Drive Me Wild (The Others) Read online

  “Right.” He scooped her up in his arms and got to his feet, feeling a surge of pleasure at the way her arms automatically curled around his neck to hold him close. “And I will spill whatever you want. Just as soon as I get you into a nice, hot bath.”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “Would you stop treating me as if I were made out of glass? We had rough sex. So what? In case you hadn’t noticed by now, I like it when we have rough sex. Now will you stop trying to coddle me—”

  “It’s a Jacuzzi tub.”

  “Oh. Okay, then. We’ll talk about it in the bath.”

  Thirteen

  She would never admit it to Rafe, but the bath did feel wonderful. She could practically hear her sore, aching muscles sighing in relief as he lowered her into the steaming water. And when he turned on the jets, she was too busy whimpering happily to mind that he climbed in behind her without so much as a word and pulled her back against his chest. The tub was more than big enough for two, after all. Whether it would be big enough for the two of them and the erection she could feel swelling against her back was another matter entirely, but she’d give it the benefit of the doubt for now.

  Her head fell back to rest against his shoulder. The water swirled and bubbled around them, and the damp heat made their skin stick together. It felt like heaven. Tess murmured in pleasure as Rafe lathered a washcloth and began dragging the nubby fabric over her skin.

  “Now why don’t you tell me about dinner tonight, gatita.”

  Tess opened her eyes and sighed. “I’d really rather you tell me what the deal is between the Council of Others and the Witches’ Council first. That way I might have a clue about what parts of dinner tonight were important.”

  “But I am bigger.” He nipped at her earlobe. “That means I get to decide who goes first. And I have decided that you should.”

  “You realize it’s the mark of a barbaric mind to use your size to try to intimidate me.”

  “I do.”

  She sighed. “I really don’t get it. Why don’t you all just forget about using me to spy on each other and have your meeting already? Wouldn’t that be a whole lot easier and more straightforward?”

  Rafe rubbed the washcloth over her stomach and flicked her earlobe with his tongue. “Who else was there aside from you and your grandfather?”

  She sighed, trying to sound as put-upon as possible. Which was very, considering how painful dinners with her grandfather usually were.

  “Jeremy Knowles, Republican, New York, and William Horatio Bambridge the Fourth, New York State Supreme Court.”

  “Hm. These men are both council members?”

  “Yeah.” She arched her neck when he began to nibble down the side toward her shoulder. No sense in making things difficult. For either of them. “Knowles holds the current chair as High Authority, and Bambridge holds everybody’s dirty secrets.”

  “There is always one of that type.” He nibbled his way across her shoulder, laving the skin in his wake. “What sorts of things did they ask you to tell them?”

  She steeled herself against an attack of shivers. “I don’t remember. Once they broke out the rubber hoses, things get a little fuzzy.”

  He bit down and growled.

  “Ouch! Sheesh, if you’re that hungry go fix yourself a snack.” She jerked away and turned halfway around to glare at him. “They asked me what I thought about you, where you took me, what Graham seemed like.”

  She paused and changed her voice to a mumble, her gaze shifting away. Suddenly not even the sudsing water could make her feel clean.

  “If I used magic to read you.”

  The silence in the room sounded louder than the tub jets. No one moved for a long minute, then he took her chin in his hard and forced her eyes to meet his. His gaze searched hers.

  “Did you?”

  “No! Of course I didn’t. I don’t do that kind of thing. Magic isn’t there to be used like a pair of psychic X-ray glasses.”

  She scowled at him, offended, and he smiled back at her. His gaze had softened.

  “I am happy to hear you think that way. Not everyone is so ethical, I am sad to say. Think about it, Tess. How many people who have the power to do something they want to do also have the power to resist the temptation to do it?”

  “What, you think all witches are unethical?”

  He hesitated. “I never said that.”

