Page 6 of The Death Dealer (Sentinels of Magic Book 2)

Trevor had read her mind! And right when Soleil was feeling especially catty.

Trying to act nonchalant, as if she wasn’t freaked the fuck out that he had access to her innermost thoughts, Soleil shrugged and turned her back to him.

How the hell was she supposed to block him? Wasn’t it bad enough that her face was already an open book? She wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all.

“I can teach you,” he said, surprising her with his serious tone.

“I have to go. The procurer?—”

“Of rare plants. Yes, I know.” Trevor placed his hands on her shoulders and squeezed. “Can’t you reschedule, Soleil? That near miss must’ve shaken you up.”

“I…”

How did she tell him she’d already forgotten about the SUV? The second his arm encircled her waist and he hugged her to him, reason fled, and all that remained was sensation. His steely forearm across her abdomen had created a fluttery feeling, and it was still going strong. That was to say nothing of the chaos caused by the spicy but citrusy scent of his skin enveloping her.

Bergamot, if she wasn’t mistaken.

Currently, his massaging hands were causing a riot of emotions. Want. Confusion. Nervousness. Hope? The last one prodded her into action, and she stepped away from his intoxicating touch. Goddess, her body was overly warm, and it felt like she was walking through the desert with the noonday sun high overhead. Not a single oasis in sight. Sweat trickled between her breasts, and she fanned her scalding-hot face as she hurried toward the street.

“Soleil!”

He reached her right when she would have stepped into oncoming traffic.

Her distraction was great.

“Please, Mr. Blane?—”

“Trevor.”

“Trevor. Please, leave me alone.”

“I can’t,” he said in a gruff voice.

Helplessly, she stared at him. Whether Trevor’s confession was because of his appointment to watch over her or something deeper, Soleil didn’t know. Clearly, he had an easier time keeping his thoughts to himself than she did.

“The man I’m supposed to meet is a stickler about time,” she said. “It’s obvious I’m not going to shake you, so let’s go.” Proud of herself for taking charge, she briskly walked toward the alley, praying there were no cameras to catch her teleport. She had two minutes to get to Gene Stockton, or she’d never hear from the man again.

“What’s so important that you need to get to this guy within two minutes?”

“Stay out of my damned head,” she snapped. “And it’s the Wood’s Cycad.”

“The what?”

“Wood’s Cycad. It’s extinct in the wild, and no one knows exactly how many are grown privately. My hope is, with Spring’s help, to create adult plants and replant them in their natural habitat.”

“Who cares if this particular one dies?—”

She spun around and shoved his chest. His forward momentum caused her to strike harder than she normally would’ve.

His breath whooshed from his lungs.

“Fuck!”

Trevor’s curse was internal, but she heard it all the same. Taking no small satisfaction in breaking his concentration, she grinned.

“Christ, I want to kiss the hell out of your fuckable mouth.”His wicked thought stunned her.

“Oh!” The shock—and something else she wouldn’t explore at the moment—caused her face, as well as other parts of her anatomy, to tingle.

Color crept up his neck, and he gave her an apologetic look. “Sorry.”

“No need to… um, well, yeah, I…” They probably resembled a matching pair of beefsteak tomatoes. She shook her head. “I’ve got to focus on wood, er, uh, Wood’s…uh, Cycad. Wood’s Cycad!”

A naughty smile curled his lips, and his immediate thought was filthier than the ground beneath their feet. “You can focus on my wood. Any day of the week.”

Her breasts tightened, and her embarrassed flush was a dead giveaway. He knew very well she’d heard his bawdy reference.

“Stop it, Mr. Blane,” she scolded. Presenting her back, she allowed a small smile. He was indecent to the extreme and her favorite kind of bad boy, although she’d never say it aloud.

“You don’t have to,” he replied. “You really need to learn to block your thoughts, babe.”

“If I murder you, I no longer have to worry about it,” she retorted. “Believe me, it’s definitely an idea I’m toying with.”

