my ribcage. Adrenaline surged through my system in a way it hadn’t in years. The spark of life. Fear filled me and I shook my head. “I don’t believe you.”
My mother’s tread and the creak of the stairs.
“You have to leave,” I said to the faery in my bathroom. “Quick, before my mother sees you.”
He drew back. “Twice I have offered. Only thrice will I offer. When I next approach you, Joey Whitmore, it will be for the last time.”
With a snap of his fingers, he vanished.
A sharp rap sounded on my bedroom door. “Joey!”
“In the bath.” There was something stuck in my throat. “I’ll be right out.”