Spellbound Read online

  He chanced a glance up to find Arthur looking like he was the one who’d been hit by the Model T.

  “Rory.” Arthur was a little hoarse. “What does that—”

  “It’s bunk, like everything I say,” Rory snapped, sharper than he’d meant to be. “You got a cabal of paranormals—don’t you know scryers talk crazy?”

  He shoved away from the table, too antsy to sit, too embarrassed to face Arthur anymore. He’d just admitted he’d followed the thought of Arthur out of a vision. He didn’t know what it meant.

  And he didn’t know if he could do it again.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Arthur, Jade, and Zhang made planning look easy. Zhang flickered in and out of the study like a firefly, checking in on his tea house and on Mrs. Brodigan in Hell’s Kitchen with barely an interruption in the conversation. Even Jade’s go-between for Arthur and Zhang in the astral plane was smooth, like they were coordinating a tea party, not a caper to heist a priceless piece of magic jewelry from a Fifth Avenue mansion.

  Rory let them plan. They’d tell him what to do and he’d do it. “We have Pavel’s potions,” Jade was saying, as Rory headed for the parlor where the phone was. “But Gwen will see the magic through your clothes and be able to tell exactly what they do. You’ll need something safe to keep them in—”

  “I have an idea.”

  Rory could listen to Arthur’s deep voice and posh accent all night. Instead, he curled up in the chair next to the phone and called Mrs. Brodigan. “I’m not going with you to Hyde Park tonight,” he said, as soon as she picked up.

  “What?” Mrs. Brodigan sounded surprised and unhappy. “Why ever not?”

  He tried to shove aside the crushing disappointment that he wasn’t going to the countryside. At least she’d get to go; she loved kids as much as he did and she’d be safer if she was far from him. “It’s complicated.”

  “Nonsense. I’m not going without you.”

  “Mrs. B.—”

  “No, dear.” Her voice was firm. “You went pale as a ghost in the shop before telling me we should leave the city and you’ve been acting strangely all evening. What’s going on?”

  Rory scrubbed a hand over his face. “New job for Ace,” he said, which wasn’t even a lie.

  “Hmph,” she said. “Tomorrow, then.”

  “I can’t—”

  “Then we’ll go Sunday.”

  Rory was praying that by Sunday he’d have taken away Arthur’s reason to let him stay at his brother’s mansion. It wasn’t like Rory had another excuse for the countryside.

  Arthur had stepped into the doorway, watching with a puzzled frown, so Rory just said, “Maybe,” and left it at that. It wasn’t like he was going to tell her what he planned to do tomorrow night. “Be careful, okay?” He put the receiver back on the cradle. “What do you want?”

  “Zhang’s going to watch Mrs. Brodigan’s house tonight, just in case Gwen decides she’s worth a second look.”

  “I should do it—”

  “Nonsense. Then Zhang would have to watch you as well.” Arthur leaned on the door frame. “I heard you mention Hyde Park.”

  Rory rubbed a hand over his face. “I had no business going anyway. Imagine if I had visions at your brother’s house.”

  “Mrs. Brodigan would have kept an eye on you, as Sasha keeps an eye on Pavel.” Arthur shrugged. “No reason to tell my family about magic. Let them keep their blissful ignorance.”

  “Why does that sound familiar?” Rory muttered.

  “Cute.” Arthur smiled thinly, without real humor. “But you have enough to worry about. And so do they.”

  Arthur’s family probably did have enough on their plates, all of them busy and rich and important. Rory drew his knees up to his chest. “On the street, you told that bull your family’s in politics.”

  “Oh.” Arthur rubbed his neck. “You heard that.”

  Not a denial. Like Rory had needed another reason to realize Arthur was completely out of his reach. “Politics, huh.” His stomach made an uncomfortable lurch. “You going into politics someday too?”

  Arthur shook his head again. “I hardly look the part,” he said, too casually. “No pretty wife or pretty kids. But in your own words, I’m an overprotective arsehole, so clearly there’s a reason I’m single.”

  Rory was suddenly angry. “Now you’re the one talking crazy. You’re so convinced you gotta be alone, I bet you don’t let anyone try.”

