Rogue Descendant Page 12

  I chuckled, reluctantly charmed. “How old were you?”

  “Nine, the first time. Dad took his belt to me something fierce, so next time, I was more sneaky about it and buried the evidence. I’m pretty sure Dad knew it was me, but there was an outside chance the dog had made off with it, and he wasn’t going to thrash me unless he was sure.”

  I imagined blue-eyed, blond-haired Blake had been a pro at looking angelically innocent as a child.

  “But you didn’t come here to talk about my hobbies,” Blake said. “What’s up?”

  I hesitated, unsure if bringing up his relationship with Cyrus would come across as some kind of subtle rebuke under the circumstances. But it was why I’d come to Blake in the first place, so I straightened my spine and closed the door behind me. Blake hadn’t invited me to sit, so I stood awkwardly and put my hands into my pockets so I wouldn’t fidget.

  “You know Anderson and I went to meet with Cyrus this afternoon, right?”

  He nodded, and his suspicious look made a return appearance.

  “Cyrus promised to tell all the Olympians to back off me if I promised to owe him a hunt someday.” Blake’s eyes widened in alarm and surprise, and I hastened to clarify the details of the deal we’d made. “My question is, is Cyrus like Konstantin? Will he try to find some way to make this deal hurt me despite the conditions I set?”

  Blake thought about it a moment, and I decided to sit down despite the lack of invitation. I suspect it hadn’t even occurred to him to issue one—he’d just assumed I’d make myself comfortable. He wasn’t as formal as Anderson or as standoffish as Jamaal.

  “Here’s the thing to understand about Cyrus,” Blake said slowly, thinking over his words carefully before he spoke. “Unlike Konstantin, there’s no malice in him. He’d never go out of his way to hurt someone, and he’s even capable of being a nice guy, when the spirit strikes him.”

  “Nice guys don’t lead the Olympians!” I protested.

  “I said he’s capable of it. He’s not in the least bit malicious, but what he does have in common with his daddy is a deep, abiding selfishness. He’ll be nice and actually help someone, if it doesn’t cost him anything and he’s in the mood. But if you’re standing between him and something that he wants, all bets are off. So in answer to your question, no, he won’t look for a way to make the deal bite you in the ass. But he won’t hesitate to exploit a loophole if he finds one and it’s to his advantage.”

  I shook my head. “How the hell did you end up involved with someone like that?” I asked, not really expecting him to answer.

  A hint of sadness crossed Blake’s face. “I honestly thought I could change him. He was a good friend for a long time, and I’ve seen sides of him that no one else has seen. He could be a good person, if he wanted to be.” Bitterness now colored Blake’s voice, the sadness gone. “But I found out the hard way that he has no desire to change. And that’s all I have to say on the subject.”

  From some of the things I’d heard Cyrus say to and about Blake, I got the feeling the desire to change each other had been mutual. Cyrus would have loved to convert Blake into a full-scale Olympian, and the fact that his current boy toy bore such a striking resemblance to Blake made me wonder if he’d ever fully abandoned that hope.

  “Did this stuff make you feel better, or worse?” Blake inquired.

  Honestly, I had no idea. “Knowledge is power, right?” I said with a shrug that was supposed to look careless, but probably didn’t. “I’ll just have to hope he finds some inoffensive use for me before anything potentially sticky comes up.”

  What I didn’t say, but I suspect we both knew, was that if something sticky came up, I might balk at it despite it fitting the letter of our agreement. The consequences of balking might turn out to be disastrous—no way would Cyrus take it well if I failed to honor our agreement—but I would just have to cross that bridge when I came to it. And hope I never did.

  ELEVEN

  I’d turned my cell phone off during the meeting with Cyrus, and I didn’t remember to turn it back on until I was in my suite after talking to Blake. I saw that I’d missed a call from Steph.

  With the way my life had been going lately, I couldn’t help bracing a bit in fear of bad news, but Steph’s perky greeting instantly put me at ease.

  “I got your message,” I said. “What’s up?”

