“You could tell just by touching them?” I squeaked, shifting uncomfortably in his lap. The door to the room opened, and a man handed Rhys a shirt, and I flicked my eyes to Nyx, who watched in silent amusement.
“I’m a Van Helsing. Of course, I know what type of metal it is by touch,” he answered aloofly, holding the shirt up as he slipped it over my head. “Put your arms through it.”
I narrowed my eyes on him, and he smirked, closing his eyes briefly. I uncovered my naked breasts, pushing my arms through the sleeves, quickly pulling the shirt on, discovering heated blue eyes studying me. My hands adjusted, holding on to his shoulders as he searched my face absently.
“How do you have red hair? And your eyes, they’re vividly blue instead of the normal ice color that your bloodline is known for.”
I twisted my lips into a thoughtful pout as I considered how much to tell him. “We don’t know why I came out different, only that I am.”
“What else is different?” he asked.
“What is this? Fifty questions with the hostage? You think I’m just going to answer you because I’m sitting on your lap looking cute?”
“You do look surprisingly cute on my lap.”
“Why am I in your lap?” I turned as a server approached us, handing me a plastic cup of whiskey, my lips twisting as I fought the smile. I tipped back the cup, downing the contents in a single gulp before handing it back. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“You didn’t answer mine,” he smiled mischievously.
The whiskey warmed my cheeks, and I cocked my head to the side, turning to look at the bottle left on the table in the now very empty room. My stare swung back to Van Helsing, who slowly ran his eyes over my face.
“Silversmiths are never born with different coloring. Your hair isn’t dyed, and you’re not wearing contacts. Your power was intensely strong, yet lacked control. The only time you smelled of magic was when you used it, and for a few moments afterward. Now you smell human and of a meadow filled with wildflowers after a spring rain. Yet when casting, your eyes were indeed silver, as was your hair and aura. I find it highly improbable that you walked right into my path. I’ve spent months searching for a Silversmith with enough magic within her to counter the Silversmith my little brother stumbled upon weeks ago. I was beginning to think it was hopeless. Yet here you are, literally in my lap. Who sent you?” he asked softly, his keen gaze studying mine.
“No one sent me.” I swallowed as his fingers brushed lightly over my exposed midsection.
His touch consumed my mind, creating a red haze that rushed through me violently. A lazy smile played over his mouth before his tongue snaked out, licking his bottom lip, pulling my eyes to it. He sat up, forcing me to hold tighter to him until I realized he was removing his suit jacket. I leaned back slowly, watching as he shook out of it, reaching for the buttons of his white dress shirt that was damp still.
“You don’t mind, do you?” he asked, slowly revealing a muscular chest covered in colorful tattoos.
“No,” I replied huskily, uncertain why I didn’t look away from the washboard abs begging for me to kiss and stroke them slowly. “No accidents are happening as long as I’m touching you. So what you said was true? You’re a cure to the curse?”
“I am, as you’re the cure to mine. Every curse includes a way to neutralize it,” he explained, pulling one arm out of the dress shirt to reveal both nipples pierced, his name covering his forearm and his family crest on his abdomen.
He adjusted in his chair, smiling as he watched me feasting on his ink from beneath my lashes. I pretended that I was anywhere other than his lap. Rhys moved again, and the motion forced me forward, causing my hands to rest on his chest. My fingers brushed against his piercings, and I shivered against the call of Silversmith silver that he wore brazenly. Heat banked in his pretty stare as he hissed under my touch.
“What are you doing to me?” I asked, knowing something was happening.
“Getting answers,” he admitted, moving his hands around my narrow waist, pulling me closer. “I’m an incubus demon, after all. You should know that, Silversmith, since your family is the one who cursed me to be this monster.”
“I don’t know much about that yet,” I admitted, turning to look at the whiskey, which would calm the raging inferno within me. “If you plan to interrogate me, you should pour me another drink, Van Helsing.”
Chapter Five
He didn’t get up to pour more whiskey, choosing to wrap his arms around me as he did the task instead. It was the most awkward and most uncomfortable thing in my entire life to pretend that I wasn’t affected by his half-naked body, while literally holding on to it so that I didn’t end up on my ass on the floor again.
“How long are you affected by the curse?” Rhys asked casually.
“Shouldn’t you know that answer?”
“The more powerful the Silversmith witch, the more powerful the curse.”
“So what you’re really asking me, Van Helsing, is how powerful am I?” I watched his lips twitch before he stopped them by biting his bottom lip, which was sexy. “Very powerful is the answer to the question you are asking.” My hand lifted the plastic cup, downing the whiskey like a frat boy trying to impress the brotherhood of idiots he wanted to join. I smiled at the look of disapproval Rhys offered in rebuke.
“Fifty-year-old Irish whiskey that cost forty-thousand dollars a bottle should be savored, Silversmith,” he grumbled, bringing his to his nose to sniff while staring at me over the rim of the crystal glass.
“Why the hell would anyone pay forty-thousand dollars for whiskey?” I asked crossly.
“Because I can?” he countered, sipping the drink slowly. A smile curved his generous mouth as I watched him drinking it slowly. “Who is your mother?”
“Superwoman,” I supplied, giving him a half-hearted smile before wiggling my brows.
He tipped back his cup, reaching past me to place it on the damaged table. Wrapping his arm around my back, he pulled me closer to him. His eyes slowly surveyed my face before he dipped his mouth to mine, softly claiming my lips. I brought my hands flat against his chest, trying to remember why this was a bad idea.
The moment his mouth touched mine, all coherent thought left my mind, replaced with need. A groan escaped his lips as my mouth captured it, swallowing it like the whiskey. My fingers ran through his inky dark hair as my tongue pushed past his lips, dueling against his in an ageless dance. My hips rolled, inviting him to do more, which he didn’t seem to understand.
One moment led my utter ruin in a charge of sexual tension, and the next, he took control, exerting dominance. His fingers trailed through my hair, controlling my head as he turned it to allow better access to devour me. My hands lowered to his shoulders, unable to touch his flesh enough as I continually rocked against him, moaning unsexy noises like a bitch in heat as he claimed my mouth in a toe-curling kiss.
He pulled away, and my mouth chased his, needing him to continue what he’d started. Or maybe I had started it? Who cared? I felt his mouth twisting into a smile as his hand tightened in my hair, wrenching my head back, exposing my throat.
“Who is your mother?” he asked, and my nose wrinkled up.