  “You don’t understand—”

  “If you took a chance, if you let people in, there’d be a war for you,” Rory said hotly. “I’d fight an army if—”

  If I thought I could have you. He snapped his mouth closed before the rest of the sentence escaped. Geez, he had to shut up.

  Arthur stared at him, his expression confused, even vulnerable. “But—”

  There was a loud throat clearing as Jade stepped into the doorway with Arthur. “Zhang’s just left,” she said, with an intent look at Arthur. “Walk me out.”

  Arthur didn’t argue, and the pair of them crossed the parlor and disappeared. Rory went to the window, but it was dark now, and he saw only his own disheveled image reflected back in the black glass. Arthur’s and Jade’s low voices came in murmurs from the foyer.

  “—let him decide for himself—”

  “—trying to protect him—”

  “—that doesn’t have to stop—”

  Were they talking about him? The front door opened and closed. Rory put a hand on the window, pressing his face to the cold glass so he could see Central Park West outside. A light snow was falling again, the flakes highlighted in the streams of the streetlights. A few moments later, Jade and Arthur appeared, tiny figures on the sidewalk below. The coatless Arthur still escorted Jade through the cold all the way into a cab, because he took care of people, protected them, even ungrateful bastards who called him an overprotective asshole.

  Rory swallowed hard and looked past the road to Central Park, where the streetlights faded and the trees trailed off into a sea of black. The relic was on the other side of that sea. He shivered and shoved away from the window.

  The front door opened and shut again, and then Arthur reappeared. He dropped down on the settee and eyed Rory speculatively. “And what about you?”

  “What about me?” Rory said defensively.

  “It’s late, dark, and starting to snow. Will you let me pay for your cab, or do I have to learn to say it in Italian first?”

  Late. Shit. “What time is it?”

  “Just about ten,” said Arthur. Rory’s heart sank. It must have shown on his face, because Arthur sat up. “Rory, what’s wrong?”

  None of your business. Screw off. Rory swallowed thickly, pushing away the automatic barbs that he didn’t even want to say, steeling himself instead to give Arthur the truth for a change. “My boarding house locks the doors at ten.”

  “Oh.” Arthur sat back with scoff. “I thought we had a real problem.”

  Sharp hurt flared through Rory. His jaw tightened, and with clenched fists, he turned away, toward the foyer and the front door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To the shop,” Rory snapped, without looking back. To freeze in the armchair all night, alone like always, afraid to sleep, afraid of that relic, afraid they’ll open the box again, afraid I won’t find my way back—

  “Why?”

  The honest bewilderment in Arthur’s voice made Rory pause. He looked over his shoulder.

  Arthur’s face was puzzled, and he spread his hands in a questioning gesture. “Was there something wrong with my bed the first time you slept in it?”

  Rory blinked. “Your bed?”

  “Of course.” Arthur motioned to the couch he was sitting on. “I’ll sleep on the settee; I’ve had far worse. And I know you’re already fretting a
bout the locks, but I was a soldier and I’m still a very light sleeper. You won’t get out of this apartment on my watch.”

  He’s giving me his bed. Rory’s every muscle tensed, his fists still clenched. He’s gonna watch over me.

  He’s not gonna leave me alone.

  Arthur cocked his head. “What on earth did you think I meant?” He frowned. “Did you honestly believe I would let you sleep in your shop?”

  Rory swallowed.

  “Unbelievable.” Arthur flopped back in the settee with a huff. “I thought you knew me better than that by now, but since it apparently still needs saying, I would never turn you out on the streets. My bed is yours. My ears too, if you need someone to talk to and can bear my company, because you look like you’re about to snap.” He stretched his arms out along the back of the settee, the fabric of his shirt pulling tight against the sleek muscles of his chest and arms, and tilted his face up toward Rory. “Or perhaps you just need a distraction, in which case I am also at your service.”

  And Rory did snap.

  He threw himself into Arthur’s lap and kissed him.

  Time stopped. The stubble on Arthur’s jaw prickled as Rory grabbed his face in both hands; the muscles of his thighs were hard as Rory straddled him; his lips were soft as Rory kissed him—

  He was kissing Arthur.

