Gunmetal Magic: A Novel in the World of Kate Daniels

mouth and taking his instead.
    It felt like coming home. It felt like medicine soothing a raw wound. I loved him so much, and I kissed him, drinking in the cocktail of sweet memories and bitter future.
    The bathroom door opened next to us, the sound too loud in my ears.
    I stopped and instantly Raphael straightened. A short man who had come out of the bathroom gave him a thumbs-up with a “Go you!” smile and headed down the hall. The security man was nowhere in sight.
    The kiss had torn a gaping hole inside me. I wanted Raphael. I wanted to hold him and to know that he was all mine. I wanted to make love. I needed a cold shower.
    I had to get myself together and I needed to decide how bad I was going to be, because making love to him in this bathroom right now would be really, really bad.
    Raphael held the bathroom door open for me. I stepped inside. He followed and locked it.
    Get a hold of yourself. You can do it. It was just a stupid ruse anyway.
    He had the most self-satisfied look on his face. He’d wanted me to melt right there and now he felt all smug because he’d gotten under my skin. Apparently I was a toy.
    You bastard. Okay, let’s see how you like this.
    I pushed him against the door and kissed him again, sliding my body against his, nibbling, licking, purring in his arms. He went for it, hook, line, and sinker. I let him start stripping his jacket off and broke away.
    “I think the bars on the window have silver in them, don’t you?”
    He stopped, his tuxedo halfway off his shoulders.
    “It’s good that I brought gloves.”
    “Andrea!”
    “What? Oh, you mean the kiss? I’m sorry, I wasn’t quite finished. I’m all done now, no worries.” I patted his chest. “Your virtue is intact. You won’t have to confess anything to Rebecca. It was just one kiss. It didn’t mean anything.”
    His snarl was music to my ears.
    I turned to the window. It was near the ceiling that it was just wide enough for us to get through. The bars formed a rectangular grate that gleamed weakly in the light of the moon, too pale not to be a silver alloy. Silver meant burned hands. I’d handled silver bars with bare hands before. It felt like grabbing something dipped in acid.
    I opened my clutch and took out my glass cutter and my gun, a black shirt, and a pair of cloth gloves. Behind me Raphael paced the length of the bathroom like a caged tiger.
    All my hormones were still in overdrive, and my whole body was humming. My hands shook a little.
    Inside the bag was a carefully concealed zipper. I unzipped it, and where a normal clutch would have had a lining, this one had thin shoulder straps and extra material that allowed it to be unfolded into a larger backpack. I’d had it custom-made some time ago.
    “Fancy.” Raphael commented.
    “Glad you like it. Now I know what to get you for your birthday.”
    “I want mine in blue,” he said. “To match my eyes.”
    “Whatever you say.” I slipped on the gloves. “The window is barred. Could you lift me, please?”
    He wrapped his hands around my legs and picked me up without a word. He didn’t just lift me, he embraced me, caressing me without moving his hands. I was still keyed up, and when he touched me, I almost groaned.
    Oh, it was on now. We were playing a sadistic little game, and I wouldn’t lose to him.
    I grabbed the grate. Solid. I braced one knee against the wall, and yanked it hard, pushing against Raphael. The grate came free. Raphael lowered me to the floor. I slid the grate behind the vanity, next to the trash can, slipped off my shoes, and turned my back to him.
    “Could you unzip me?”
    He touched my neck and drew my zipper down, slowly. A delicious little thrill ran through me. I had no idea I had so much bouda in me.
    I stepped out of the dress. Underneath I wore a tiny black bra and spandex bike shorts. I slipped the shirt on, rolled my dress up, packed it, my shoes, my lucky bracelet, and my clutch into the backpack, and buckled the belt diagonally across my chest.
    “Swiss Army Purse,” Raphael observed. I heard the familiar playful notes in his voice. The kiss must’ve thrown him off balance, but he’d recovered now, and he was up to something. “Any handcuffs in there?”
    “No, why, do you think I’ll need some?”
    “Depends on what you’re planning to be doing and with whom.”
    And he went there. The Old Andrea would have given him a look. I leaned over to him with a sweet smile. “I don’t need handcuffs to keep a