Give Me (Wyrd and Fae #1)(6)

Not spending the money—Greg’s money felt like a gift from a bad fairy; she had to spend it, and fast, to keep it from doing mischief—but the legendary Dorchester was wasted on such a short stay. Her room was larger than her and Greg’s entire apartment in Indio. The bathroom was bigger than their kitchen.

No. Forget that thinking. There was no her-and-Greg’s anything now.

After almost falling asleep in the deep bathtub, Lilith dried off and wrapped the luxurious hospitality robe around her body. A bottle of champagne nested in a silver ice bucket on a table in the corner of her room. She poured a glass, feeling a little sorry for herself. Outside her windows, the lush treetops of Hyde Park were like a painting in the early evening light.

Sunlight seemed to last longer here. Was it because London’s latitude was different than that of the California desert? She wished she could talk about it with someone. She was lonely for Greg.

No, that wasn’t it. She pressed the flute of cool champagne against her cheek and watched the traffic on Park Lane. It wasn’t Greg she missed. He hadn’t been decent company for a long time. She’d never had really good company. Would she recognize it if it came along?

Growing up, she’d had no friends. Her mother had always been so nervous about other people coming to their apartment, and she practically freaked when Lilith went to someone else’s house. There had been two boyfriends in college after her mother died. The sex had been fun, but she’d never truly connected to either guy. She’d treated them the only way she knew how to treat another person—she took care of them. She did their laundry and shopping and the research for their class assignments.

Both of them had wandered away to other girls, girls who knew how to play, and Lilith hadn’t minded. Just like she didn’t mind with Greg. Oh, she minded the humiliation, the embarrassment, the betrayal. But she didn’t mind that he was gone. Greg had stuck with her, she now realized, not because he liked her but because he liked the caretaking she offered. She missed him no more than he missed her. She couldn’t miss something she’d never had. Joy. Pleasure. A life.

She put down the champagne. Her circadian rhythms were messed up. She was exhausted, actually. Not from the last two days, but from the last three years. Greg was never right for her. She saw that now. She’d spent those years learning all about him and had never revealed anything of herself. He couldn’t have guessed she was interested in latitudes and sunlight.

She crawled into the brocade-curtained four-poster bed. Great gods, it was comfortable. This could be the start, couldn’t it? The beginning of a new way. She closed her eyes and made a vow: from now on, she’d take better care of herself.

She raised her head off the pillow and listened. Strange harp music—maybe a lute—played somewhere, a familiar tune. She went out into the hall and followed the sound down the corridor to a stone staircase on the right. There was the tapestry again, the woman and the king on the hill.

Lilith was late to the wedding banquet. She didn’t want to go. It was the wrong wedding. The wrong bride. And she was dressed in her nightgown. But the music called to her like a charm. Halfway down the stairs, she tripped and pitched forward. Again. This time she was going to hit the landing.

But a man caught her.

“Have a care! You might break your lovely neck.”

He steadied her and caressed her cheek with gentle concern in his dark brown eyes. He was dressed in white satin and blue velvet like a prince in a fairytale. She shifted so that his hands slipped from her arms down to her waist. She ran her fingernails over the skin of his neck. He smiled, and hunger and heat welled up inside her. She wanted him. She wanted sex.

She pressed him against the corner, and his smile broadened. Their lips met, and his tongue pushed into her mouth. An ache of memory washed over her, laced with the thrill of desire. He felt so familiar. She nudged his hand toward her breast, and when he moved his thumb over the nipple she knew he was hers.

He opened her nightgown, and his fingers brushed against her skin as he eased the fabric aside. He kissed her ear and her throat and moved down to her bared shoulder.

She whispered, “I’m in agony for you.”

He lifted her chin and searched her face, his expression a mass of pain and desire. “We’ve waited for so long.” He spun her around and pushed her against the wall, covering her shoulders and breasts with kisses.

She ran her fingers through his hair—then gasped and pulled back. Her own hair had fallen forward over her face—but it wasn’t her light brown hair. It was waist-length and pale blond. She twisted away from the prince.

He cried “No!” and faded away.

Lilith woke to sunlight streaming into her room. It was close to noon, and she flew out of bed and threw her things into her suitcase. She’d requested a late checkout, but it was going to be tight. As the taxi driver took her luggage, she offered to share with two other people going to the train station. The London air felt wonderful compared with the dry desert. She felt alive and free. Happy.

At Paddington Station, she’d despaired of finding her train when someone touched her elbow. “Are you lost, dear?” Lilith turned and almost stepped on a short middle-aged woman with twinkling blue eyes.

“I’m looking for the train to Dumnos.”

“That’s my train,” the woman said. “I have an inn at Tintagos Village.”