Bittersweet Magic (The Order #2)

Why would he be testing her? Did he suspect she was pretending? How? Was she a crap actress after all? She had to make a decision quickly or he’d know she was pretending anyway.

She took a deep breath. It wasn’t as though she was ashamed of her body. She could do this. After all, this guy had given her the two most mind blowing orgasms of her life—maybe he deserved to see her. She wasn’t so sure about the old guy. But even as the thoughts were racing through her mind, her hand went to the row of small buttons running down the front of her robe.

Piers’ eyes widened as though she had surprised him. Then they darkened as her fingers plucked at the tiny buttons.

She waited for him to tell her to stop. After all, he was only doing this to prove a point—that she was under his will—wasn’t he?

But she reached the last button, and still he didn’t speak out. If he believed she was afraid of this, he didn’t know her. She pushed the sleeves down her arms and the bodice of the robe pooled around her waist, leaving her top half naked but for the black bra. His gaze played across her bare skin, lingering on the too full curves of her breasts. She could feel them swelling under his regard, her nipples hardening, pushing against the lace.

A small smile curved his lips.

Yeah, the bastard knew she was pretending. Goddamn it—it looked like she wasn’t going home anytime soon.

He hadn’t known the last two times, she was sure of it—so what was different? The old guy? Who was he? Or more to the point, considering where they were, what was he?

Piers was still gazing at her chest. How far would he make her go?

Reaching behind her, so her breasts thrust out toward him, she fingered the catch on her bra. Staring into his face, she whispered the word. “More?”

He nodded and her eyes narrowed.

She dropped her arms to her sides and scowled. “Well, if you want more, you’re going to have to take it yourself. Fucking pervert.”

She heard a choke of laughter from the old guy. But she ignored it, holding her breath as she waited for Piers’ reaction. Instead, a hiss came from the old man and her gaze shot toward him. He was staring at the sigil wrapped around her upper arm. She’d always told people it was a tattoo. Obviously, he recognized it as something else.

He stepped up close and lifted a hand. “Do you mind?” he asked at the last moment.

“Would it make any difference?”

He smiled, then stroked one fingertip over the intricate design.

“What is it?” Piers asked, his tone sharp.

Jonas glanced at him. “You’ve never seen one? I’m surprised. It’s a demon’s sigil. A sort of brand of indebtedness. And it’s old. Very old.”

“How old?”

Could he tell? It would give her away. Then what would happen?

“Five hundred years, give or take a few. Your little nun has been holding out on you.” He studied her. “Just what are you?”

Roz sighed. “Would you believe me if I told you I didn’t know?”

“Actually, yes.” He held out a hand to her. “I’m Jonas, by the way. Piers failed to introduce us.”

She eyed up the outstretched hand, reached out, and slid her palm against his. As she wrapped her fingers around his, a little jolt of power ran through her from the point of contact, as though some part of her recognized him. He must have felt it too, as his smile broadened. She tugged free. “And what are you, Jonas?” She held her breath, waiting for his answer.

“I’m a warlock.”

At his words, the air left her lungs with a whoosh. She glanced around, found the nearest chair, and dropped. For a minute she sat, contemplating the floor. He was a warlock. And he was openly admitting it here at the Order of the Shadow Accords. Where Asmodai had told her they would kill her, if they ever found out what she was. He’d told her they killed all people like her.

“Is that like a male witch?” she asked, just to make sure she hadn’t misunderstood.

“Witch, warlock…they’re just names given by people who have no real clue what they mean.”

People like her. Thanks to Asmodai. Roz could feel the fury rising inside her. She gritted her teeth. Asmodai had lied. He’d been lying to her for five hundred years.

“That fucking bastard.”

“Who?”

Piers had backed off and was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching them both. She clamped her lips at his question. She had to think things through. Decide what to do next. Sticking a dagger in Asmodai’s black, lying heart would be her first choice. Was it possible to murder a demon? She was betting there were people here who knew the answer to that particular question. In fact, she was betting there were people here who knew all the answers. No doubt, that was why Asmodai had lied—he hadn’t wanted her to know what was going on. It might have allowed her to think for herself and maybe reduced her usefulness.

Or did he have other reasons?

Beneath the anger, she felt a faint hum of excitement. Was she going to finally learn some of those answers? A shiver ran over her skin and she realized she was sitting there half naked. She glared up at Piers.