The girl from Bethnal Green said we should all have those problems inside Mina’s head, but it was the professor’s secretary—and the woman looking for distraction—who spoke aloud. “What do new clothes have to do with it?”
“The law of contagion. No’ germs or anything—” he added, as Mina’s eyes widened. “The magical meaning’s older than that. It says if two things—or people—have much to do with each other, they start being part of each other. So if I wear something often enough, the magic thinks it’s a part of me, and it transforms back and forth. If I don’t, the transformation destroys it.”
“Oh.”
The explanation made sense. It was even interesting. But it didn’t do what Mina had intended. It didn’t take her mind off the facts at hand, namely the fact that Stephen wasn’t wearing a shirt and was standing rather close to her.
She took a long breath. The house was dim; they were alone; and every inch of her skin had suddenly become twice as sensitive as normal. This wasn’t the time to give in to any kind of impulse.
But she only had so much self-control, and surely intellectual impulses were better than the other sort, and information could always be useful, so she asked. “Two people?”
“Aye,” he said, and his accent was getting thicker again. He still hadn’t removed his hand. “’Tis harder to use the connection there. A man changes a great deal with the years, you see, and an object is often changeless, or nearly so. But we’re part of each other. People, that is. Someone threatened Carter and it brought you here, after all.”
“That’s not magic.”
Stephen shrugged, and the muscles in his shoulders flexed a little with the motion. “As above, so below. The rules arena’ that different, in the end.”
“So—” Mina caught her breath.
No, she wasn’t going to ask. Questions that began with “So you and I” would not lead anywhere remotely productive or good or wise. The phrase “you and I” was a very bad one, particularly when Stephen was looking down at her, only a few inches away, and he smelled rather like wood smoke, which she didn’t want to notice, either. It should have reminded her that he was a dragon and she should be afraid.
Instead, she wanted to step closer and rest her face against his neck.
Bad idea. Bad idea. The whole thing called for a lighter topic.
Unfortunately, she’d started speaking before she realized the only thing that came to mind: “Why were you wearing a new shirt, then? If you knew that.”
“The maids don’t know it,” Stephen said, “and Baldwin doesna’, exactly. It was never truly a problem. Not—”
“Not until I came along,” Mina said, quirking a smile.
“Something of the sort, aye. In this particular case, though, I’ve no objections to your presence. My awareness isn’t quite the same when I’m transformed, and they could easily have seen too much if you hadn’t been there.”
Now Stephen did move his hand, but he didn’t drop it. Rather, he slid it up her arm and along the line of her shoulder, then her neck. Finally he traced his fingertips down the side of her jaw before cupping her cheek in his hand.
She should move now, Mina thought, or push his hand away, or at least say something. There wasn’t an etiquette guide in the world that would say this situation was proper, especially not with what had come before. She felt frozen in place, though. The world seemed to have stopped; she definitely didn’t think she was breathing.
She didn’t particularly want to start again.
“Cerberus,” said Stephen, and this time Mina didn’t mind the name as much. Stephen’s voice mocked himself this time, and praised her. “Guarding my doorstep this time. I should ha’ known.”
“Oh,” she said, light and breathless and a long way away from her actual mind, “this is all a bit pleasant for the underworld, you know.”
“I’m no’ much judge of that,” he said, “but I’m glad to hear you say it.” His fingers moved slightly against her face, stroking the skin behind her ear. “You’re certainly a much less terrifying defender. And a much more appealing one.”
Stephen’s voice fell on the last sentence, and for a moment, the quiet, husky tone of it overcame the last of Mina’s restraint. She took one small step forward, put her own hands on his shoulders, and lifted her lips to his.
Even caught up in the moment, she was a little uncertain at first. It had been a long time since she’d kissed a man, and she usually hadn’t initiated the process back then. Besides that, Stephen was tall enough to make Mina worry that she’d judge the angle wrong and end up kissing his chin or his nose. The first brush of her lips against his mouth was light, tentative.
The fire it ignited was enough to drive her past any uncertainty.
All the same, the kiss was gentle this time too. Mina heard Stephen catch his breath as she leaned against him. The hand that had cupped her face was at the back of her neck now, fingers stroking down her spine, but he let her take the lead, responding to the pressure of her lips and the light touch of her tongue.
Beneath her hands, the muscles in his arms were bunched and tense. There was as much power in him as there had been when he’d pulled her to him in the study. He was simply containing it now. Leashing it.
The realization was as heady as the feeling of his skin beneath her fingers.
She took a step forward. That brought her breasts against Stephen’s bare chest, sending a delightful sort of ache through them and turning her nipples instantly hard—and her knees weak. Stephen slipped his other arm around her waist then, so it was a very simple matter just to lean into him, to trust him to take her weight while she melted against his body.
Kissing a man, apparently, was one of those things that came back quickly. If the sensations were far stronger, the skills at least had stayed.
Realizing as much gave Mina more mental satisfaction. She wouldn’t come off as a complete novice in this area. A nice girl probably wouldn’t have been glad about that. A nice girl wouldn’t be standing in a deserted house and kissing a man she barely knew.
Nice girls missed a great deal.
She broke the kiss, but not to pull away. Rather, she indulged her impulse of a few moments before and turned her face to rest against Stephen’s neck. The wood-smoke smell was stronger there, mixed with a very human masculine aroma, and when she ran her tongue experimentally up to Stephen’s ear, he made a rough and inarticulate noise.
Also, the hand at her waist was now cupping her backside. Very nicely, too. Then there was pressure, so she followed it, letting Stephen draw her right up against him.
Now her breasts were crushed against his chest so that she could feel its warmth right through the layers of her clothing. Lower down, a long, thick shaft pressed against her, even hotter and harder than the rest of Stephen’s body.
Mina’s practical knowledge of male organs was a little hazy. It was still good enough to produce several unclear but extremely tempting images and to make her squirm in Stephen’s arms, rubbing herself against him.
That didn’t quite work. Rather, it felt wonderful but was not quite what she wanted.
Stephen was too damn tall. Or she was too short. It would all be much better if they were lying down. The thought crossed her mind just as Stephen trailed his other hand down, his fingers maddeningly light as they grazed over her bodice, and gently cupped one of her breasts.
“Ohh.”
The sound rushed out of Mina on a breath that seemed to empty her lungs. She felt Stephen tense, felt the flex of his muscles beneath her palms, and drew her own hands downward, feeling crisp hair and smooth skin beneath her fingertips. Touching his chest meant putting a little more space between it and her breasts, but that was all right—especially when Stephen started stroking his thumb over her nipple.