  “You didn’t have to!” Tess scrambled to her knees and crossed her arms over her dripping chest. “You’re nearly as bad as they are, aren’t you? You think that anyone who’s different or separate from you must be somehow morally lacking. What is it with men?”

  Rafe blinked and shook his head. “Ah, I think I missed a step in your trail of reasoning somewhere. How did we go from talking about what happened when you had dinner with your grandfather to accusing me of racism?”

  “You’re the one who accused me of being all amoral and sneaky and manipulative.”

  “No, I did not do that. As I recall, I simply asked you to qualify a statement you had already made.” He raised an eyebrow. “I think I would remember if I called you amoral and sneaky and manipulative. Because those are not at all the first words that come to mind when I think of you, gatita.”

  She tried to maintain her scowl, but he stroked a hand down her water-slicked thigh, making her shiver.

  “My mind strays more toward words like … luscious. And tasty. And … lickable.”

  He suited actions to words, leaning forward and tracing his tongue along the seam between her hip and thigh. When she felt his breath against her damp curls, she jerked away and nearly fell backward into the water. He caught her before she hurt herself, and Tess found herself pinned between his hard body and the hard porcelain of the tub.

  “Let me go.”

  “No.” He shifted his weight to keep her in place. “We have not finished talking yet.”

  “Haven’t we? Because I told you everything I know, and you seem determined not to tell me a damned thing. So what else do we have to talk about?”

  “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you things,” he began.

  “Then try doing that. It’ll be a refreshing change of pace, at least.”

  He sighed. “I would have preferred you not be in the middle of this.”

  “Oh. My. God. Don’t try to pull that protective crap with me. You put me in the middle the minute you started asking me questions about my grandfather, the same way he did by asking me questions about you! Sweetheart, I can’t get any more in the middle than I am right now.”

  “All right. But let’s get you dry first.” Rafe pushed himself out of the tub then reached in to scoop her out, wrapping her in a fluffy towel before knotting another around his hips.

  Tess gave a wistful look back toward the tub and sighed when he turned off the jets.

  “Minx,” he laughed, pushing her out into the bedroom and out again toward the living room. “Do not worry yourself. I have plans for that tub, too. We will get to those later.”

  “Spoilsport.”

  “Perhaps, but right now I am a hungry kind of spoilsport.” He deposited her on the couch and headed back into the kitchen. “Would you like anything to eat?”

  “I just came back from dinner!”

  “Does that mean a yes, or a no?”

  Tess rolled her eyes. “No. Thank you.”

  “All right, then. I will return in a moment. Why don’t you go ahead and light a match in the hearth? The fire is all laid out; it only needs to be lit.”

  She found the matches on the mantel where everyone should keep some, she thought, and struck flame to tinder, watching as little fatwood sticks began to burn. The small fire began to give off heat almost immediately, and she settled into the chair closest to the hearth to wait for the werecat with the munchies. When he returned, he carried a tray piled high with sandwiches, pretzels, what looked like oatmeal raisin cookies, and a ginormous glass of milk.

  “I said I wasn’t hungry.”
r />   Rafe looked up from setting the tray on the end table beside her chair. “That is why I brought nothing for you.”

  He missed the widening of her eyes as he settled himself down on the carpet near her feet and reached for a sandwich.

  “Now,” he said, lifting the food to his lips, “what exactly do you know about the Accord of Silence?”

  “I know what it is. It’s the agreement under which all Others and magic users have agreed to keep their silence to avoid being recognized by human society at large.”

  Rafe nodded and popped a pretzel nugget into his mouth. “Correct. It has operated for nearly fifteen hundred years now, but there are rumors starting to float around that it might not survive another fifteen months. Some groups are even advocating that it be done away with entirely so that the witches and the Others can begin to take a … more prominent role in world affairs.”

  “You mean there are a few crazy Others out there who want to take over the world.”

  “In plain speaking, yes.”