“Hmm, but sleeping with me is more prominent in your mind. I say we go with that action plan.”

“I say there will be no action. Not now, not ever!”

“Spoilsport.”

“Wood’s”—she whirled and narrowed her eyes—“Cycad is too important to me. If you’re going with me, hold my hands.”

“I could find a more pleasurable place to touch you?—”

“Shut it and hold on.”

Trevor appreciatedthe becoming flush on Soleil’s cheeks and the challenging light in her dark eyes. Call him warped, but their banter was more exciting than any he’d experienced in as long as he could remember. Why she held his interest when no one else could was puzzling, yet she did.

He’d embarrassed them both with the “fuckable mouth” comment, but Goddess above, she had the sexiest one he’d ever seen. Porn star worthy. Not that he watched a lot of porn, but he’d seen a film or two in his day. Also, Trev had tasted Soleil. Twice. Mistakes both, but ones he couldn’t get out of his head.

As he held her hands, his cells amped to burning. He didn’t like not knowing where he was going, and he certainly didn’t love the idea of chasing a moody, elusive botanist, who was a time nazi. But Soleil had almost been run down, and Trevor couldn’t help but believe the two things were related. Yes, the SUV jumping the curb might’ve been accidental. Yet he had the sneaking suspicion it wasn’t. If someone had Soleil in their targets, he intended to find out exactly who and why. Then he’d use his considerable gifts to destroy them.

“You’ve been quiet since the parking lot,” Soleil murmured as they walked toward one of five enormous greenhouses belonging to the man she was to meet.

“I’m wondering why anyone would want to run you down,” he replied.

“It was probably an accident.”

Trevor scoffed. “I don’t believe in accidents or coincidences in my line of work.”

“That must be a sad way to live, always suspecting people of wrongdoing.”

“I didn’t say that,” he protested.

She simply lifted a brow.

Glancing around, he took stock of the estate. Waves crashed against the beach in the distance, and the tropical setting said they weren’t anywhere close to Massachusetts anymore. “Why did you need a taxi if you were coming to a different continent?” he asked.

“I wanted to go home before the teleport. It makes me uncomfortable to pop in and out from public locations. Big Brother is always watching.”

Trevor nodded. She definitely had a point. His younger brother was FBI. “What’s this guy’s name, anyway?”

Pausing on the pathway, she cast him an irritated look and said, “I’m sure I told you.”

“No, babe, you didn’t.”

She frowned her confusion. “I’m almost certain…” She gave an airy wave. “No matter. His name is Gene Stockton, and he’s?—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”Trev knew he was shouting, but he wanted to wring her freaking neck for putting herself in imminent danger.

“Stop yelling at me, Mr. Blane,” she ordered coldly.

“Trevor,” he corrected absently. He inhaled and exhaled to get his fear-for-her-induced anger under control. “Do you know who Stockton is? Did you do your homework before blindly traipsing halfway across the world for a fucking flower? We’ve got to?—”

“Ah, Mr. Blane,” came the silky smooth, albeit menacing, voice of Gene Stockton from behind them. “I don’t believe you were invited to this meeting, and I’ll ask that you kindly stop yelling at my lovely guest.”

The sound of gunstocks hitting shoulders was loud in the sudden silence.

He’d been so wrapped up in Soleil, Trev failed to hear them approach, thereby missing the danger. He never missed the danger.

Never.

Every swear word he knew bombarded his brain, and it took all his willpower not to vocalize them. Soleil’s wince indicated she was privy to those black thoughts. Good! Maybe, if they survived this encounter, she’d be cautious in the future.

Gene Stockton was little better than a mob boss. One Trevor’s father had royally screwed over in the past. Had he known he was the man Soleil was supposed to meet, Trev would’ve put a stop to it. Now, he had to find a way to extract them without anyone getting shot.

“Let me handle this,”Trev told her through their telepathic connection.

She ignored him, stepping forward with her hand outstretched.

