Finally, when she took out the big guns—uncapping a bottle of nail polish that immediately unleashed headache-inducing fumes to touch up her manicure—he cracked.
“Don’t you have work to do?” He wrinkled his nose. “A caldron to stir somewhere?”
“I’m not a witch.” She didn’t practice magic, she tussled with it. There was a difference.
Though on second thought, she wouldn’t say no to a cauldron. It would come in handy. She was constantly ruining stockpots cleansing those dolls.
“Could have fooled me,” he muttered from where he was sorting through the remains of a dilapidated closet.
Riley smiled as she painted her pinky nail. This was exactly the kind of cranky unpleasantness she’d come for.
Under no circumstances could she allow the animosity between them to fade enough that the curse no longer qualified them as enemies. In fact, maybe she should be even more provocative.
“Clark,” she called, finishing off her left hand.
“Yes?” He was in the process of setting up a giant ladder.
Riley could have waited until he finished or offered to help, but neither of those behaviors would have served her objective of raising his blood pressure.
“What would you say are your worst traits?”
He poked his head around the corner to frown at her. “Do people normally offer up this kind of information to you?”
She chewed her bottom lip, considering. “Actually, yeah.”
Riley didn’t know if it was the bartender thing, or the “men love unloading their emotional baggage on women because they don’t feel they have societal permission to form intimate relationships with same-gender friends” thing, or the curse-breaker “I will help solve your problems, even the ones that seem impossible” thing, but she added, “Kinda all the time.”
“Well, considering the rocky history of our brief acquaintance, you’ll excuse me if I don’t jump at the chance to offer you any more of my vulnerabilities.”
She felt a twang of discomfort. He was referencing the family drama she’d uncovered. But this was different. They liked teasing each other. They were good at it. And what was more, it was safe. Bickering gave them something to hide behind.
“Oh, come on, it’ll be fun,” she needled. “Here, I’ll start you off. You’re overly critical.” She began ticking things off on her newly manicured fingers. “A complete control freak, and all of your shirts are just slightly too big.”
Clark stared at her, eyes coolly assessing, not picking up his sword right away.
“Oh,” he said after a beat, “I see. You’re here to satisfy your hero complex.”
“My what?” Sure, she’d chosen an occupation where she could help people, but so did doctors and teachers and stuff. No one accused them of ulterior motives. “I don’t have a complex.”
“You absolutely do.” He watched her fidget, his face going severe, closed off. “But I’m not interested in being rescued. Thanks.”
Riley struggled to reconcile the grating metal of his tone. Her? Rescue him? From what? Being rich and clever and too handsome for his own good?
“In fact”—Clark had worked himself up enough that there were scorch marks high on his cheekbones as he fussed with the ladder—“you might consider that you’re the one who needs saving.”
“Excuse me. What did you just say to me?” He’d called her every kind of liar, but this was another step beyond.
“You’re reckless and obstinate.” Clark counted on his hand, mirroring her previous action. “And if I hadn’t been at this castle, looking out for you—thankless task that it is—you would have done yourself a serious injury by now, most likely multiple times over.”
“Oh yeah?” Riley’s temperature rose in alarming spikes. Of all the self-important, hypocritical bullshit she’d heard from him, this was the tops. “Well, you’re a villain who thinks he’s a victim.”
Hurt flashed across his eyes, but Riley ignored it, barreling forward on a lethal cocktail of rage and unwanted lust. This guy? This asshole had to be the hottest man she’d ever seen? Really?
How many times did she have to save his ass before he believed she could handle herself?
She should have let that snake bite him. Should have stood by and watched as he writhed in pain at her feet.
“And you know what else?” Her voice shook slightly with anger, “If I hadn’t come to Arden, you’d have nothing to show for almost six weeks of work.”
Clark seethed, grip on the ladder tightening, his knuckles going white.
Riley thought he might storm out and relished the thought. She’d come for this fight. If she was afraid of getting her hands dirty, she wouldn’t be here.
Instead, he stalked closer. “I’m not the only one floundering here, though, am I?” He stood over her, looking down his nose. “When are you going to admit you’re completely out of your depth?”
Riley sucked in a breath. He’d struck a nerve she didn’t touch, didn’t look at. Suddenly, it felt like more than her top was see-through, like he could stare through her skin to her tender, striving heart.
“You might have a few family parlor tricks up your sleeve.” His voice wasn’t raised, no, it was dark, and low. “But when it comes to actually”—he raised his hands to make fucking finger quotes—“breaking the curse—”
That was it. If she had that dagger in her hand right now, Clark would lose more than a button.
“—so far all you’ve done is drop a priceless artifact in a fire and hang a bunch of ugly wreaths. Which, let’s add that up, amounts to precisely nothing. Hmm.” He tapped his chin. “If you can really do what you say, how come everything you try fails?”
He’d said rude things to her before, but those barbs had been easier to dismiss, unequivocally not true.
They knew each other now. These insults weren’t shots in the dark. They came after almost two weeks of weighing, measuring, and he’d aimed for maximum damage.
Just as Riley surrendered to her anger, letting it burn up her weakness, her fear that he was right, the clouds shifted outside the window, changing the light in the room. A piece of the ornate crown molding glimmered—winked at her.
Ha!
If Clark thought the worst thing she could do was pity him, he was wrong.
“You wanna talk to me about incompetence?” She pushed past him, purposefully ramming her shoulder into his as she grabbed his stupid ladder. “You’ve been working in this room all morning, and you don’t even know where to look.”
The metal ladder made a heavy scraping sound as she dragged it across the floor. Damn. It wasn’t terribly tall, maybe eight feet, but the thing was heavier than it looked.
As Riley moved, so did the clouds outside, until the room grew progressively dimmer, the sun all but blotted out. By the looks of it, Arden Castle was in for a storm.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Clark stomped over.
“Your job, only better than you.” Hand over hand, she started to climb.
“Oh, excellent,” he said sarcastically. “Scale a rickety old ladder in heeled boots inside a castle notorious for freak accidents. That’ll end well.”
Despite his protests, he reached out to hold the base, stabilizing it.