  “Okay, I get that.” She nabbed a pretzel and crunched into it. “I mean, I don’t get it, but I get it. But what I mean is, why now? And why is the idea such a bad one?”

  She cut him off when he started to answer.

  “I can guess that the idea of werewolves being your kid’s gym teacher and vampires and witches moving into the neighborhood might upset some humans, but aren’t they going to have to find out eventually? Fifteen hundred years is a damned long time to keep a secret. By now shouldn’t there be enough witches and Others in prominent positions in society to cushion the blow somewhat?”

  Rafe nodded. “There nearly are. More than a few people, myself included, believe that the time when humans are going to have to learn about us is not very far off. Whether we like it or not, we cannot hide forever, but the preparations that have begun are simply not sufficiently complete. We need another year or two to hedge as many bets as we can. And that is why the Accord is so important right now. Without it, we will lose control of our own revelation. And that could backfire on us. Badly.”

  “I’m not sure the Witches’ Council feels any differently.” Tess tucked her feet up in the chair under her and frowned. “From what I gathered from Granddad, they’ve foreseen the same thing. He mentioned that some of the seers on the council believe that time is coming very soon. Maybe even sooner than you do.”

  Rafe drained the last of his milk and licked the stray drops from the corners of his mouth. “Then we should have a very smooth meeting when I appear before them.”

  She studied his expression. “But you don’t think that’s going to happen.”

  “I do not.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because something strange is already happening. People are beginning to believe in things they would have dismissed as their imagination even five years ago. A Fae friend of mine said that his wife’s newspaper received nine thousand calls in a ten-hour period this summer, all from people reporting having seen an elf or a leprechaun. The Times recently ran an article on Manhattan’s best spots for ‘vampire and wolfman sightings.’ Those are all signs that humanity might be closer to the veil than we think, and that they may even be developing the ability to see through it.”

  “Even I can’t see through it, and I’m a witch.”

  Rafe raised an eyebrow. “Do not take this the wrong way, gatita, but you are the least magic-using witch I’ve ever met.”

  She made a face at him. “How many witches have you met?”

  “One,” he admitted, “if I count you.”

  “So how would you know how much magic I should or shouldn’t be using?”

  He shrugged and grinned. “I suppose I would not, would I?”

  “Right. Mr. Smartypants.” She tossed a pretzel at his head and laughed when he caught it in his mouth. “That’s the problem with cowans. They all think—”

  “Cowans?”

  “Non-witches,” she clarified. “They all think we walk around waving our magic wands or wrinkling up our noses every time we want to fill the teakettle. But magic isn’t like that. It’s not about making life more convenient for yourself. It’s about exploring the mysteries and serving the greater good. Or at least, it should be.”

  “Does that mean you will not clean my apartment by making the broom dance across the floor?”

  “I’m not cleaning your apartment at all. Hire a service. Though I’m sure you already have one.” She shook her head. “Yeah, I probably could pull a Fantasia if I wanted to, but I’d be abusing the magic, instead of using as it was intended to be used. Not that I’m not occasionally tempted to put a hex on someone, mind you.”

  “No boils,” he insisted, shuddering. “You can turn me into a toad if you must, but no boils. Skin conditions are much too … yucky.”

  Yucky?

  Tess snickered. “I’ll try to remember that.”

  “If you do not use your magic to clean your dishes or to make all the traffic lights turn for you, what do you use it for?” he asked.

  Tess shrugged. “I suppose it depends on what sort of magic you have. It’s not all the same, you know. Some witches couldn’t do a hex if their lives depended on it, and some could turn your private parts twelve shades of green without breaking a sweat. Granddad is a spell caster. If someone has written it down, he can cast it. He’s amazing.”

  Rafe stood, scooping Tess up in his arms and taking her chair, then settling her down into his lap. “What sort of magic do you have, then, gatita?”

  She grimaced. “Not much, if you ask most people.”

  “I did not. I asked you.”