  “I called that trustee I know,” she answered, and for a moment I didn’t know what she was talking about. In all the stress and drama, I’d temporarily forgotten about my plan to draw Jamaal out of his shell.

  “Wow. You work fast.” I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d dragged her feet about it, considering how much she disapproved of my interest in Jamaal.

  She breathed a delicate sigh. “Well, after what happened, I figured you’d be badly in need of an escape.”

  My heart swelled with love for my sister, who was way better to me than I had any right to expect. “You have enough balls in the air trying to get ready for the big homecoming. I don’t want to add to your workload.” I knew Steph had already talked to the insurance company multiple times, and that she had rented a furnished condo for the Glasses to stay in while the house was being rebuilt.

  “It wasn’t that much work. Just a few phone calls.”

  “Have I ever told you you’re amazing?”

  I could hear Steph’s smile in her voice. “Will you still think I’m amazing if I tell you I’ve arranged for you to meet with the curator of the exhibit for a private showing at seven o’clock tonight?”

  “Tonight?” I asked in a startled squeak.

  “Yeah. Sorry for the short notice, but Dr. Prakash is going to be massively busy in the next few weeks, so the only time she could fit you in was today.”

  When I’d asked Steph if she could set something up, I’d imagined Jamaal and me being shown around during regular business hours by a docent. Not being given a special, after-hours showing with the curator, who was probably already overworked and underpaid.

  “I don’t want to put her out,” I said, hedging.

  “It’s a done deal,” Steph said firmly. “I’ve done a lot of favors for people who’ve donated a lot of money and art, and I was past due to call some of them in.”

  “Yeah, but the curator isn’t—”

  “She’ll be excited to have a chance to show off the exhibit, especially if Jamaal is knowledgeable about art, which I gather he is.”

  The books in his room gave me the same impression, but I wasn’t convinced Dr. Prakash was going to be as thrilled to show us around as Steph thought. If it were me, I’d resent being made to drop everything just because someone with connections wanted a special perk.

  “She’s already rearranged her schedule to fit you in,” Steph said. “Don’t you dare try to wriggle out of it. And instead of asking Jamaal if he wants to go, you’d better tell him he’s going. It would be unspeakably rude to stand her up.”

  I glanced at my watch and saw that it was already three thirty. I didn’t have a whole lot of time to track down Jamaal, convince him this was a good idea, and get to the museum. I wondered if putting me in such an awkward position was part of Steph’s plan, if she was giving me extra fuel I could use to help me talk Jamaal into going. She can be a bit devious at times, though always for a good cause.

  “I’ll get Jamaal out there, one way or another,” I promised. I wished I felt more certain that I could deliver, but I would at least do everything in my power. “Thanks so much. You’re the best.”

  “I know. Now get off the phone and go give him the good news.”

  “Yes, Mom.”

  I could almost see Steph shaking her head and laughing as she hung up.

  I’d have called Jamaal’s cell in an effort to locate him, only I wasn’t sure he’d answer if he saw my name on caller ID, and he might make himself scarce once he knew I was looking for him.

  I headed down the stairs toward his suite, my pulse tripping along even as I rolled my eye
s at myself for being nervous. I’m not a shy person, nor was I as intimidated by Jamaal as I probably should have been, but asking him out on what was essentially a date was well beyond my comfort zone. Especially when I felt sure it was going to turn into a battle of wills.

  After a deep, calming breath, I knocked on his door. If he was out in the clearing working with Sita, then I was going to settle in and wait for him. Frankly, if I never saw another tiger for the rest of my life, that would be fine with me. I would never forget the feeling of her breath on my face.

  Footsteps told me at once that Jamaal was in, and my pulse picked up even more speed. Damn, I was as nervous as a sixteen-year-old girl asking a boy to the junior prom. I wiped my palms on my pants legs in case they were sweaty, then tried my best to brace myself for the rejection that was sure to come. I might be able to talk him into coming with me, but I’d faint in shock if his first answer wasn’t a resounding no.

  The door opened, and I was suddenly face-to-face with Jamaal. Well, face to chest. Jamaal is about a foot taller than I am, so I always have to look up to meet his gaze.