“Mr. Stockton,” Soleil said warmly as she shook his hand.

So warmly, in fact, that Trevor studied her face for signs of… what? Affection? Interest? That she and Stockton were lovers? No. She’d used a formal address, and she wouldn’t have kissed Trevor like she had if she was involved with the other man. But he couldn’t deny their dark looks complimented each other. Stockton was average height and on the beefy side. But it was difficult to tell how much of that was muscle under the white button-up shirt and slacks he wore. Based on the way the seams strained the shoulders, Trevor was leaning more toward well-built since the man’s face was all chiseled angles.

“Ms. Stephens, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” Stockton replied equally as pleasant.

If one ignored the two bodyguards with automatic rifles, their greeting could be mistaken for an everyday, run-of-the-mill social interaction between two plant enthusiasts. But one had only to look down the metal barrel of the nearest mercenary’s rifle to know this was no ordinary meeting.

“Not to put too fine a point on it, but I believe I asked you to come alone,” Stockton said, his tone decidedly cooler as he cast a side glance Trevor’s way.

“You did,” Soleil replied with an apologetic look. “But?—”

“But someone tried to run her down in front of a restaurant less than five minutes ago.” Trevor narrowed his eyes, portraying pure menace. “Care to tell us what you might know about that, Stockton?”

Surprise, followed closely by concern, chased across the other man’s too-handsome face, and Trev studied him carefully, searching for signs of feigned emotion. He could find none. The news of the near miss was a shock to Stockton.

Shit. That meant Soleil had a different enemy lurking on the sidelines.

“Did you tell anyone else you were coming here, Ms. Stephens?” Stockton asked with a troubled frown.

Before Trevor could stop her, she replied, “No.”

“Excellent. Then you won’t mind becoming my personal guests for a few days, until we can be sure you weren’t followed.”

Soleil blinked.

Trev swore savagely, not bothering to keep the words contained in his mind this time. Stockton grinned, and it transformed his handsome face to drop-dead gorgeous. Never had Trevor wanted to rearrange classically strong features so much as he did at that moment.

“Sorry, Stockton. We have another appointment after this one,” he lied unapologetically. He reached for Soleil, uncaring if the other men witnessed their teleport. Gene Stockton might not have magical abilities, but he certainly knew all about the witch community. Had known about it for years, in fact. The guy had made the bulk of his fortune through manipulating witches and warlocks to do his bidding.

But Trev wasn’t fast enough. Stockton beat him to the punch and wrapped an arm around Soleil’s waist, locking her in place.

“She’s not going anywhere, Mr. Blane,” he stated in frigid tones. “You’re welcome to leave, but she stays.”

Her dark, panic-filled eyes flared wide, and she cast a beseeching look Trevor’s way.

“Stay calm, and let me do the talking,”he told her through their connection.

The slightest forward motion of her head indicated her affirmative answer.

“Look, Stockton. I don’t want to shit on your hospitality, but make your orchid trade, so we can get going. We’re expected to meet Damian Dethridge for lunch. You know the man, I’m assuming?” He paused to let the name sink in. “He’s The Aether, and Soleil’s beloved brother-in-law.”

Amusement curled Stockton’s lips. “And you expect me to be suitably impressed by the fact, I suppose?”

“I don’t expect you to be unimpressed.”

“Mr. Blane, while I can appreciate your concern for my welfare, I believe we should work together to protect Soleil’s. I am, after all, very well protected on my island. My disappearing island.”

A sinking feeling settled in Trevor’s stomach, and he shifted to study his surroundings with an eye to security. Something he should’ve done when they first arrived instead of letting himself become distracted by Soleil’s “fuckable mouth.”

He was a dead man. If Stockton didn’t take revenge for Trev’s father, and if whoever was targeting Soleil didn’t get him in the crossfire, the Aether was going to kill him. Hanging his head, Trevor inhaled a deep breath, then blew it out slowly. What the fuck had the Authority been thinking to assign him to this mission?