  She never had been able to explain her magic worth a darn, not even to other witches. Maybe that was one of the reasons why her grandfather had never understood, let alone appreciated, her talents. She had no idea how to make Rafe understand the energy that lurked inside her, but she took a stab at it because he had bothered to ask.

  “I see things, usually stuff that’s about to happen,” she said. “Not like a real seer does. I don’t have visions, or anything. Sometimes I just know the way things are going to work, almost like it’s been blocked out for a play or something, and I’ve already rehearsed it. And I don’t see it ahead of time like a real seer, either. It’s usually just a few seconds, like fast-forward déjà vu.” She made a face. “It’s not really all that impressive.”

  His gaze on her was intent and inscrutable. “I do not agree with that. I find the idea fascinating.” Then he grinned, and she braced herself against the charm of that look. “But let us try a little experiment.”

  “It almost never works on command.” She tried to push aside the twinge of disappointment she felt that he’d dismissed her so easily. Not that she could blame him, really. Most witches found her meager talents just as uninteresting.

  “Humor me.”

  He rose abruptly to his feet, carrying her with him, lifting her high against his chest. She gasped in surprise. “Where are we going?”

  His grin curved like a pirate’s, and a chuckle purred out of his chest.

  “You tell me,” he said, darting forward to nibble her earlobe. “Then tell me what is going to happen once we get there, because I believe it will only be a few seconds before it does.”

  Tess laughed and shook her head, her disappointment not standing a chance against the feeling of arousal that the look in his eyes ignited inside her. “Please. You could at least make it challenging.”

  He carried her through the bedroom door with a low growl. “It would be my pleasure.”

  Fourteen

  “Hey, you’ve got something. Right here.” Graham set down his burger and pointed to the corner of his mouth, nodding meaningfully at Rafe. “Looks kind of like a canary feather.”

  Rafe froze with his hand halfway to his face and glared at his luncheon companion. “Very funny.”

  The wolf grinned. “I thought so.”

  “With a new cub to care for, I advise you not to quit your day job f
or a place on the stand-up circuit.”

  “Come on, lighten up,” Graham urged, munching on a french fry that drooped under its burden of ketchup. “You’d think a week of witchy sex would put you in a better mood.”

  “My mood is fine.”

  Actually, if he ignored the irritant of his friend’s teasing, Rafe had to admit his mood was more than fine; frankly, he hadn’t felt so contented and relaxed in years. If ever. He might not have swallowed any canaries in fact, but the smile he perpetually wore these days did conjure up the image of a cat who had. When he had met Graham at Vircolac before lunch, Missy had even called his expression a smirk, but Rafe couldn’t seem to rein in the smug curve.

  It was all Tess’s fault.

  The little witch bore complete responsibility for his recent state of bliss. Her and her sassy tongue and her tempting little body. They haunted him, distracting him from his work, from his play, from his duties to the Council. Everywhere he went, he pictured her big blue eyes laughing up at him, or her sweet, pink lips pursed in irritation. Every time he thought of her, his palms itched to touch smooth, satin skin; and every time he caught a whiff of her creamy, lemon-herb fragrance, his mouth began to water.

  Quite frankly, it was getting embarrassing.

  “Your mood is distracted all to hell,” Graham said, cutting into his thoughts. “I mean, don’t get me wrong; I’m happy to see you enjoying a little of the good life, but I’ve asked you the same question three times now, and you still haven’t given me an answer. I’d offer to let you go visit your little witch to work it out of your system, but if it hasn’t happened by now, I don’t have much hope for that strategy.”

  Rafe scowled. “What do you mean by that?”

  Graham rolled his eyes. “Come on. We all know you’re just the latest victim of the scourge known as woman. Misha even won the pool that guessed you’d go in an entirely non-Other and non-human direction. Me, I had you pegged for a sweet little lynx. Someone a little hard to get, but still in the cat family. Now I’m out fifty bucks. Which means you’re totally buying lunch.”