Page 8 of Hex Me (Immortal Vices and Virtues: All Hallows’ Eve #7)

Tamsin

T amsin bit her lip as she stared at herself in the fogged bathroom mirror.

Hair piled haphazardly atop her head, her body naked as the day she was born, her pale-brown skin gleaming, as if coated by dew.

Max’s scent was thick in the room, and she hated it.

Hated that she wanted to pick up his discarded shirt and breathe it in, before wrapping it around herself so that his warmth and heather and woodsmoke smell enclosed her, as if in an embrace.

“Asshole,” she muttered.

She’d spent her entire shower trying to banish the image of Max’s half-naked body from her mind, the sensation of his hard chest against her back.

The feeling of being safe within his arms. She’d had no idea that his body had been that chiseled, that he had a six pack that would be the envy of any shifter.

That she’d have to physically force herself to stop staring, to close her eyes so that she didn’t try to touch what she could see.

And work her way down to what she couldn’t…

But it was the safety he inspired that irritated her the most.

He had no right to do that.

Lust—lust she could handle. Hell, she’d fuck his brains out if she knew that it would solve the building tension between them. But the fact he made her feel safe ? No, that was dangerous. It signified that he meant more to her than a one-night stand or causal lover.

And that couldn’t be. She wouldn’t allow it.

Gripping the charm around her neck, she held it so tightly her knuckles turned bone white.

She was not going to risk falling in love or having feelings for someone.

Not again. She wasn’t going to sacrifice her sense of self, of happiness for the sake of another.

Not when the risk of rejection and humiliation came with it.

Letting go of the charm, she looked down at the fabric bag on the pale-pink tiled floor. She’d brought it into the bathroom with her, so she didn’t have to walk towel-covered into the room as Max had done.

Her mouth turned dry at the memory of all that skin…covered in nothing but a towel and the strange necklace many of the phantoms wore. The dark line of hair that arrowed from his belly button down?—

Enough! She thought. She was mooning like a lovesick teenager, something she had never been. Not even with Nigel, who she’d intended to marry.

Squatting, she rifled through her bag’s contents. Three dresses. Three choices. And she couldn’t decide which one.

She let her fingers run over the deep-emerald silk gown; it was an old favorite from her time with the House of Earth and Emerald, and she hadn’t worn it around Nigel, so it contained no bad memories—but no good ones, either.

It was showy and flamboyant, but it just didn’t feel right for tonight’s ball.

All Hallows’ Eve was tied to Samhain, a time of year when doorways to other worlds opened, and distance between the dead and the living grew closer. She needed something more…ethereal.

She withdrew the two other gowns she’d packed.

One was white, shimmering as if it had been dusted with diamond powder.

High necked, long sleeved, it was demure and professional.

Something that would work when she represented the House of Death and Diamond at formal events.

The other gown was a pale pinkish-purple, the hue reminiscent of the heather flowers that coated the loch’s surroundings in winter.

She hadn’t been able to resist it when she’d found the silken fabric in a London shop.

She lowered the white dress and laid it over her bag.

This pinkish dress clung to her in all the right places—according to Sabrina, who’d been with her and insisted she needed it—but Tamsin wasn’t sure if she wanted to test that theory tonight.

Still, she hadn’t worn it yet, and who knew when she’d have another opportunity?

It wasn’t the sort of gown one wore to a formal House event.

Not with its plunging neckline and cinched waist.

Now or never , she thought.

Decision made, she slid into a pair of panties and then stepped into the gown.

At first, the fabric slid on easily, but once the dress was at her hips, she had to awkwardly shimmy herself the rest of the way into it, hopping and jumping a little to get it into the right place.

She tried to fasten the gown on her own, but only managed to pull the zip three-quarters of the way up. Good enough, she decided.

Turning toward the mirror, she blinked at the transformation.

Her long brown hair, having fallen out of its half-hearted bun during her gown-shimmying calisthenics, now spilled loosely around her, framing both her face and shoulders.

Two delicate straps rested on her shoulders, leading down to a sweetheart neckline that plunged to the end of her sternum.

Three charms rested in the gap between her breasts: her signet that showed she was a member of the House of Death and Diamond, the pendant her largely absent father had once given her, and the charm she’d begun wearing after Nigel had left her.

Normally, she hid the three charms, but tonight…tonight she would showcase them. Tonight, she would be in control of her destiny, her tomorrows, and her desire.

Don’t get carried away , she thought, smiling to herself.

She began twisting her hair into a loose updo, pinning one lock here, curling another there.

She left a handful of strands to fall and dance around loosely, adding beads and charms, or repositioning others.

She decided on a light makeup look, nothing too heavy, despite the formal gown; it stood on its own, after all.

She re-lined her eyes with kohl and swept a powder foundation across her cheeks and nose, then wiped her lips with a stain the color of burgundy roses—or spilled blood.

