A Risky Proposition, Book 1 of The Third Wish Duology. Dawn Addonizio
Читать онлайн книгу.
in a heavy marble and bronze elevator that opened directly into his private outer foyer.
As I waited for Balthus to unlock the penthouse door, however, that annoying, rational inner voice intruded once more. I scowled as it pierced my cloud of contentment, demanding to know what the hell I was doing getting drunk and going to some strange guy’s hotel room. This was not normal behavior for me. Maybe I should slow things down and forgo Balthus’ offer of a nightcap…
My thoughts stalled out as Balthus turned to me with a disarming smile and beckoned me through the door.
I trailed behind him, gaping at the most luxurious hotel room I’d ever seen. Balthus strolled forward into the suite’s sitting room and halted behind an elegant freestanding bar trimmed in tawny leather and burnished metal rivets that matched the room’s over-stuffed leather sofas.
Everything in the space, from the speckled fawn carpet to the ultra-modern fixtures to the Impressionist style paintings on the walls, had been chosen with exquisite care and taste. But it all paled in comparison to the breathtaking ocean panorama visible through the room’s wall of expansive sliding glass doors.
“This view is incredible!” I made my way across the plush carpet toward the sprawling balcony. “Do you mind if I open the door?”
“No, go right ahead.” Balthus indulged my enthusiasm. “Would you like another glass of champagne?” he called.
I turned, prepared to politely refuse, just as he popped the cork and began tipping some into a delicate crystal flute. My refusal died on my lips. I shook my head and found myself agreeing to a drink I knew I didn’t need as I wandered out onto the balcony.
The night was warm, but the penthouse was high enough that the breeze took the edge off the heat. I breathed deeply, the tang of salt from the ocean air helping to clear my head. I leaned over the railing, enjoying the feel of my wind-tousled hair teasing the sensitive skin on my bare shoulders.
I felt Balthus’ presence behind me and turned to accept one of the chilled crystal flutes he held. He gently reached to tuck a few strands of hair behind my ear, his fingertips gliding down my neck to linger warmly on my shoulder. His touch amplified the sensations I had already been enjoying, and I had to close my eyes and force myself to remain still against the wave of desire that blossomed through me.
“It’s beautiful here,” I prattled.
“It certainly has its charms,” Balthus agreed with a smile. “I come here quite frequently, actually.”
“This penthouse is fantastic. I wish I could live here.” I shivered with growing anxiety.
Balthus’ fingers tightened on my shoulder and I felt that odd prick of unease in my spine again. But then his fingers began a slow massage, dissolving away my tension as if by magic. He took my glass from my nerveless hand and placed it beside his on a nearby table.
“Why not?” he whispered. “Surely a woman as lovely as you deserves to live in such a beautiful penthouse. What else do you wish, Sydney?” he asked, his breath softly stirring the hair near my temple as he moved closer.
I leaned into the warmth of his body. “I wish…” Hmm…I was sure I wished a lot of things…but I could only seem to think of one desire as I stared up into the fiery depths of Balthus’ eyes…
“That’s enough,” a disembodied voice interrupted from the darkness.
The words I had been about to speak died on my tongue.
A man appeared, as if he had melted away from the shadows of the wrap-around balcony to assume solid form.
I froze, furious with myself for having been so stupid as to go somewhere this private with a man I’d just met. Actually, it was more terror desperately trying to work its way up to fury—until I noticed that Balthus looked every bit as stunned as I did.
Holding onto the small morsel of relief provided by that, I clutched at his hands where they rested on my shoulders, trying to dissolve back into him and away from the other man.
My relief was short-lived as my gaze shot to the man’s hand. He was pointing something at us. My breath caught in my throat and my brain screamed Gun! Panic swelled, excluding all other thought. Yet for some reason, my eyes kept trying to break in and signal my brain that something was off.
I didn’t know much about weapons, but the one this man was holding looked rather odd. It seemed to be made entirely of tarnished bronze, and the finger loop at the back looked more like a handle than a trigger.
“Miss, step away from the djinn.”
I had the distant thought that the stranger’s tenor brogue sounded Irish. He stared at me expectantly, impatience tightening his features when I didn’t immediately obey his command. My brain finally kicked into gear as I realized that, despite my attraction to Balthus, I didn’t know him well enough to stand between him and a bullet. The thought eased my guilt as I began to inch away from him, my mind registering distractedly that the stranger had called him…the djinn?
I didn’t get far before Balthus’ grip tightened painfully on my shoulders.
“Stay where you are Sydney,” he commanded. His cultured voice belied the unpleasant manner in which he held me. “She is mine, by right.” He glared at the other man.
I stiffened, not liking the sound of that at all. “Um, I’m not sure what’s going on here,” I began, raking Balthus with an indignant glare, “but I really wish the two of you would just…”
“SHUT UP!” growled the man with the gun. “Not one more word if you value your pathetic life at all!”
My mouth snapped shut at his vehemence. “Ow!” I gasped as Balthus’ fingers dug deeper into my shoulders, my own fingers scrabbling helplessly against his in an attempt to pry them out of the indentions I was sure they were making in my skin. It felt as if they were beginning to burn brands into my flesh. My panicked gaze flew to the man in front of us as his voice rang out with authority.
“Balthus of King Moab’s tribe of the Ifrit djinn, in the name of Impellier, I sentence you to imprisonment for crimes against the Realm. In the name of Impellier, I summon you into containment until such time as the Realm sees fit to free you.” He broke into the lilting syllables of a strange foreign language, his words taking on the tone of a well-practiced chant.
Not that I understood much of what he’d said in English.
But I did notice that, as the man continued speaking, Balthus’ grip on me weakened. I took the opportunity to duck away from him and scramble back into the corner between the wall and the railing of the balcony, as far away from the both of them as I could get without taking a dive off the tenth storey.
The bizarre, chanting man blocked the escape I longed for—back inside the penthouse and into the elevator, down and away from this stupid, over-priced hotel full of assholes.
This whole night had been a mistake.
“She is mine by right!” Balthus insisted, a note of pleading breaking through his demand.
His words might have galled me more, if I hadn’t been so damned scared, and if my brain hadn’t started to register the fact that Balthus seemed to be…fading. His legs were going smoky and transparent, and the phenomenon was spreading slowly up his body. I blinked as my obviously damaged mind tried to convince me that the Balthus-smoke was drifting toward the barrel of the gun that the other man was pointing at him.
No. Not a gun, I realized. It was an old-fashioned, metal oil lamp. I couldn’t do anything but stare—it was either that, or pass out. Come to think of it, unconsciousness might have been preferable, but I’d never been the type of girl to swoon.
“Sparrow, she’s mine!” Balthus let out a thin, petulant wail, the smoky remains of his upper body drifting toward the opening in the lamp’s spout and disappearing, as if he was being sucked into it by a vacuum.
“Shut it, Balthus,” the man