  Rory tore himself away so fast, so hard, that he tumbled off Arthur’s lap to the floor. He scrambled backward across the rug, until his shoulders hit the coffee table. Arthur was staring at him, wide-eyed.

  “I’m sorry!” Rory blurted. What have I done—He struggled up to his feet. “Christ, Ace, I just want you so much—” He slapped a hand over his mouth, over lips that still tasted of Arthur—Arthur, who was on his feet too. Rory cringed. “I’m so sorry—”

  “You should be,” Arthur said hoarsely. “I never said you could stop.”

  * * *

  They crashed back into each other in the space of a breath. Arthur pulled Rory close as Rory went up on his toes to throw his arms around his neck, their lips meeting in the middle.

  Rory finally fell back on his heels, hands in Arthur’s hair now and tugging urgently. “You giant, get down here.”

  Arthur’s heart skipped a beat. “You get up here,” he shot back, and lifted Rory clear off his feet. Rory made a breathy squeak as Arthur pushed him against the wall at lip level, the sound of a man who’d never been literally swept off his feet by a lover.

  Maybe the sound of a man who’d never had a lover.

  Arthur paused. “Are you—”

  “You got genius ideas.” Rory’s arms went tight around Arthur’s neck, pulling himself high enough to lock his legs around Arthur’s waist before he stretched up to kiss him again.

  It was enough to make Arthur’s head spin, but he managed to dodge the kiss, pulling back enough to ask, “You’re certain you want—”

  “Ace, come on.” Rory tugged his head again. “I kissed you, didn’t I? Can I do it again?”

  Arthur’s heart pounded as he pinned Rory more tightly to the wall. “Just kissing?” he asked, gravelly and low.

  Rory shivered and shook his head. “Everything. I want everything.” He pressed his face to Arthur’s, cheek soft against his shadowed jaw. “I want you.”

  The soft plea raised goose bumps on Arthur’s skin. He kissed him hard, claiming his mouth until Rory was panting and making helpless sounds that branded Arthur’s brain.

  He hoisted Rory off the wall, carrying him, still kissing him, and a moment later he was throwing Rory down on the bed.

  As they bounced on the mattress, Rory’s head tipped back, and Arthur was on him, kissing a line up his exposed neck. “Have you done this before?” he whispered.

  Rory shuddered. The lights in the bedroom were off but the curtains were open, soft city lights spilling across Rory’s face. “With a man?”

  “With anyone.”

  Behind the glasses, Rory’s gaze dodged Arthur’s. “Uh—”

  Arthur nipped his ear, drawing another shudder that bumped the temple of Rory’s glasses against Arthur’s face. Arthur gently tugged on the frames, and Rory let him pull them off.

  “I asked you a question,” Arthur murmured as he set them on the nightstand.

  Rory looked different without the glasses, his beautiful eyes black as jet, a little fuzzy, a lot vulnerable. “Well—”

  “The truth, sweetheart.”

  Rory bit his lower lip. After a long moment, he gave a sheepish shrug. “Be my first?” he asked softly. “Starting with the best’s gonna ruin me for anyone else, but I never wanted anyone like I want you anyway.”

  Arthur was left dizzy, his skin too hot. He shook his head. “Christ,” he muttered helplessly. “An hour ago I would have bet my entire trust fund you didn’t even like me.”

  Rory reached up and touched Arthur’s face. “You woulda lost every penny.”

  The sincerity in his eyes, the warmth in his words—Arthur was the one being ruined for anyone else. “It would’ve been worth the trade.”

  He fit his knee between Rory’s thighs and heard breath catch.

  So, more of that. He slid his knee up another inch, pushing Rory’s legs farther apart, and Rory groaned. “Shoulda known you’d be bossy everywhere,” he said, his surliness gone soft and breathy.

  “Problem?” Arthur said, as he lowered himself to let his thigh press against the hard length in Rory’s trousers.

