Page 16 of Once Upon a Curse for True Love (Paranormal Romance #2)

Chapter Fourteen

Detective Tall, Teasing, and So Much Trouble

ANDROMEDA

The server placed two fortune cookies beside their bill before wishing them a good night. Andromeda eyed the wrapped treats, too aware that dinner with Detective Charming-and-Confusing was about to end. Now she wished she’d ordered dessert—if only to stall.

She reached for a cookie, hoping the sugar would fill the space he was about to leave empty.

The cellophane crinkled as she tore it open, the sound echoing too loud in the hushed atmosphere they’d fallen into after exhausting their verbal sparring.

The shell broke between her fingers, revealing the small strip of paper inside.

Andromeda read the message silently: If you’re thinking about it, they are too.

She snorted.

“Something funny?” Donatello asked as he reached for his cookie.

“The usual bumper sticker wisdom,” she deflected.

Donatello’s dark eyes fixed on her. “Read it.”

It wasn’t a request. More an order. The command in his voice flicked a switch—from banter to butterflies.

Andromeda held his gaze, ready to turn his demand into a challenge.

“If you’re thinking about it,” she read, “they are too.”

She watched his face as comprehension dawned, followed by a half-choked cough. For the millionth time that evening, he zeroed in on her mouth with such naked hunger that Andromeda wondered if he really saw her as dessert.

He shifted in his seat, but the heat didn’t disappear from his eyes.

“What are you thinking about, Swan? Anything interesting?” he teased.

Andromeda wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep it together. It was already a miracle she hadn’t dissolved into a puddle beneath the table when they’d been discussing “dessert” earlier. Something about this man turned her quick-witted brain to mush.

“What about yours?” she deflected.

Donatello broke his cookie open with one hand—more crushed it. He unfolded the small paper and read it, a slow smile spreading across his face.

“Control is an illusion.”

Was his voice specifically designed to melt her underwear?

“Do you lose control often, detective?” The question slipped out.

The look he gave didn’t belong in polite company. “No.” Donatello dropped a few twenties inside the leather bill folder and stood up, leaning down until his face was level with hers. “But keep pouting that way,” he murmured, “and find out.”

He straightened to his full height, replacing the beanie on his head to hide the lilac strands. “Come on, Swan. I’m taking you home.”

She rose on unsteady legs, wondering if everyone in the room could see how affected she was by him.

The ride back was silent, but it was far from peaceful. Every traffic light they stopped at became a test of restraint. Every casual shift of Donatello’s hand on the gearshift drew her gaze like a magnet. The atmosphere was charged, stormy.

Andromeda stared out the window, at the streets lined with trees dropping their brown leaves, the storefronts decorated with witch motifs that tourists labeled quaint but actual witches found hilarious in their inaccuracy. She tried to focus on anything but the man beside her.

When they finally reached her house, Donatello didn’t stay in the car as she’d expected.

Instead, he killed the engine and got out, circling around to get the door for her.

The gesture was so old-fashioned, especially coming from a man who’d blown off her front door without even knocking a few days ago.

He didn’t stop there. Donatello walked her to the doorstep, his presence behind her larger than his six-however-many-inches height.

The night air was cool—but not cool enough; Andromeda was still boiling.

She stopped at her door and turned, summoning every ounce of bravado she possessed.

“Will you also tuck me in bed or are you going to shoo?” She made a scram-now gesture with her hands as if he were an overgrown cat rather than the wizard who’d been starring in her inappropriate fantasies all evening.

Donatello leaned against the porch railing, watching her with those impossibly dark eyes.

“Oh, I’d love to tuck you in, Swan.” He sounded so smooth, soft as velvet, and filthier than an arrogant duke in a bodice ripper.

If she’d been wearing a corset, it would’ve unlatched itself as his gaze made a slow, deliberate journey down her body and back up again.

“For a criminal, you make a hell of a dinner date.”

Her heart stuttered at the word date, but Andromeda recovered quickly, smirking to hide the effect he had on her. “Good thing tonight wasn’t a date, then.”

Donatello detached himself from the railing with the fluid grace of a panther. “Could’ve fooled me.” His voice was a low scrape that carved into her bones. “You even moaned for me.”

