She shoved by him, marched into the dining room to slap the deck on the table. “I need to clear my head first,” she said to no one in particular, then sailed out into the kitchen and through the back door.
After a quick glance at Cal, Quinn headed out after her. “She’s mighty pissed,” Quinn commented when Layla stepped out behind her.
“So I see.”
After a rapid stride up the deck and down again, Cybil whirled to them. “Even in my current state of blind rage, I’m not going to say all men are arrogant, ignorant pigs who deserve a good kick in their precious balls.”
“Just one particular man,” Quinn translated.
“One particular, who just had the nerve to warn me that any secret, cherished dreams I might have regarding him are held in vain.”
“Oh God.” The hands Quinn put to her face muffled a sound caught between a groan and a snorting laugh.
“I shouldn’t mistake the fact that the four of you, who’ve run over the cliff like lemmings, I may add, are a precursor of my future bliss with him.”
“As I’m not certain his healing powers are a match for the Wrath of the Cyb, do we need to call nine-one-one?”
“If so,” Layla considered, “we should let him suffer a little while longer first. Lemmings?”
“To be fair, though God knows why I should be, I’d say that remark was more due to his concern over his own situation than his opinion of any of you.”
Quinn cleared her throat. “Ah, just to throw a wrench at the monkey, it’s also possible he went asshat because he’s projecting somewhat, due to complicated feelings for and about you.”
Cybil merely shrugged at Quinn. “That would be his problem.”
“Absolutely. But in your position I’d take some satisfaction from that. The possibility that he’s not as worried you’ll fall for him as he is he’ll fall for you.”
Now Cybil pursed her lips. Temper throttled back to give consideration room on the road. “Hmm. I was too mightily pissed to see that angle. I like it. I ought to give him the Treatment.”
“Dear God, Cyb.” With exaggerated horror on her face, Quinn gripped her friend’s arm. “Not the Treatment.”
“What’s the Treatment?” Layla demanded. “Does it hurt?”
“The Treatment, designed and implemented by Cybil Kinski, is many faceted and multilayered,” Quinn told her. “No man can hold against it.”
“It’s approach, attitude, response.” Absently, Cybil brushed at her hair. “Knowing the quarry and adjusting that approach, attitude, and response to his specific qualifications. You can add in seduction and sex if that’s acceptable to you, but it’s really more about luring them to exactly where you want them. Eye contact, body language, conversation, wardrobe-all of that specifically tailored toward the man in question.”
She let out a huff of breath. “But this isn’t the time for that sort of thing. No matter how much he deserves it. But after this is over…”
“Okay, I have to know,” Layla decided. “How would you tailor the Treatment for Gage?”
“It’s elemental, really. He prefers sophisticated women with some style. Though he probably thinks otherwise, he’s more truly attracted to-because he respects-women of strength. She shouldn’t be coy about sex, but if she’s sure, buddy, let’s roll, he’s not going to think about her twice afterward. He likes brains, leavened with humor.”
“Ah, don’t hit me,” Layla said, “but it sounds like you’re describing yourself.”
That put a momentary hitch in Cybil’s stride, but she continued. “Unlike Fox, we’ll say, he isn’t inclined to nurture. Unlike Cal, he isn’t drawn to his roots, or to putting them down. He gambles, and a woman who knows how to play the game well would draw his attention. One who knows how to win, and how to lose. He can be drawn in physically-but what man can’t-but only to a point. He has excellent control under most circumstances, so control would be key in drawing him.”
“She’d have notes on all of this if she were going to do it.” Like a proud mama, Quinn beamed at Cybil. “Then she’d do a detailed outline.”
“Of course, but since this is just hypothetical…” Moving her shoulders, Cybil continued. “He requires challenge, so you’d have to walk the line between interest and disinterest, giving him just enough of both. No running hot and cold, which, oddly enough, some men can’t resist, but finding just the right temperature-then varying it at unexpected moments to keep him just a bit off balance. And-”
She stopped, shook her head. “Doesn’t matter, as I’m not going to do it. The stakes are too high to play that kind of game.”
“When we were in college, she used it on this guy who cheated on me, then suggested we have a threesome with the girl he cheated on me with. Oink.” After slinging an arm around Cybil’s shoulders, Quinn gave Cybil a hard squeeze. “Cyb wound that fuckhead up like a clock, then just when he thought his alarm was going to go off, slapped him off the nightstand. It was beautiful. But yeah, probably inappropriate under our current circumstances.”
“Oh well.” With a shrug, Cybil shook back her hair. “It was fun thinking about it. And it calmed me down. We’d better go back in, get started.”
Layla tugged Quinn back as Cybil went inside. “Am I really the only one who noticed that she just kept describing herself as the kind of woman Gage would fall for?”
“Nope. But isn’t it interesting that Cyb didn’t appear to get that?” Quinn draped an arm around Layla’s shoulders now. “Even though, in my opinion, she was right on target. She’s exactly the woman he’d fall for. Won’t this be fun to watch?”
“Is it Fate, Quinn, or choice? For all of us?”
“I vote choice, but you know what?” She gave Layla a pat. “I don’t much care, not as long as we all live happy-ever-after.”
Thinking of just that, Layla looked at Fox as she walked into the kitchen. He popped the top on a Coke, laughing at something Cal said. As his tawny eyes glanced her way, they warmed like suns.
“Ready for a little fortune-telling?” He held out a hand for hers.
“I want to ask you a question first.” It was important to ask now, she realized, before those cards were turned.
“Sure, what do you need?”
“I need to know if you’ll marry me.”
The conversations around them stopped. For several long seconds there was no sound as he stared at her. “Okay. Now?”
“Fox.”
“Because I was thinking more like February. You know what a crappy month February is? Why shouldn’t there be something really great to look forward to in the mostly crappy month of February?” He took a slug of his Coke, then set it down as she stared back at him. “Plus, it was February when I saw you for the first time. But not Valentine’s Day because, you know, complete cliché and way too traditional.”
“You’ve been thinking?”
“Yeah, I’ve been thinking, seeing as I’m completely in love with you. But I’m glad you asked me first. Takes the pressure off.” With a laugh, he lifted her off her feet. “February work for you?”
“February’s perfect.” She laid her hands on his cheeks, kissed him. Then lifting her head, she grinned. “Fox and I are getting married in February.”
Amid the congratulations and hugs, Cybil caught Gage’s eye. “Don’t worry,” she said quietly. “I won’t propose.”
She put on the kettle for tea, to keep her calm and centered when they went back to work.
Eight
GAGE SLEPT POORLY, AND THE INSOMNIA HAD nothing to do with dreams or visions. He wasn’t used to making serious mistakes, or worse-certainly more mortifying-clumsy missteps. Particularly with women. He made his living not just reading cards and the odds, but out of reading people, what went on behind the eyes, the words, the gestures.