  Rory gave a full-body shudder, hands running up Arthur’s biceps, dragging the sleeves of his shirt. He rapidly shook his head. “Boss me all you want, just let me touch you—”

  Palms and fingers explored Arthur’s body as they kissed, mapping his arms and his jaw and the muscles of his back. Then across his shoulders and down the fabric covering his chest, over the scars hidden by his shirt, and Arthur tensed before he could stop it.

  “Does your psychometry work on people?” he said, pulling back, just managing to keep his voice steady.

  “Nah. You might as well be made of lead.” Rory paused, hand on top of Arthur’s heart. “Why? You got a past you don’t want me to see?”

  There was new vulnerability in those hypnotizing eyes, and Arthur’s chest wrenched at having put that insecurity on Rory’s face. “Not a lover,” he hastened to say. “The war.” He swallowed. “If I could shield you and your magic from all of history’s horrors, I would.”

  Rory’s uncertainty vanished, replaced by surprise and something softer. And then Rory kissed him, hard and sudden, his hand sliding down Arthur’s stomach and right into the waistband of his trousers.

  He sucked in a breath. “We can stop anytime,” he said, through clenched teeth. If Rory was going to have second thoughts, it might be now.

  “Are you screwy?” Rory’s hand wrapped around him with no hesitation, sending a lightning shock of pleasure through Arthur. “I don’t want to stop. I don’t ever want to stop. I’m gonna steal your pillows so I can relive this moment for the rest of my life.”

  Arthur half laughed, half groaned as Rory’s hand moved on him. “The perils of taking a psychometric to bed.”

  “Who’s taken me to bed?” Rory said cheekily. “Not you. Not yet. I’m making all the moves.”

  “Not for long.” Arthur had thought Rory didn’t need a lover in him. How brilliant to have been wrong.

  He dropped his weight down, trapping Rory’s hand between their bodies, and drew a throaty moan from Rory that warmed his blood like forbidden liquor. He rocked their bodies together and Rory made a choked-off gasp, his free hand sliding to Arthur’s back to pull him closer. The friction sent shocks over Arthur’s skin. Christ, he was too old, had done this too much to be panting for it like this.

  But his body disagreed as Rory lit his nerves like he’d never been touched. He lost himself in Rory’s responses, how the slide of their bodi
es made his back arch, how teeth on his neck brought the hand in Arthur’s pants stuttering to a distracted stop.

  “You lead, Ace.” Rory was breathing as hard as a runner. “I don’t know what to do, but I want it. Want you.” He yanked his hand free and wrapped both arms around Arthur’s neck, pulling Arthur’s full weight on top of him. “I’m so tired of the past,” he whispered against Arthur’s ear. “I’m so here, in this moment, and I want to stay with you.”

  “Then I’ll keep you here.” Arthur fit himself fully between Rory’s legs and pressed him into the mattress with the urgency of his kiss. “Claim every inch of you for the present.” The vow spilled out of him against Rory’s mouth, no filter, just the thoughts straight from Arthur’s heart. “I’ll anchor you right down to your bloodstream.”

  Rory made a helpless noise, hands scrabbling to hold on to Arthur’s shoulders. Arthur went for the buttons of Rory’s shirt, popping at least one off in his haste to touch skin.

  “You’re mine now, Rory—Theodore—and the past can’t have you anymore,” he whispered, and swallowed Rory’s cry with his kiss.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Rory woke to Arthur’s bare chest hot at his back, a muscled arm slung over his ribs. Outside Arthur’s bedroom window, the sun’s first rays were reaching across Central Park, the window big enough Rory could see the sky change even without his glasses.

  He watched from Arthur’s arms, cozy and spellbound, as the blurry sky became paler and paler gray before the hints of gold began to light the world. He couldn’t remember seeing a sunrise since the night he’d escaped the asylum.

  There was a nuzzle against his hair. “You really have the most enchanting smile.”

  “Aw, geez.” Rory buried his face in the pillow, his smile even bigger, and got a faint brush of stubble against his neck that made him shiver. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “Light sleeper.” Behind him, Arthur yawned. “I don’t mind, I wake early anyway.”

  Rory wriggled under the pleasant weight of Arthur’s arm until they were face-to-face. This close, Arthur’s features were in focus, sky-blue eyes under black brows and his chiseled jaw dotted with black.