Elemental Assassin: The Spider Part 10

A bolt of shock zinged through me. My lips parted, but no words came out, because the very last person I'd expected had just walked through the door.

Sebastian.

He wore a somber black suit-a funeral suit-over a white s.h.i.+rt and a s.h.i.+ny black tie, and his wing tips were as glossy as the floor that I'd just mopped. His black hair was slicked back, and lines of exhaustion were etched into his face, like faint cracks in a smooth marble bust, making him seem older than he really was. Still, despite my shock and unease about why he was here, I thought that he'd never looked more handsome-even though I was the cause of his grief. Maybe that was a little twisted of me.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi, yourself." I hesitated. "What are you doing here?"

Sebastian grinned, although his expression was more sad than happy. "I know I'm a little late, but I was wondering if we might have that date after all."

I stared at him, my mouth still hanging open, not sure what to do, what to say, and especially what to make of the sudden hope that surged through my heart. My attraction to him was crazy, stupid, and utterly foolish, especially given what I'd done to his father. But it was there all the same, and I didn't know how to deny it.

Or maybe I just didn't want to.

"I'm sorry," Sebastian said in a hoa.r.s.e, ragged whisper. "For not calling or sending you a note. I know that I stood you up last night."

Last night, Friday, had been the night of our date. I might have been secretly disappointed, but I hadn't been surprised when he hadn't shown up. I was absolutely floored that he was here now.

I stood frozen in place, my attraction to him warring with all of my training, not to mention my own common sense. I could almost hear Fletcher's voice in my head, urgently whispering to me to get rid of Sebastian. Part of me wholeheartedly agreed with that plan. But there was another voice-my voice-that wondered what the harm of hearing him out would be.

Sebastian grinned again, although it seemed to be much more of an effort this time. "But I had a good excuse. You see, my father-"

"Is dead," I finished so he wouldn't have to. "I saw the news. I'm sorry for your loss, Sebastian."

And I truly was, even though I was responsible for it.

He nodded, accepting my condolences. Then he grinned again. "You know, I think that's the first time you've ever said my name."

I looked at him, not sure what to say. He walked over to where I stood in front of the counter, a wet rag still clutched in my hand. Sebastian stared at me, a hungry look flaring in his eyes. Antic.i.p.ation and attraction surged through me at his nearness, silencing Fletcher's voice.

"I'm sorry," he repeated. "I should have called or sent a note, at the very least. But with everything that's been going on . . ." He shrugged, then winced, as if that simple motion caused him as much pain as his grief did.

I reached out and gently placed my hand on his arm. "I understand. Again, I'm so sorry. I know how hard it is to lose someone you love. Especially so violently and unexpectedly."

"You do?"

My lips opened, ready to tell him how my family had been murdered by a Fire elemental, ready to share my own private pain with him, ready to let him see that my broken heart wasn't as black as my deeds were.

But suddenly, Finn's voice echoed in my mind. And no matter what, you should never, ever tell someone all of your secrets.

I might be able to shut out Fletcher's voice and warnings, Finn's too, but I'd kept my family's death to myself for so long that it was second nature for me to hide it. I opened my mouth again, but no words came out, and I realized that I couldn't go through with my heartfelt confession. Not even for him. Maybe not for anyone ever.

"Gin?"

"What I meant was that it seems like violence is a way of life in Ashland," I finished lamely.

He shrugged again.

"Sit down, and let me fix you something to eat," I said, s.h.i.+fting the focus of the conversation back to him. "You can tell me everything that's been going on the last few days. If you want to, that is."

Sebastian let me guide him over to one of the stools close to the cash register. He put his elbows on the counter, then slumped down over it, as though all of the strength had suddenly seeped out of his bones.

"I feel like this has been the longest week of my life," he said. "The funeral was today. Charlotte cried through the whole thing. I've spent the last two hours at our mansion, dealing with the mourners. Finally, I just couldn't take it anymore. I had to get out of there, at least for a little while. So I left Charlotte with one of the giant drivers she likes, and I left. Does that make me a horrible person?"

"No," I said in a soft voice. "It just makes you human."

Sebastian drew in a breath and started talking. About the funeral, the words the minister had said, everyone who'd shown up at the service. While he talked, I turned a few of the appliances back on, rustled around in the refrigerators, and fixed him the best, most comforting meal that I knew how to make: a cheeseburger with all the fixings; hot, sizzling steak-cut fries; and a thick, rich, decadent triple chocolate milkshake.

Sebastian wound down about the time I finished cooking. I put all the food on a plate, then slid everything across the counter to him. He hesitated, then reached out and grabbed the burger, as if he was suddenly hungrier than he'd thought. He took a big bite of the layers of grilled beef, fresh veggies, and melted cheddar cheese. His eyes rolled up in his head in pleasure, and a sigh of contentment escaped his lips.

