“It wasn’t him. I bit my lip too hard. Old nervous habit.” She ran her finger over the tender spot. “With the way this day has gone, tomorrow I’ll probably wake up looking like Angelina Jolie.”
Jamys’s fingers drifted down from her cheeks to trace along the sides of her throat. She half expected him to step away, but his hands kept moving, over the curves of her shoulders and along the outsides of her arms, encircling her wrists for a moment before moving to her waist. At the same time, his thoughts poured into her mind. You should not be so cruel to something this soft and lovely. He lowered his head and ran the tip of his tongue over her sore lip.
The tingling heat left by the intimate caress made Chris close her eyes. “Do that again and I’ll never leave.”
He waited until she was looking at him again before he slowly and deliberately put his mouth on hers. This time he tasted her with a gentle kiss that was as sweet as it was seductive.
Chris curled her hands into fists as she stood perfectly still. She had stopped wishing a long time ago, because she knew dreams didn’t come true. Yet here was Jamys, astounding her with a kiss that felt as if it might never end. What did it mean? He didn’t want to her to go? He never wanted her to leave him again? That was as crazy as the delight and desire he was pouring into her heart.
Stop behaving like some idiot love-struck mortal. If she messed this up, he’d never want her for his tresora, so she’d go by the book. A Kyn lord has complete dominion over the mind and body of his tresora, Burke’s voice echoed in her mind. Whatever their wishes may be, we submit to their will entirely, and make no demands of our own. . . .
The kiss that she wished would last forever ended after four heartbeats. It might have been because she was starting to slither through his arms, Chris thought, astonished now by her legs, which she could no longer feel. The room turned on end, and then righted itself halfway as Jamys lifted her off her feet.
“I haven’t fainted since the last time you were here,” she murmured to his shirt buttons. “You should carry smelling salts or something.”
Jamys put her down on a black cloud, and sat beside her. “Too much.” He touched his temple, and then hers.
“Oh, right.” She’d forgotten the price tag of being his thought receiver. “Sorry. I have to take a nap now.” When he started to stand, she clutched his hand. “Don’t tell anyone, please.” As he frowned, she closed her eyes. “They’ll give you the redhead. I just know it. . . .”
The black cloud shifted, and strong, cool arms came around her. As long silky hair fell across her cheek, Chris smiled.
* * *
As soon as the sun set, the Treasure Palace opened its gilded doors to the hordes of patrons clever enough to secure an invitation to the exclusive casino. No one quite knew where the Palace was located; the only way to reach it was by taking a ferry with black-painted windows, on which silent, stone-faced guards prevented any curious passenger from stepping out on deck. Once inside the club, the lure of the free booze and the riches waiting to be won at the high-stakes gaming tables and in the poker rooms made it worth the unsolved mystery.
As one of the Palace’s special perks, the casino’s staff was exclusively female. Many of the stunningly beautiful women who were not working the tables or bars mingled with the patrons, their hostess status designated by the demure gowns of satin and silk they wore. These lovely ladies brought drinks, converted cash into chips, fetched snacks, and, for the right price, would escort a patron back to one of the private encounter rooms, where it was rumored they would perform any sex act that the guest desired. The ladies’ myriad talents had earned the casino a long-standing nickname as the Pleasure Palace.
Werren made her way across the crowded casino floor, pausing now and then to accept compliments and gently refuse offers from various patrons. She wore a simple winter-blue satin sheath dress that matched her eyes and complemented the upswept coil of her fair hair. The only jewelry she wore was a necklace, which lay out of sight beneath her bodice.
Two of her ladies came to join her, and she took them for a turn around the blackjack tables so they might talk without being overheard by one of the guards standing by the exits. “Has the master returned?”
“Not as of yet, lady.” Claudea, a slender waif in a child-size gown of red, returned the appraisal of an older man with an innocent smile. “But two of his bodyguards left before midnight.”
“They may have gone for supplies.” Werren nodded to a passing socialite carrying a small, bored-looking dog in her enormous designer bag. “Has anyone found out anything from the crew?”