Naughty Karma

Learning that her date was hung up on another woman should not have flooded her with a cloying sense of relief. “You did?”

Carlton grimaced, blue eyes twinkling ruefully. “Quinn. My brother’s fiance, unfortunately.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah. We always want the wrong people, don’t we?”

“I don’t want him,” she blurted. It wasn’t until she said the words that she realized he was probably talking about his Quinn, not Prometheus.

“You sure about that?” Carlton smiled that matinee idol smile. He really was perfect—smart, kind, attentive—but perfect wasn’t what she wanted. Wicked temptation had become her addiction.

But that didn’t mean she had to give in to it. “I’m sorry I’ve been distracted. I promise I’ll be a better dinner companion from this point on. You have my undivided attention.”

“I appreciate that. But should you really have to try so hard to be intrigued by me? All night we’ve both been trying so hard to make this fun, to make a connection. My aunt’s psychic told her the only way I was going to get over Quinn was to go out with you, but it isn’t supposed to be this much work to fall for someone, is it?”

She hated that he was right. He was exactly the sort of person she should want. But there was no zing. No spark. No electric tingle of power and seduction. Just nice. Pleasant. Boring. Her mind kept wandering back to black eyes and wicked smiles. “So what do we do?”

Carlton smiled, perfect. And perfectly wrong. “Enjoy the rest of the evening. Have a nice dinner. You could tell me about this man who’s stolen your attention from me tonight.”

No, she couldn’t. She refused to talk about the heartless bastard confusing her heart. “Tell me about Quinn.”

After Carlton dropped her off, she stood in the Karmic parking lot, wondering why she couldn’t just want Mr. Perfect.

She couldn’t seem to stop comparing him to Prometheus. The warlock should not have been the winner in that comparison. He’d tried to manipulate her from the first. Though at least he’d been upfront about it. It was a game with him, a test of wits more than a deception. He had never pretended to be anything other than what he was, never feigned virtue. From the word go, he’d told her he was willing to go to whatever lengths necessary to achieve his ends. There was a perverse sort of honor in that.

In everything he did, Prometheus was always wholly himself. Maybe that was why she wanted him.

There. She’d let herself think it. She wanted Prometheus. She admired his doggedness and his twisted strength of character. She sort of liked him. Casual sex had always seemed like a recipe for regret in the past, but maybe she’d been looking at it wrong. They would never work in the long term—there was probably a picture of them next to irreconcilable differences in the dictionary—but for now, maybe it was time she made a few romantic mistakes. Starting with Prometheus.

Chapter Twenty Fastballs, Physics and Other Genetic Gifts

Part of the Karmic family. Prometheus ground his molars as he shoved open the door to Karmic Consultants on Sunday morning. It was brutally early, but he hadn’t been able to sleep and figured he might as well wake Karma—not that she was likely to be asleep, though he almost wished she was just so he could get her up. His entire night had been spent making love charms to replenish his stock—half of which he’d had to throw out when he realized his pissy mood was corrupting the magic.

He needed to get his head back in the fucking game and lose the moony-eyed shit. This was life or death. His death. And it was about time he remembered that. No more sleepovers. No more intimate little share-our-deepest-darkest-secrets sessions. Just a straight line between him and his fortieth birthday. No matter who he had to pave over to get there.

Family fucked you over and abandoned you. Prometheus didn’t need or want to be part of Karma’s. All he needed was her assistance. Eye on the prize.

He shoved open the door to Karma’s office, his ornery side hoping to find it empty so he could rattle her out of her Bat Cave, but there she was, sitting behind that big ass I’m-the-boss-here desk of hers. And smiling at him.

“Good morning, Prometheus. I had a feeling you might be in early.”

Of course she did. No surprising psychics. He should have negotiated for precognition when he bartered for his powers.

She rose and rounded her desk toward him, still smiling. Damn if she didn’t look happy to see him.

“I figured we should get an early start. I only have so many days left to live. No time to waste.”

Her smile faded at his brusque tone. “No, I suppose there isn’t.”

She wandered over to the couch—the one where she’d mounted him on Friday night—and sank down onto the edge of it. He prowled over to throw himself into a nearby chair.

“You needn’t worry I’ll be wasting time on another date with that guy,” she said dryly. “Even if you hadn’t given me something to think about, the date still would have been a bust.”

She thought he was jealous, that that was why he wasn’t picking up right where they’d left off. Prometheus ignored the comment she likely thought of as an olive branch. “Shall we get started?”

She folded her hands neatly in her lap, her posture shifting slightly, back straight, ankles crossed, the picture of the perfect lady—Karma’s armor falling into place. “Of course. I have the leftover vodka if—”

“No vodka. Now that you’ve done it once, let’s see if you can do it on your own.”

She nodded and matched his all business tone. “Certainly.”

She closed her eyes, pulled the charm he’d given her out from beneath her shirt and tried—he had to admit she really did try. Without being in physical contact with her, he couldn’t guide her, so she was on her own and without the vodka to relax her she was so tense she was immediately rolled under by her power.

Prometheus cursed and came out of his chair. He crossed to the couch in one, long stride and wrapped his hand over hers on the charm, dragging her back to her center and pulling her out of the vision, catching only echoes of an explosion himself before her connection to it cut. Karma shuddered and he felt the idiotic impulse to pull her into his arms and comfort her. Instead, he dropped her hand as if she’d burned him and backed away.

So much for sober.

“I’ll get the vodka.”

“Good. You’re getting it. That time was much better.”

Karma felt no sense of satisfaction at the praise. She was too exhausted to be victorious. She slumped down on the couch and squinted blearily at the clock. The effects of the single glass of vodka they’d used to get her to relax enough for the first successful attempt had long since worn off. No more pleasant buzz, just bone deep weariness making her eyesight blur.

Eight p.m. An entire day of slamming herself into the visions on purpose, so she could learn how to control abilities that all the books she’d read on the subject seemed to think should be intuitive. Intuitive, my ass.

Prometheus thought she was doing better, but Karma was too tired to care. She wanted to curl into the fetal position and sleep for three years.

“Can we be done now?”

Prometheus looked at her, as if assessing whether he could push her through one more round before she had a nervous breakdown. They were stretched out on opposite corners of her bed—having moved down here around two o’clock, when Prometheus insisted that she needed more comfortable surroundings and then bullied her into changing into yoga clothes because no one can relax in a suit.

In spite of her intentions to take him up on his casual sex offer, their hours on the bed had been strictly platonic. He’d been running hot and cold ever since he arrived this morning—hot eyes tracking her every move