That's when I knew that I was doing the right thing. Maybe it was crazy, maybe it was foolish, maybe it was just plain wrong, talking to the son of the man I'd killed, but I couldn't send Sebastian away.

I just couldn't.

Finn and Fletcher would have been cold and calculating about things, would have seen this as an opportunity to subtly pump Sebastian for any information that he might have about the investigation into his father's death. Maybe I saw things that way too. But I also hoped that it was a chance to soothe his heartache, in whatever small way that I could.

I just hoped that Sebastian never found out what kind of man his father had truly been and how he'd hurt Charlotte again and again. That sort of cruel knowledge would cause him even more pain.

"How is Charlotte?" I asked, after Sebastian had eaten about half of his food.

He sighed and pushed his burger away, as though he'd lost his appet.i.te. "As well as can be expected, I suppose. She's devastated by our father's death. She's been hiding in her room for most of the week. I've tried to be there for her as much as I can, but given all the funeral arrangements and the business deals that my father had going on . . ." His voice trailed off.

The helpless expression on his face made me reach across the counter and put my hand on top of his. "I'm sure she understands. It's hard when you lose someone . . . the way that you did. There are so many details to see to. She'll realize that you're doing the best that you can, for her and your father too, given the situation."

"I hope so."

I squeezed his hand. "Well, I know so."

He looked at me. "You're amazing, do you know that?"

"What do you mean?"

He gestured at his food. "I mean, the guy who stood you up shows up on your doorstep out of the blue, and you end up fixing him the best d.a.m.n burger he's ever had. Are you sure that your name is Gin? Maybe it should be something else, something like . . . like . . . Genevieve." He snapped his fingers together. "There's a Saint Genevieve, you know."

My breath caught in my throat in surprise and wonderment. If only he knew that Genevieve was my real name. If only he knew who I really was, a girl who'd lost her family. If only he knew how much I could relate to his pain.

If only he knew that I'd killed his father.

That last thought squashed the yearning in my chest. "I'm no saint," I muttered. "More like a sinner."

Understatement of the century.

But Sebastian didn't seem to notice the dark murmur in my voice. He stood up, his hand still on mine. He hesitated, then drew his hand away and walked around the counter, coming to a stop beside the cash register so that we were standing face-to-face. He was several inches taller than I was, so I had to tip my head back to meet his gaze, my heart pounding in my chest in a way that it never had before. He stared back at me, his eyes smoldering like hot coals in his face, his features tight, and his body tense with need, want, guilt, grief, and desire.

Sebastian hesitated a moment longer, then pulled me into his arms and lowered his lips to mine.

The kiss was everything that I'd thought it would be, everything that I'd secretly dreamed it would be-soft, sweet, and utterly breathtaking. Sebastian Vaughn might be a rich guy who could have his pick of girls, but he was surprisingly gentle with me. His lips skimmed mine, his tongue slowly delving into my mouth before retreating. His fingers trailed down my arms before his hands settled on my waist, pulling me a little closer, but that was as far as he went.

His kiss and touch might have been sweet, but hot, liquid desire thrummed through my body in response, more electric than any I'd ever felt before. Sebastian was hurting because of me, and I wanted to do whatever I could to ease that hurt, to take away that pain, if only for a few moments.

But more than that, I wanted him.

Oh, I'd tried to deny it, tried to ignore and forget about it, about him, but the truth was that I was desperately attracted to Sebastian. His wit, his charm, his smile, the easy way he teased me, but most important, the way he actually seemed to respond to me. For some reason, it seemed like Sebastian could see the real me, the real Gin Blanco, lurking beneath all the many masks that I presented to the world. I'd never had that sort of intense, immediate connection with someone before.

Finally, the kiss ended, although my heart continued to pound, its quick tempo matching the emotions surging through me. Desire. Attraction. Hope. Longing.

Sebastian dropped his hands from my waist. "I'm sorry," he said, running a hand through his hair and mussing the smooth locks, making him look even s.e.xier. "I had no right to do that. It's just . . . the way you were looking at me . . . I couldn't help but kiss you."

"Don't worry about it. What girl wouldn't want to be kissed by a gorgeous guy?"

He smiled. "So I'm gorgeous again, huh?"

"After that kiss? Definitely."

We stared at each other. Sebastian's face clouded over, as if he was going to apologize again, but I cut him off by moving forward, standing on my tiptoes, and lightly pressing my lips to his again. He hesitated, then kissed me back.

I didn't want to, but this time, I broke it off. Because if I didn't, I knew that I was in danger of leading him into the back of the restaurant and making out with him until the sun came up, along with other, more intimate things-things that would rock me far more than a few lip-locks had.

I smoothed down his tie, hoping that he wouldn't notice my trembling fingers and all of the emotions that he stirred in me. Finally, I raised my eyes to his again.