  His cheekbones looked a little sharper than usual, and I wondered if he had lost weight. But other than that, he looked good enough to eat, as always. He was still wearing the tiger-colored beads in his hair, and he had on torn jeans and a faded T-shirt. The outfit would have looked scruffy on, say, Anderson, but it somehow looked carelessly sexy on Jamaal.

  He didn’t scowl on seeing me on his doorstep, and I figured that was a good sign. He didn’t smile, either, but then he didn’t do a whole lot of smiling even at the best of times.

  “If you’re here to get on my case about what happened with Sita the other day, you can turn around and go back upstairs,” he said. The scowl made its appearance after all.

  “Really?” I said, crossing my arms over my chest and giving him an exasperated look. “You think I’d come down here and knock on your door to lecture you?” I didn’t for a moment believe that was why he thought I was here. He was just trying to establish a sense of distance before we’d even started.

  He leaned against the doorjamb. It would be nice if he’d invite me in, but I wasn’t surprised he didn’t. “I don’t suppose we have much else to talk about.”

  It appeared I was lucky he hadn’t slammed the door in my face. Whatever had caused the new friction between us, it wasn’t getting better over time.

  “Why don’t you stop acting like a jerk and let me in?” I’d often found that tact was overrated when dealing with Jamaal.

  His scowl darkened. “Like I said, we have nothing to talk about.”

  The fact that he still hadn’t slammed the door in my face made me think some hidden part of him was more interested in talking than he liked to admit.

  “Yeah, actually, we do,” I countered. “And I promise it won’t involve any of that girlie-talking-about-feelings stuff you hate so much.”

  I thought I saw a flicker of amusement in his eyes before he shut it down. “In that case, we can talk about it right here.”

  “You hiding a girl in there or something?”

  Jamaal gave a grunt of exasperation and stomped into his sitting room, leaving the door open. I guessed that was as much of an invitation as I was getting. I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. Jamaal watched me with suspicious eyes as I invited myself to take a seat on his futon sofa. I might have hoped he would join me, but he remained on his feet, giving off keep-away vibes.

  “Did you hear about the new Indian exhibition opening at the Sackler later this week?” I asked, and was rewarded by a look of complete confusion on Jamaal’s face. Bet he didn’t see that one coming.

  “Huh?”

  “Sackler. Exhibition. Indian stuff.” I nodded my head toward the small Indian painting that was the focal point of Jamaal’s sitting room. “Did you hear about it?”

  The look on his face told me he was still busily trying to figure out where I was going with this. “Yes,” he admitted cautiously, as if he expected the answer to get him into some kind of trouble.

  “Well, how would you like a chance to visit with the curator and have her give you a personal guided tour of the exhibition before it even opens?”

  Boy, did I ever have his attention now. I saw the spark of greed and excitement in his eye before he managed to hide it under his habitual grumpy face. “Are you claiming you have contacts at the museum?” He sounded skeptical, but I heard the undertone of hope.

  “No, but Steph does.”

  Jamaal shook his head, rattling his beads in a way that had become familiar to me—and strangely endearing. “I don’t know what you’re trying to talk me into, but the answer is no.”

  “I’m trying to talk you into getting a sneak peek at the exhibit. That’s all.”

  Another shake of his head. “No way. Offers like that come with strings attached.”

  Considering Jamaal’s life experiences, his attitude and suspicion weren’t surprising. “The only string is that I’m going with you.” Of course, that might be the kind of string he considered a deal breaker.

  His lip lifted in a faint sneer. “You’ve suddenly developed an interest in Indian art?”

  “No, but I’ve developed an interest in fixing whatever’s gone wrong between you and me. I thought maybe if we stopped avoiding each other and spent a little time together, we might figure out how to start acting normal again.”

  Jamaal rubbed his forehead like he had a headache, then reluctantly came to sit on the couch—as far away from me as he could get. I remembered our little make-out session on this couch with a pang of regret. But asking Jamaal out wasn’t about trying to get into his pants—though my libido thought that sounded like an excellent idea—it was about trying to keep him from withdrawing from everyone around him.

