Quake was pretty sure Magenta would be open to having sex with him but she was also a working woman. If it was Madam Belle’s call, he might have to pay for her time but it would be worth every blessed penny and then some. Meanwhile, he needed to leave her with something to remember him by.
What kind of shit did women like that he could get on such short notice?
Flowers? Doable. He foresaw a trip to town in his near future.
Chick flicks? It was probably safer to wait. He needed to know more about her tastes, learn what she liked, see what she had and what was on her wish list.
Chocolates and sweets? Again, doable.
Jewelry? She liked it but he’d feel better if she was along to pick it out.
Books? Maybe. Several possibilities wove through his thoughts. He caught the thread of one and followed it. Magenta cooked. Maybe he could find a breakfast cookbook and personalize it with a note. Looking forward to cooking some of these with you on our breakfast dates. Perfect. Or almost. One more thing.
Music. A gift from the heart. Another idea formed. Returning to his room, Quake found his favorite guitar pick and tucked it in his pocket. Making sure he had cash in his wallet, he grabbed his helmet and headed for his bike, a man on a mission.
He visited the bookstore first, picking out a breakfast cookbook and a blank greeting card with a fox on the front. He wrote a personal message in the card, promising to play anything she wanted—even if it was Country—and tucked his guitar pick inside before sealing it. Where it was November, it was safe to get the chocolates next and tuck them in the saddlebag with the book and card. The last thing on his list was flowers, which drove him nuts. There were so blessed many to choose from. How the hell did he know what she liked?
In the end, he picked a country bouquet that was mostly sunflowers. Something that would hopefully brighten her day. Tucking them inside his saddlebag, he headed for The Pole Barn.
It was early enough the girls would still be at home. In another two hours, that would change. They’d be opening up, starting work, dancing, stripping, and fucking the night away.
Except for Magenta. Madam Belle had given her the week off, she’d told him in one text. At least she wasn’t pushing her into going back too soon.
He’d rather she didn’t go back at all.
Sighing, Quake reminded himself that was her decision, not his to make, but God bless it, he didn’t want to think of other men seeing her body, let alone using it as a vessel for their lusts. The spike of possessiveness drove him to speed up. The sooner he could see her face and give her his presents, the better. He planned to watch her reaction . . . , savor every moment, and carry the memory with him on the road, taking them out to relive whenever he found himself missing her.
God, did he miss her.
Instead of pulling into the main graveled lot, he parked his bike behind Bee, got out his goodies, and strode up the walk and onto the porch, ringing the doorbell like a gentleman caller.
Faces appeared at the window. The women stared at him, looking up and down before exchanging glances. They looked surprised to see him.
It wasn’t Magenta who opened the door but Madam Belle herself.
“Yes?” she questioned, eyeing the gifts he had clutched in his hands. “Can I help you?”
Quake cleared his throat nervously. “I’d like to see Magenta, please.”
“I’m sorry, she can’t come down right now.” Her smile was strained. “She’s not been sleeping well at night. Bad dreams. The doctor gave her something to help her sleep and when she takes it, she’s out like a light for hours on end.”
The news made his excitement dim. Damn it. He should have called ahead first. The thought of Magenta having nightmares was disturbing. Quake only wished he could be there to give her comfort, offer his arms to keep her safe when she woke from them.
“I’m flying out tomorrow,” he explained to Madam Belle, hoping to soften her. “We won’t be back until after Thanksgiving and I wanted to give her these.”
Belle shook her head, denying his request. “You can leave them with me. I’ll make sure she gets them.”
It wasn’t the answer Quake wanted, but from the Fae’s determined expression, it was the only one she was going to give. He grudgingly handed them over into her waiting hands.
When she went to close the door, he stopped it with his foot. “You are taking care of her? She’s being looked after?”
Belle’s eyes lightened with compassion. “I promise you, she’s getting the best help possible.”
Quake nodded. “Tell her . . . tell her I’ll see her for breakfast when I get back.”
“I will.”
The drive home was fast. Ignoring the posted limits, Quake let loose, trying to expel the pent up energy inside him. His disappointment at not getting to see Magenta was acute, but he’d make up for it when he got back from New York.
They left the next morning, headed for fights in three states where he and Rock would compete. The first venue was on the south side of Chicago. From there, they went to Pittsburgh, feeling right at home with all the gargoyles they saw on the city’s architecture. They spent the day sightseeing and the next day flew to New York, taking a cab from the airport to upper Manhattan and the former military academy known as the Citadel, home of The Order of the Phoenix.
They arrived in time for dinner, which proved to be a fancy French chef’s version of Tex-Mex, tasty enough for the others but far too tame for the Dragons. The Citadel’s superior Tobias was pleased that three other cadres were in town for the fight, providing a