“I didn’t moan for you,” Andromeda shot back, heat flaring in her cheeks at the memory of how embarrassingly vocal she’d been about the dumplings. “It was for the food. Totally different phenomenon.” She lifted her chin. “I doubt you could make me moan, detective.”

The moment the words left her mouth, she knew they were a tactical error. Donatello’s eyes darkened, and he closed the distance between them with two long strides until he stood right in front of her. His hands settled on her hips, warm and firm, claiming more than just space.

“Want to test that theory?” he asked, his thumbs drawing small circles on the fabric of her jeans.

Andromeda’s mouth went dry. Her brain, usually quick with comebacks, provided nothing but static. She was suddenly, intensely aware of everything about him—the stubble darkening his jaw, the flecks of gold in his eyes, and the scent of his cologne mingled with the smells of the restaurant.

“I’m not in the habit of kissing cops,” she managed finally, her voice a breathless whisper.

Donatello’s lips curved into that maddening half-smile. “Yeah? ’Cause I’m not in the habit of asking twice.”

The heat rolling off him wasn’t metaphorical—she could taste it on her tongue, smell it on the back of her nose.

He was too much. Too tall. Too intense. Too handsome.

She should step back, make a sarcastic comment to break the spell, remind them both the reasons this was a terrible idea.

But her body refused to cooperate with her better judgment.

“Well,” she murmured, “what are you waiting for, a written invitation?”

Her heart threatened to thump right out of her chest as he leaned in, his eyes darker than ever. His lips were less than an inch from hers—

The door to her house flew open with a sudden thud that made them both jump apart like guilty teenagers. Sarah Michelle appeared on the porch with an overnight bag slung over her shoulder, ready for a night at her boyfriend’s.

She blinked at the scene before her, then released a colorful stream of magical curse words that would have made a goblin blush.

“Sorry,” she said after an excruciating pause. “I thought you were Lorcan. I heard a noise and…” she trailed off, looking uncomfortable. “I’m… I’ll go back inside.”

Sarah Michelle went back inside, the echo of her absence somehow louder than her presence.

Donatello backed away slowly, his attention fixed on Andromeda’s lips for a knee-weakening moment before traveling up to meet her eyes. “Another night, criminal,” he drawled. “But you’ll be the one asking.”

Andromeda wanted to shove that cocky remark back down his throat, but she was too breathless to form a proper retort. She watched, flustered and frustrated, as he sauntered to his car with that infuriating swagger that made his already fine ass even more appealing.

Before he got in, he waved at her with a smug grin so self-assured she wanted to shout something rude after him. But her voice was still trapped somewhere in her chest, along with her racing heart and unfulfilled desire.

She stood on the porch until his taillights had disappeared down the street—the cool night air doing nothing to calm the heat that had built under her skin. She pressed a hand against her burning cheeks.

Hex it all. If Sarah Michelle hadn’t interrupted, they’d be making out right now. And Andromeda was sure Donatello Malatesta would’ve delivered on that swagger and proven himself a fantastic kisser.

But he was gone now, and what awaited her inside the house would be much less pleasant. An interrogation? A pep talk? Probably both.

Andromeda shoved open her front door, not ready to face the welcoming committee of two familiars and one very interested roommate.

“Well, well, well,” Sarah Michelle promptly sing-songed from where she was perched on the arm of the couch, her overnight bag now resting by her feet. Her dark bob framed a face alight with unholy fascination. “Please tell me I didn’t interrupt you playing tonsil hockey with Malatesta.”

Quill bristled with such indignation that his quills stood at perfect right angles to his tiny body. “Preposterous! My witch would never engage in such inappropriate fraternization with her legal supervisor.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Nox countered, slinking around Sarah Michelle’s ankles. “The look on her face says she’d fraternize him right into next week.”

Andromeda closed the door with an exasperated bang as if the loud noise could shut them up. “Don’t you have better things to do than analyze my social life?”

“Not really, no,” Sarah Michelle replied cheerfully, sliding on the couch properly and patting the spot on her left. “Were you about to kiss Malatesta? Did you want to? When did this happen? I thought you hated his guts.”

“I do,” Andromeda protested as she flopped down next to her roommate. She grabbed a throw pillow and hugged it to her chest. “I hate his cocky smirk and his stupid perfect hair—even when it’s purple—and his annoying habit of looking at me like he can see straight through my bullshit.”

“So that’s a yes on wanting to kiss him,” Sarah Michelle translated.