“Well, isn’t this intimate?” Flynn shimmied his way through the gap so that he had his back against the opposite wall, his hands falling against Maeve’s hips. If he wanted, he could slide her back so her arse rubbed against his cock, and even though that was totally cheating, I wouldn’t even blame him.
I was cheating just as bad – my face in hers, my eyes begging for her touch. All I’d have to do was lean forward, press my lips to hers, and it would all be over…
But that’s not fair. You all agreed, and it was your idea. She’ll choose you in the end – it’s the only logical choice to make, and Maeve rules her life with logic.
Maeve’s lips parted a little, her breath hitching. The energy pulsing from her body warmed the air around us. It was as though a magnet extended between all three of us, pulling us together.
Right now, she had no idea who she wanted more.
Interesting.
The other two guys clambered up the stairs behind us. Maeve glanced away, and the spell broke enough that I could gain control of myself and pull back.
Flynn did the same, and he shot me a look over Maeve’s shoulder, a look that said, “how the fecking hell are we going to last around this bird without doing something unchivalrous?”
An excellent question. One I didn’t have an answer to.
Maeve didn’t look upset. In fact, her heavy-lidded eyes and ragged breath as her eyes flitted from mine to Flynn’s to Arthur’s and Rowan’s suggested she was pretty into the idea of one of us.
Or all of us, who knows?
Stop bloody thinking about it.My fingers brushed against the catch, and I let it off. The door swung out, and all five of us tumbled into the hall in a mess of limbs.
“Here, I’ll help you.” Arthur managed to untangle himself first, and grabbed Maeve’s hand. Flynn reached for her other hand, but she was already using it to leverage herself off the floor. Flynn swiped it out from under her, sending them both rolling across the hallway.
“You guys are nuts.” Maeve stood up and dusted herself up. “I’m not an invalid. I can get up by myself.”
“Point taken,” Flynn mumbled, picking himself up from the floor. There was an imprint of the carpet across his cheek.
“I mean, the way you’re acting, it’s as if I’m some damsel in distress…” Maeve’s words trailed off as she caught sight of the large portrait at the end of the hall. She stepped toward it, her eyes wide.
A shaft of sunlight fell across the frame from one of the small skylights above the hallway, illuminating the figure who appeared to smile down at Maeve from her spot on the wall.
It was impossible to miss the family resemblance.
The woman in the portrait had Maeve’s enormous eyes – although where Maeve’s were hazel, hers were an icy blue – and the same bow-shaped lips, lightly colored with red so they stood out from her pale skin like a droplet of blood. Her long brown hair fell in luscious waves down her back, and her hips and breasts swelled from her old-fashioned gown, revealing that hourglass shape that oozed sexiness.
She sat on a chair in the library, a few books stacked on the table beside her. She kept her hands folded in her lap, and on her right index finger, she wore a ring embedded with a citrine crystal. Around her swan-like neck was a larger citrine amulet, and a third stone was set in the diadem that encircled her forehead. Her face was serene, content in her power, and the corners of her mouth turned up into an enigmatic smile.
Maeve reached up with her hands, touching the canvas right against the citrine ring. “Is this… my mother?”
I ran to her side. “Yes, that’s Aline Moore. Have you never seen this portrait? The famous artist Robert Smithers painted it. He was a friend of hers, apparently. A smaller copy of it hangs in the National Gallery, but this is the better of the two.”
“I just… wow.” Maeve’s eyes wandered all over the canvas, drinking in the details. “I knew she lived here, but I just never expected to see…wow.”
“Do you need a minute? We can all go downstairs?—”
“No, I’m fine.” Maeve placed her hand over her chest, swallowing hard. “I was wondering if—argh!”
She leapt back as a dark shape streaked across the side table beneath the image, sending a Wedgwood bowl spinning toward the edge. I flung out a hand and managed to save it before it crashed to the ground.
“Obelix!” I growled at the giant ball of black fur.
But Obelix wasn’t listening, because he was a cat, and cats didn’t listen to the help. He was too enchanted by our newest resident. He perched on the end of the table, stretching out a fat paw toward Maeve in greeting.
She stared at the paw, her hand tapping her chest, which rose and fell as she tried to calm her heart rate. I could relate. That blasted cat had given me enough heart attacks to last a lifetime.
“You gave me a hell of a fright, cat,” Maeve admonished him.