  “I know you’re the kind of woman who wants to fix everyone,” Jamaal said. “But it’s time for you to stop trying to fix me.”

  “Why? Because you’d prefer to be miserable so you can bitch and whine about it? Of course, you’d only bitch and whine to yourself, because you won’t let anyone else near you.”

  Jamaal’s temper would have normally risen to meet mine, but not today. “I’ve been broken in one way or another for more than a hundred years. What makes you think you can snap your fingers and make it all better?”

  “I don’t. I’m not completely naive, Jamaal. It took years for my adoptive parents to bring me back from the brink of becoming a juvenile delinquent, and I don’t suppose I’ll ever be as well adjusted as someone who spent their whole childhood in a good, loving home. But I’m in a lot better shape now than I was when the Glasses took me in.

  “I’m not trying to fix you. I’m just trying to be a friend.”

  “You’ve been a much better friend than I had any right to expect,” he said gruffly. “But now, you have to let me be.”

  “Why?” I demanded. “What’s different now?”

  “Didn’t you promise we weren’t going to talk about feelings?”

  “I lied.”

  His lips lifted in the faintest of smiles. “At least you’re honest about your dishonesty.”

  “And I’m not that easy to deflect. We have to live and work together for God only knows how long. We’ll do a lot better job of it if you get whatever’s bothering you out in the open.”

  “Haven’t you interfered enough with my life already?” he snapped.

  His attitude might have pissed me off if that weren’t so clearly the reaction he was hoping for. “You think if you’re a big enough asshole I’ll flounce off in a huff and leave you alone? I’m way more stubborn than that.”

  He snorted, but the hostility faded and his shoulders slumped. “I’ve noticed.”

  Maybe what I needed to do was pull back a bit and stop trying to make him talk. Every emotional guard he had was up and running, and the chances of me slipping past them were low. I wished I could get him to spill whatever his problem was with me, but I didn’t have to get him to d
o it now.

  “All right,” I said. “You don’t have to tell me about your feelings. I wish you would, but I understand that it’s hard for you.” A little condescending, maybe, and I saw the spark of annoyance in Jamaal’s eyes before I hurried on. “But please come with me to the museum. It would do you good to spend some time around people for a change, even if one of those people is me.”

  “Remember what I said about trying to fix me?”

  What an exasperating man. But I hadn’t expected any less. “My parents’ house was burned down, and my condo was burned down with people inside, all because some nutcase has decided I’m responsible for all his or her problems. Did it ever occur to you that maybe I’m the one who could use some fixing right now? That maybe I want to go out to the museum as much for my sake as for yours?”

  He flashed me a dry smile. “No, it never occurred to me. If you were just looking for a way to forget your troubles for a few hours, I doubt you’d do it by going to a museum.”

  He had a point. Maybe that argument had been a bit thin. “That’s the opportunity that fell in my lap, thanks to Steph. Look, she’s already arranged a meeting for us with Dr. Prakash, the curator. We’re supposed to meet her at seven tonight.”

  Jamaal glared at me. “You didn’t think it might be a good idea to ask me about it before setting something up?”

  “If Steph had given me any warning, I’d have asked first. I only brought this up to her yesterday. I never dreamed she’d work this fast.”

  He looked at me suspiciously.

  “She said Dr. Prakash had already rearranged her schedule to fit us in. Surely it won’t kill you to spend a couple of hours in my presence, and I know you want to see the exhibit.”

  I could see from the look on his face that he was torn. He really, really didn’t want to spend that much time with me. But he also really, really wanted that private look at the exhibit. I decided it was time to rest my case, so I clamped my lips shut and gave him some time to think. If this didn’t work, I was going to have to have a talk with Anderson, see if there was something he or his other Liberi could do to persuade Jamaal to engage in some more human interaction. They were all glad not to have to tiptoe around his temper anymore, and they might not want to risk making him change back into the powder keg he’d been. His temper had been so volatile he’d almost been kicked out of the house, and he’d had to undergo a tribunal and a brutal punishment to prove how committed he was to trying to control himself.