"Come on, now," I said, making my voice light and teasing once more. "Your food's getting cold. Go sit down and finish the rest of your burger."

Sebastian grinned, then gave me a mock salute with his hand. "Yes, ma'am."

13.

Sebastian finished his food, seeming a little happier than before.

As he ate, I finished shutting down the restaurant, forcing myself to calm down and rein in my racing heart and raging hormones. I'd never considered myself the kind of person to be swept away by either pure emotion or physical attraction, much less give in to either one of them-unlike Finn and his constant, endless, shameless parade of girls-but I'd been in real danger of doing that with Sebastian. It was a bit troubling, how much he affected me. And how much I longed to just give in and enjoy everything he could offer me.

When he was done, I gathered up the dirty plates and stuck them into one of the sinks to wash in the morning. Sebastian insisted on paying me for the meal, and I tucked his money into a slot under the cash register.

Then we stood by the counter, not sure what to do.

"Thank you," Sebastian said. "For everything, but especially for listening." He ran his hand through his hair again. "With my dad and everything that's been going on, I've just felt . . . numb the last few days. Lost, alone, adrift. I wanted to feel, I needed to feel something tonight. Like somebody cared about me and what I was going through."

"And you came here? Why?"

He looked at me. "Because I had more fun talking with you at that dinner and then here again at the restaurant than I can remember having with anyone in a long time. I think it's your smile. When you look at me, it feels like . . . your smile just lights up something inside me."

My heart swelled with pleasure at his words-even as my stomach clenched with guilt.

"I know tonight wasn't what either one of us had in mind-" he began.

"It was perfect," I cut in. "Absolutely perfect."

Sebastian's eyes crinkled with warmth and grat.i.tude. He nodded at me, then dropped his gaze from mine and cleared his throat, as if he was feeling all of the same emotions that I was.

Well, all of them except the guilt.

"Anyway," he continued, "I'd still like to take you out on that date. If you'll have me."

Once again, my mouth gaped open in surprise. He was hurting, he was grieving, and he was still considerate enough to think about a promise that he'd made to me, a girl he barely knew. More emotion surged through me, even softer, warmer, and more intense than what I'd felt when we'd kissed. Because that sort of thoughtfulness was rare, something to be admired and treasured.

There were so many reasons I should say no to him. So many reasons I should have shown him the door the second he'd arrived. So many reasons I shouldn't have kissed him. But none of them seemed to matter right now-nothing did but the hope s.h.i.+ning in Sebastian's eyes.

"A date would be great," I said in a soft voice.

He sighed in relief, as if there had been some doubt about my answer. "Great. Pick you up here Monday night at seven? Just like we planned before?"

I nodded, too unsure of myself to say anything.

He reached out and squeezed my hand. "It's a date, then. But right now, I should be getting home. Charlotte's probably wondering what's happened to me."

"Of course."

He tightened his grip on my hand. "But there's one more thing I need to do before I go."

"Oh? What's that?"

"This."

Sebastian grinned and drew me into his arms for another kiss.

I didn't get home until late that night, and I couldn't keep the small, silly grin off my face or quiet my soft, nonsensical hums of happiness as I parked my car in the driveway, got out, and headed for the porch. After we'd kissed again, Sebastian had left the restaurant, promising to pick me up Monday evening for our date. I couldn't wait to see him again.

All I had to do in the meantime was sell Fletcher on the idea.

Seeing the house rising up out of the dark and knowing the battle that waited for me inside finally dampened my good mood. The front door was stuck again because of the humidity, annoying me even more, and I had to put my shoulder into it to shove it open. The resulting screech made me wince. Maybe Fletcher should replace the door with that black granite one he wanted. It would be worth it not to blast my own eardrums every time I tried to get inside.

I locked the door behind me, dropped my keys into a crystal bowl on a table inside the foyer, and toed off my boots. Then I headed to the back of the house, where a couple of lights burned. Looked like Fletcher had waited up for me. I sighed. More often than not, he wouldn't go to bed until I was home, despite the fact that I was perfectly capable of taking care of myself-and killing anyone who was stupid enough to try to rob me when I was working late at the restaurant.

Sure enough, I found Fletcher sitting on the sofa in the den, with his blue work clothes still on and his white-socked feet stretched out on the battered coffee table in front of him. He was reading a book, although the TV was also on, tuned to some old western that he'd turned the volume down low on.

I plopped down onto one of the recliners. Fletcher kept right on reading his book. For the better part of a minute, the only sound was the steady creak-creak-creak of my chair, punctuated by an occasional crack-crack-crack of gunfire from the cowboys on TV. But for once, I didn't mind waiting for him to speak. It gave me time to sh.o.r.e up my own arguments.

"You're late," Fletcher finally said, and turned another page in his book. "I thought you'd be here an hour ago."