“Not all of us have been lucky enough to find our true mates,” he countered softly.
“Well if you’d quit sticking your thing into everything without a pulse, you might have better luck at finding her,” she accused.
“Now where’s the fun in that?” Gareth parried with a smirk. “I hate to disappoint the ladies.”
Raquel’s laugh was muffled in my neck. I even had to chuckle at that one. Gareth’s reputation with the ladies would be a difficult one to live down. If he ever was blessed with finding his true mate, there would be Hell to pay.
Raquel peeked over at her brother with an evil little grin. “You’ll find her, Gareth. And when you do, I hope I’m there to see it. Whoever the lucky lady is… she’s going to kick your sorry ass.”
“Would you care to lay a bet on that, sweet sister?” he challenged.
Her pause was thoughtful and her indecision was short. “Yes. Yes, I would.”
“And your wager?”
“The Renoir,” she stated without hesitation.
“The one hanging in the Musée d’Orsay?” he asked with a wince.
“Yep.”
“That seems a little steep.” He laughed and shook his head. “You drive a hard bargain.”
“It’s yours, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Of course it is,” he huffed indignantly. “Auguste gave it to me himself. It’s simply on loan to the museum.”
“Well, you can un-loan it when you lose,” she announced grandly. “It will look wonderful in my bedroom.”
“You do know I offered to turn him,” Gareth let us in on a little known fact.
“And he declined?” I surmised.
“Maybe and maybe not,” Gareth said evasively. He grinned at me. “Go to the Musée d’Orsay on a Tuesday and you might find your answer.”
“All right, enough bragging, Gareth,” Raquel chastised. “Auguste is most definitely alive and quite charming. I’ll have him to tea once we deal with the shit show we’ve obviously fallen into.”
“That’s it,” I said loudly.
“That’s what?” she asked confused.
“I remember my terms.”
Raquel grinned and Gareth looked perplexed.
“You promised Astrid you would take up swearing. I don’t believe you’re holding up your end of that creative and alarming bet,” I announced with a sly smile.
“And how would you have this information, my mate?” she inquired suspiciously. Her sparkling eyes narrowed to slits. It reminded me of our more destructive times…
Shit. Busted.
“I may have been present during that conversation,” I admitted sheepishly yet wildly turned on by her ire.
She glared in silence—clearly displeased.
“Fine,” I muttered. “It wasn’t my most noble moment. I was cloaked and hid my scent. I was a desperate man, my beautiful girl—anything to be near you.”
“Stalker much?” Her eyes flashed and she slapped my shoulder.
God, that was hot.
“I think it was quite brilliant,” Gareth chimed in. “I’ll have to remember that one—very underhanded. So darling sister, let’s hear a little sample.”
“You’re serious?” She wrinkled her nose and groaned. “It’s not me. I feel silly.”
“You’ve always been a smidge uptight. I think some inventive profanities might do you good, and God knows I could use a laugh,” Gareth commented.
“I will have your head and Astrid’s very soon,” she muttered as she closed her eyes and searched for something rude and offensive.
She could have my head whenever she wanted it. Holding her and watching her squirm as she tried to fulfill her end of the obscenity dare was delightful.
“Shall I start?” Gareth offered mildly with raised brows and a half smile.
“Go ahead.” Raquel threw down the gauntlet with a snort.
“Pecker jockey,” he announced with pride.
“Creative swearing only—not self description,” she told him.
“Good one!” he said with a pained grunt of laughter. “Your turn.”
“Forgive me,” she muttered to the sky.
With her eyes scrunched shut and an endearing blush high on her cheekbones she let it rip. It was as if we were ridiculous and naughty pre-pubescent teens. I was entranced by her—everything about this woman delighted me.
“Bitch sniffer, ho gobbler, ball wad, asswaffle,” she shouted and then buried her head in my shoulder. “Are you idiots happy now?”
“Ball wad?” Gareth questioned gleefully.
“Asswaffle?” I added as my body shook with mirth.
“You’re both rectum buckets and I’m done. We have more important business than to enjoy my lack of four letter word prowess,” she snapped and quickly nicked my neck. “Open your damn mouth, Gareth. Incoming.”
My mate was correct on all accounts. The nicked artery spurted the blood approximately eighteen to twenty inches and Gareth was adept at moving enough to catch all of it. We repeated the process several times with my neck artery and then several times with Raquel’s. Gareth’s color came back and he looked less haggard. However, the aging process didn’t reverse—at all.
“How do you feel?” I asked him as I licked the open wound on Raquel’s neck to close it.