Lupi 08 - Death Magic

one, though. This one was just right. She fingered one of the white stones and turned, tilting her face to look up into eyes the color of bittersweet chocolate. “Have I forgotten an occasion?”
    “Don’t tell me you forgot our eleven-months-and-five-days anniversary.”
    That made her grin. She went up on tiptoe—he was too tall, but she’d adjusted—and gave him a quick kiss.
    At least she meant it to be quick. But there was the skin of his cheek, freshly shaved. The clean scent of his hair . . . Rule used baby shampoo because he disliked carrying artificial scents around on him all day. And that approving rumble in his chest, felt as much as heard, when she tasted him with her tongue.
    “I’m looking forward to seeing you wear this without the sweater, bra, jeans—”
    “But not, I think, at Ruben’s barbecue.”
    He smiled, his eyes slumberous beneath the dark slashes of his brows. “Perhaps not.”
    “Though it would make cleanup easy.” That made her think of Toby. Last month, Rule’s son had proposed a strategy to keep from getting food on his clothes: eat in his tighty whiteys. A little pang pinched at her. “Sometimes my job sucks.”
    “I could have sworn you liked barbecue, I know you like Ruben, and since there’s nothing you could be except a cop, I’m not sure what about your job sucks for you right now.”
    “I was wishing Toby could be here, or that we were back home.”
    “Ah. Me, too.” This kiss was soft, consolation or appreciation, she wasn’t sure which. They lingered in the circle of each others’ arms, enjoying the moment. “I miss him, but your job isn’t the only thing dragging us to D.C. I received my own invitation.”
    “Until we found out I had to testify, you were going to tell Senator Bixton to suck it.”
    “I assure you, I never tell powerful senators to suck it.” He smoothed her hair, but his gaze snagged on his wrist, where he wore a watch worth more than Lily’s first car. “Scott hasn’t dinged me. I’d better see if . . .” He patted his pocket and frowned.
    “Your phone’s downstairs on the dining table.”
    “Thank you.” He started for the door.
    “You aren’t going to turn into one of those men who can’t find his socks without help, are you?”
    There came that grin again. “Wait and see.”
    Lily shook her head and reached into the shoe bag for the flats she’d bought on sale last week back in San Diego. Back home.
    D.C. wasn’t completely strange territory. She’d been here a few times since switching from a local cop to the federal version last year, including a stay of several months while she completed accelerated training at Quantico. The house was familiar, too. It was a two-story brick colonial in Georgetown owned jointly by Rule’s clan and two others. Rule had been coming here off and on for years. He was the public face for his people, and sometimes that meant lobbying Congress.
    Sometimes it meant being asked asinine questions by politicians posturing for the cameras. He’d handled that the day before yesterday with his usual panache. Being absurdly photogenic helped, but he was just plain good at PR. That’s how he saw this particular appearance before the subcommittee doomed to endlessly masticate the Species Citizenship Bill—which did not, he thought, stand much chance of being brought before the full Senate this year.
    Lily’s testimony was more of a command appearance and would be for a different committee, though Senator Bixton was on it, too. At least it would take place away from C-SPAN; the stuff they’d be asking her about was all classified. Her appearance wasn’t until Monday. She could still hope Ruben would pull off a miracle and get her out of it.
    Lily stepped into her flats and headed for the stairs. The new necklace felt cool against her skin.
    It was a lovely gift, thoughtful and elegant and snazzy, and she was not going to obsess over the fact that he could afford to spend more on her than she could on him . . . though that sort of led into why the thoughtful gift was also a problem.
    Rule’s birthday was two weeks and three days away.
    Oh, she had a present for him—a custom-made black silk shirt. Lily’s cousin Lyn was a dressmaker, tailor, designer. Last month Lily had snuck out one of Rule’s favorite shirts and taken it to Lyn to use for fit. The new shirt would have black embroidery on the collar, very subtle: a stylized depiction of the toltoi .
    Lupi could be so damn male