Read Online Enchanting Absinthe (Sex with Strings, Book Four) by Shona Husk - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Shona Husk
Tags: Erótica
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devoid of any expression. “I am a full-blooded Shaman. Do you know how many rules I broke?” She pointed to the bite on her neck.
He had a rough idea. “I didn’t hear you complaining last night.”
“I didn’t hear you complaining either. So quit bitching.”
“You tricked me. You could’ve told me what you were.” She’d walked in and taken what she wanted—just like his Shaman father.
“It shouldn’t matter what I am, what you are.”
“It does.”
“Obviously. You know, for someone who is over four centuries old, you still have a lot of issues.” She picked up a stem of flowers. “Thanks for the night.” She lifted her gaze and looked at him, disappointment shimmered in her brown eyes. “After watching you play for over ten years, I thought you were an amazing, talented person. I dreamed of being with you—yeah, the same as every other groupie—but I wish it had stayed a dream because you’re a dick.”
Then she spun and walked toward the door.
“Claire.”
She opened the door and didn’t look back.
“Claire!” He took two steps and the door closed. “Damn it.” He lashed out and sent the vase and flowers tumbling to the floor. The glass shattered. He stared at the mess unable to move.
What the hell was wrong with him?
He glanced back at the door. No, he wouldn’t chase after her. She was right, they’d both gotten what they wanted and they’d both lied to get it. And he had behaved like a dick.
Damn it.
He hadn’t wanted her to leave. He forced out a breath and let the old anger and hurt go. It was better this way. An ache in his chest opened like a void that couldn’t be filled. He picked up a stem of white roses and ran his finger over the tightly furled buds. The argument replayed in his head, every word and every look. She’d wanted him despite what he was and she was immune to his enchantment. And he’d let her leave.
He stood up and looked at the door again as if hoping she’d walk back in. But he knew that moment would never come. He’d let her walk out of his room and every cell in his body was screaming at how wrong that was. There was nothing he could do. He was leaving today. In three days’ time he’d be in Tokyo and he’d pick himself up a nice punk guy who wouldn’t give him any grief. The thought didn’t cheer him. He didn’t want someone else. He wanted Claire.
Chapter Four
Claire leaned over the bathroom sink as the nausea tried to climb out of her stomach. Nothing came up. She was sure it hadn’t been this bad last time, though twelve years could’ve faded the memory. She brushed her teeth and convinced herself she didn’t look as pale as she felt. The black suit didn’t help, but she was running out of clothes that fit. If she didn’t need the commission, she would have blown off the property viewing this morning. But the money was good and even she couldn’t make money grow on trees.
Her gaze stopped on the stem of white roses lying along the back edge of the vanity. Frozen in time. Two months and she still wouldn’t let them die. They were as perfect as they had been that morning.
She should bin them, burn them, anything to be rid of them. But she couldn’t. She wanted to remember her night with Absinthe, if not the morning. If he’d reached into her stomach and ripped out her guts, it would have hurt less. He hated Shamen, even if he was part one himself. She didn’t understand. Didn’t want to. It had been bad enough fronting up the Council and telling them she was already pregnant.
It hadn’t gone well. They’d wanted her to name the father, she’d refused. She couldn’t name the father because she didn’t know his name. Despite the bitterness of the argument, she’d have liked the chance to leave things less awful. He was the father of her child, after all. And despite everything she’d said to him, just hearing one of Lucinda’s Lover’s songs on the radio made her cry—but she was blaming that on the
He had a rough idea. “I didn’t hear you complaining last night.”
“I didn’t hear you complaining either. So quit bitching.”
“You tricked me. You could’ve told me what you were.” She’d walked in and taken what she wanted—just like his Shaman father.
“It shouldn’t matter what I am, what you are.”
“It does.”
“Obviously. You know, for someone who is over four centuries old, you still have a lot of issues.” She picked up a stem of flowers. “Thanks for the night.” She lifted her gaze and looked at him, disappointment shimmered in her brown eyes. “After watching you play for over ten years, I thought you were an amazing, talented person. I dreamed of being with you—yeah, the same as every other groupie—but I wish it had stayed a dream because you’re a dick.”
Then she spun and walked toward the door.
“Claire.”
She opened the door and didn’t look back.
“Claire!” He took two steps and the door closed. “Damn it.” He lashed out and sent the vase and flowers tumbling to the floor. The glass shattered. He stared at the mess unable to move.
What the hell was wrong with him?
He glanced back at the door. No, he wouldn’t chase after her. She was right, they’d both gotten what they wanted and they’d both lied to get it. And he had behaved like a dick.
Damn it.
He hadn’t wanted her to leave. He forced out a breath and let the old anger and hurt go. It was better this way. An ache in his chest opened like a void that couldn’t be filled. He picked up a stem of white roses and ran his finger over the tightly furled buds. The argument replayed in his head, every word and every look. She’d wanted him despite what he was and she was immune to his enchantment. And he’d let her leave.
He stood up and looked at the door again as if hoping she’d walk back in. But he knew that moment would never come. He’d let her walk out of his room and every cell in his body was screaming at how wrong that was. There was nothing he could do. He was leaving today. In three days’ time he’d be in Tokyo and he’d pick himself up a nice punk guy who wouldn’t give him any grief. The thought didn’t cheer him. He didn’t want someone else. He wanted Claire.
Chapter Four
Claire leaned over the bathroom sink as the nausea tried to climb out of her stomach. Nothing came up. She was sure it hadn’t been this bad last time, though twelve years could’ve faded the memory. She brushed her teeth and convinced herself she didn’t look as pale as she felt. The black suit didn’t help, but she was running out of clothes that fit. If she didn’t need the commission, she would have blown off the property viewing this morning. But the money was good and even she couldn’t make money grow on trees.
Her gaze stopped on the stem of white roses lying along the back edge of the vanity. Frozen in time. Two months and she still wouldn’t let them die. They were as perfect as they had been that morning.
She should bin them, burn them, anything to be rid of them. But she couldn’t. She wanted to remember her night with Absinthe, if not the morning. If he’d reached into her stomach and ripped out her guts, it would have hurt less. He hated Shamen, even if he was part one himself. She didn’t understand. Didn’t want to. It had been bad enough fronting up the Council and telling them she was already pregnant.
It hadn’t gone well. They’d wanted her to name the father, she’d refused. She couldn’t name the father because she didn’t know his name. Despite the bitterness of the argument, she’d have liked the chance to leave things less awful. He was the father of her child, after all. And despite everything she’d said to him, just hearing one of Lucinda’s Lover’s songs on the radio made her cry—but she was blaming that on the
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