A quick glance in the mirror told her it was good enough, as did a look at her watch. It was already nine pm.

Max would no doubt be getting impatient.

She packed the white dress back into her bag, along with her makeup supplies and toiletries, then magicked it closed. If anyone tried to open it, they would have a rather…unfortunate experience.

She grunted as she lifted it—it was heavier than it looked—and picked up Max’s glasses in her other hand from where he’d left them on the counter.

She jerked her chin at the door, using magic to open it.

Steam spilled into the adjoining bedroom, like smoke escaping a dragon’s maw.

Max stood by the window, his silhouette lit in blue from the sea of lights below.

Hands behind his back, his shoulders were tense, as if he were lost in troublesome thoughts.

Her gaze caught on the broad line of those shoulders; his gray jacket molded to him like a second skin.

Then her stare slid lower—down the length of him—to the kilt.

He was actually wearing a kilt. The sight drew a smile to her lips.

Brown boots grounded the look, completing an ensemble that was both rugged and infuriatingly attractive.

But she’d come to expect that of him now, she realized.

“So, you do have a kilt,” she said.

Max turned, freezing halfway through the motion. His eyes locked on her for a handful of seconds before he completed the turn and let that infuriating smirk curl his mouth. “I dinnae realize ye were dressing to impress me tonight.”

“I wasn’t,” Tamsin shot back. Still, she couldn’t stop the flush of excitement that burned through her as his gaze slowly traced the lines of her body.

His mouth thinned at her words, and he closed the distance between them. “Ye wound me.”

Her heart gave a slight pang at his words. But he was just teasing her. There was no way anything she said would mean enough to hurt him.

“Here, you forgot these.” She held out his glasses, dropping her bag on the floor as she did so.

He took them from her, his fingers brushing against hers as he did so—a brush she felt go through her whole body. “I dinnae forget them. Ye held them hostage.”

“Hostage?” One of her eyebrows rose.

“Aye, I couldnae go in there and retrieve them, lest I see ye in all yer naked glory. And then risk being turned into a toad. Or newt.” He placed a hand over his heart, as if he had suffered greatly.

Naked glory? She snorted. “You’re ridiculous.”

He leaned close then, and she wanted to arch away from the movement, but held her ground purely because, if she were being honest, she didn’t want to. “If I’m ridiculous, Tam, it’s only because ye made me so.”

“Really? How wonderful. I didn’t realize I had such an effect on you.” She smiled, and his eyes darkened behind those stupid frames, making her heartbeat pick up speed. He opened his mouth to speak, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to hear whatever he had to say.

“Tell me again why you’re wearing those?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Because I want to,” he replied, demeanor swiftly changing to affable. It irritated her to no end how easily he could do that when she was feeling anything but.

“I do have one small problem you might be able to help me with,” she admitted, reluctantly.

If she wasn’t worried about expending too much magic on a night where the boundaries between life and death grew thin, she would’ve gone back to Sabrina and begged for her help instead.

Although that would have meant possibly portalling into Avalon, which would have taken her power to its very limit.

“My zip,” she said, exhaling. “I can’t get it all the way up.” She turned, pointing to the gap at the top of her back where four stubborn inches of zipper refused to move.

“I see.”

She felt him close the distance between them, his presence warm, solid, and safe against her back. Heat spilled from him onto her bare shoulders, and when his fingers swept over her skin, she shivered, involuntarily.

“I’d apologize for the cold shower,” he murmured, “but it has given ye the most delightful ghostbumps.”

“The water was warm, actually.” She’d almost lost herself in his voice, and hoped—stupidly—that he’d lean forward, so close that his mouth would graze her skin when he spoke… “Wait—‘ghostbumps’? Don’t you mean goosebumps?”

“Kieran once said that phantoms gave him ghostbumps, nae goosebumps. I figured it might have applied in this situation.”

Tamsin smiled, finding it strangely charming.

Max’s fingers moved to the fabric of her gown, steady and careful as he aligned the zipper. The metal teeth whispered upward, and he was meticulous in his movements, making sure not to catch her skin, though she still burned wherever his hands lingered.

When he reached the top, she realized she hadn’t breathed the entire time. Her heart hammered in her chest, and she hoped he couldn’t hear the tattletale beat. They stayed like that for what seemed an eon, before his hands slid down her shoulders and arms, drawing more ghostbumps to the surface.

She turned to face him and stepped back at his heavy-lidded gaze. “Max?” Her voice was strangely hesitant.

“Ye are beautiful, Tam.”

Her mouth turned drier than the sands of the Sahara, and she met that dark gaze that promised her things he had no right promising. “We…” she had to stop a moment to clear her throat, before finishing, “We should go.”

He flicked a glance at his watch and then nodded, the dark intensity of him shifting as he became the easygoing Uncle Max Fhearchair once again, and she hated every second of it.