Carnal Magic. Christine McKay

snuffed out the other candle. “The circle is truly open.” He sighed. “Well then, a more eventful night than I first expected. You, too?”

      As if the candles’ flames had been all that were anchoring her, she stumbled to her knees. She put her fingertips to her throat, her pulse thready beneath her clammy skin. Things were happening too fast. Her head hurt. Her throat was raw. She’d just made a deal with something not of this world—demon, angel or deity. He offered her his gloved hand.

      She carefully took it, watching as the leather folded around her frozen skin. He drew her up. “I think tonight would be suitable.”

      “T-tonight?” she stuttered. “But…” She trailed off. She couldn’t think of a single reason not to start tonight. Her eyes teared. Three nights. In three nights she’d be with Tom.

      Her tormentor packed her candles into her bag, then carefully folded the black runner. He paused as if reading her thoughts. Maybe they were that apparent on her face. “You will not win.”

      For the first time, she offered him a genuine smile. “You should have checked with my friends before you made the bet. They’d have told you how stubborn I can be.”

      “I did check,” he said quietly. “With your dearest friend.”

      Tears sprang free, the smile wiped from her face. “Damn you.”

      He cupped her cheek. She turned away from him, trying to back away, but he gripped her shoulder with the other hand. A gloved thumb wiped the tears from her cheek.

      “I apologize. That was insensitive. Forgive me?”

      She nodded her head.

      “Good,” he said briskly. He dropped his hand. “I admit I’m a bit out of practice, but I think a date should begin with dinner. Don’t you?” He offered Elaine her shoulder bag.

      Sniffling, she took it and looped it over her shoulder. “I’m not really hungry.”

      He looked momentarily stumped. One elegant black brow rose. “Dancing, then?”

      “Sure, I guess.” She looked down at her mules, wondering if she’d break his toe squashing it with the solid heel. She’d made a deal with some supernatural creature and all it wanted to do was dance? How come she didn’t feel lucky?

      He offered her his arm. “All set?”

      She bit her lip, studying his arm and not his face. “What should I call you?”

      There was a long pause. She glanced at him through her lashes. He looked stupefied. “How about Ell?”

      She frowned. “Short for Ellis? You don’t look like an Ell.”

      “Ray?” he offered.

      Her frown deepened.

      He folded his arms across his chest. “Pick one, then.”

      It was her turn to do the studying. Deity or demon? Or something in between? Despite his imperialness, there was a hint of desperation to his gaze, a bottomless hunger. For the first time in a very long time, her heart struggled out of its vat of self-pity. “How about your given name?” she suggested.

      “No.” An answer as solid as stone.

      “How about Bob?”

      His brows knit. “Bob?” Putting his hands on his hips, he glared at her. “Do I look like a Bob?”

      “About as much as a Ray,” she muttered. “Bert?” Color crept up his neck. She masked a giggle with a cough. “Tristan?”

      “Do I appear Scottish?”

      “No, but I bet you’d look good in a kilt.” That hit a little too close to the truth. She hurried on. “Maddog?”

      “I fear I left my eye patch and parrot in my other coat.”

      “Why not your given name?” she grumped. “You know mine.”

      He met her defiant gaze. “It’s Azrael.”

      “Oh.” And she’d complained her name was old-fashioned. She chewed on her lip, then said, “Ell’s not bad.”

      “I thought not.” He offered her his arm and this time she took it.

      Chapter Two

      “Where are we going?”

      He was steering her toward the parking lot. “Dancing.”

      Not exactly a talker, was he. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m naked under this coat.”

      He gave her a quick glance, eyes gleaming. “I had noticed and it will not be a problem.”

      She colored, the heat of his look warming her more quickly than a shot of Jack Daniel’s. “I warn you, I’m a foot masher.”

      “I will make note of that.”

      She searched her brain for another excuse, then settled on the truth. “I don’t know how to dance.”

      “I find that hard to believe.”

      This from a man with skeleton hands? They’d reached her car. Fumbling with her keys, she opened her door. “Um, am I driving someplace?”

      “No, you are leaving your belongings here. The dance is elsewhere.”

      She eyed him warily. “Everything?”

      His lips curved. “Then we might not make it to the dance. Just your bag of magicks. I thought perhaps you would like to know they are safe.”

      “Of course.” The look he’d given her could melt stone. Fortunately she was mostly frozen flesh. The marble rubble of her heart remained untouched. With her shoulder bag safely stowed, she turned toward him. “Now what?”

      He offered her his arm again. “We dance.”

      Some of his gestures seemed so at odds with his modern appearance. “I’m not going to damn my soul doing this, am I?”

      “A bit late to ask.”

      She blanched. He took her hand and laid it on his arm. “No. I am neither good nor evil.”

      “Must be nice,” she muttered.

      “Beg pardon?”

      “To think you are completely impartial.”

      “I don’t think. I know.”

      “Yeah, yeah, Mr. Ego. Less talk, more seduction. You’re burning moonlight.”