Darkangel by Christine Pope (red queen ebook TXT) 📕

even batted an eye. I wished my love life were that uncomplicated.

“What, you don’t think you’re going to have a celebratory dinner with Rachel after this candidate proves he’s the One?”

I shot Kirby a very sour look. “I’d say the odds of that are roughly the same as me getting elected President.”

“Hey, you never know.” With a visible show of reluctance, he put the pizza box back in the ancient Frigidaire. “Did you need something?”

“He wants a Coke.”

Another grin. “Well, at least he didn’t ask for a beer.”

“I didn’t offer.” I took the cold can of Coke from Kirby. “And hands off that pizza. I’m serious.”

“But I’m hungry.”

“Then have some cheese and crackers or something. There’s some white cheddar in there, and I have crackers in the pantry.”

“If I must.” He heaved an exaggerated sigh, then extracted the package of cheese and shut the refrigerator door.

Any longer, and Griffin Dutton would know I was stalling for time. So I left the kitchen and headed back to the parlor, where I found him looking around at all the new furniture and the art on the walls, most of which was from local artists and was all original. I could practically see the dollar signs in his eyes as he mentally added up what it all must have cost.

“Your Coke,” I said, and extended the hand holding it.

“Thanks.” He took it and popped the tab, then took a few large swallows. “That’s better. It was kind of a long drive.”

I only nodded. Yes, it was, but I’d had candidates come a lot farther than that, so I feared my expression wasn’t entirely sympathetic.

If he noticed, he didn’t give any indication. Instead he gazed up at the ceiling, which had been painted a soft cream color, and then around at the deeper toast hue on the walls. “Been doing some work on the house?”

“Some,” I admitted. “It was very retro, and not in a good way. I’m not big on florals.”

“Hmm.” He drank some more Coke, then set the can down on the coffee table.

I immediately swooped in and relocated it to a coaster.

“Oh, sorry,” he said, although he didn’t sound all that sorry…more amused by my anal-retentive protecting of the table.

Once again I thought this would be a whole hell of a lot easier if I could have a few drinks before forcing myself to go through with this ridiculous ritual. On the other hand, I didn’t think there were thick enough beer goggles in the world that would make me believe kissing Griffin was a good idea.

“So…” I said. I really didn’t want to kiss him, but I did want to get this over with.

“So…” He moved closer to me.

I sighed. “Just go ahead and do it.”

A lot of guys probably would have been put off by my tone. I’d already taken the measure of this one, though, and he wasn’t seeing me. He was just seeing the prima of the McAllisters and her big house and the position he’d have as her consort. Boy, was he in for a disappointment.

He leaned in and pressed his mouth against mine. That was it — no reaching up to caress my cheek, no finesse at all. Just lips against lips. I suppose he thought he didn’t need to do anything else, because if he turned out to be the one, the spark would start on its own.

Of course it didn’t. Thank the Goddess, I thought. Bad enough that I should have to kiss him at all, when I’d been spending my days mooning over Chris Wilson. But it hadn’t worked, so I started to pull away immediately.

“Sorry — ”

I didn’t get out anything else other than that, because he’d grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me back toward him, forcing my mouth open with his tongue. He tasted of Coke, and I gagged. This time I didn’t even have to invoke the Goddess. Even as my mind cried out a “no!”, an invisible force grabbed hold of him and pushed him away from me with enough force that he tripped over a footstool and went tumbling to the floor. In the process he knocked over the fireplace tools, which hit the slate hearth surround with a clatter.

Almost at once, Kirby and the other two bodyguards, Tom and Alison, came running. They took in the scene before them and then hurried over to me.

“What happened?” Kirby asked, as Griffin shook his head, as if to clear it, then began to push himself up to his feet.

“That crazy bitch attacked me, that’s what happened.”

At their prima being called the big “B,” all three of them frowned. Tom, a heavy-set man in his middle forties, said, “You might want to reconsider what you just called Ms. McAllister.”

Griffin matched their scowls with one of his. “Well, it’s the truth.”

“I was defending myself. We did the kiss, it didn’t work, and I guess he didn’t like it, because he decided to stick his tongue down my throat. So I…did something about it.”

“I think you’d better leave,” Alison said grimly.

Griffin glanced from her to Tom to Kirby, who was looking angrier than I thought I’d ever seen him. Actually, before that moment I wasn’t even sure Kirby could get angry.

“Fine,” Griffin said. “Like I want to be part of this freak show anyway. She’s not even good-looking.”

After delivering that parting shot, he stalked out of the room and into the foyer. The front door banged a few seconds later.

The three bodyguards just stared at me. I hesitated, then went over to the footstool and righted it, putting it back in its proper position. “I’m going upstairs,” I told them, and walked with as much dignity as I could muster to the staircase in the foyer. I went upstairs, closed my bedroom door behind me, and threw myself down on my bed, where I wept stormily and wished this would all be over.