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Certainly not knowingly, anyway.” I bit down on my thumb, chewing the nail. Clearly I had overstepped some OtherFolk protocol of which I was currently ignorant. Again.
    “You made it fairly obvious this afternoon.” He eased back against the bench. “Why else would you have made sure I knew where you would be tonight? It’s open and public, and certainly busy enough,” he pointed out. “It makes sense.”
    “I’m sorry.” I hissed between my teeth. “I had no such manipulations in mind. This is just something I was supposed to go to. I mean, I also said I needed to buy shoes—how did you manage to interpret that bit of information covertly? Plan on being my shadow over at Fashion Footwear?”
    “If I’d needed to. But then . . .” His gaze dropped pointedly down to my feet. “You didn’t go.”
    “You’ve been following me?”
    “Of course.” He stroked the rim of his glass suggestively. “You’re hiding something.”
    “Everyone’s hiding something.” I stood up abruptly and set my drink on the table, apprehension lancing down my spine. “You know what? I’m done trying to figure out what you’re talking about . . .
Brystion
. If that even is your real name. If you need help, ask for it. If you want to keep being all tragic and broody and mysterious, than save it until Moira comes back, because I sure as hell don’t have the patience to deal with it now.” I hesitated, hating to admit my weakness. “And you’re right. I don’t know what I’m doing, but I’m trying the best I can. I don’t know what you want, but whatever it is, you must be pretty desperate.”
    He uncoiled from the chair, eyes narrowed. “Explain yourself.”
    “What’s to explain?” I snorted. “You braved the CrossRoads at noon—without a TouchStone. That smacks of desperation to me. Even on top of that, you could have formally requested the Protectorate’s help and I’d be honor-bound to help you. But you haven’t, have you?” His face became stony and I knew I’d hit a nerve. “You didn’t want anyone to know what you were doing,” I continued, my heart skating along the edges of my own special brand of recklessness. “Not many OtherFolk around at noon to see you dropping by . . .”
    “I’ll give you that much, perhaps.” He carelessly pushed his hair away from his face.
    “And you appear to have snagged a TouchStone simply to what? Stalk me? What kind of a Contract could you have made in such a short time?”
    “None of your business.”
    “Fair enough.” I took a final sip of my champagne. I would have to ask Charlie what was involved in an incubus Contract; visions of something deliciously dark and sordid pressed the edges of my mind. Not that it mattered anyway. Multiple Contracts were frowned upon, but hey, a girl can dream, right? Too bad the personality didn’t seem to match the package.
    He said nothing for a moment and then his hand lightly tripped up my back as he pressed hard against me. His eyes bored into mine, capturing me with the heat of a thousand suns. “You’re a Dreamer, Abby. I could drink your dreams like milk.” He inhaled as though taking in my scent. “I could make you hotter than you’ve ever been. Make you boneless and wet and utterly sated, so that every breath you take is pleasure.”
    “Haven’t we done this before?” I swallowed weakly. “What do you want from me?”
    His nose nuzzled my cheek, lips brushing over my ear.“Tell me what I need to know, and I’ll make it happen. Every night, for the rest of your life.”
    “At which point you kill me. No, thanks.” I pressed my hands against his chest. “I don’t bargain with OtherFolk, Brystion. Not without a Contract. We pathetic mortals almost always get the shaft with your magic crap. Besides,” I noted dryly, “your TouchStone will get jealous.”
    He slumped back into his seat. “Somehow I think she won’t mind,” he sighed. I almost felt sorry for him.
Almost
. It didn’t change the fact