Chapter 16
Attacking
He's doing it on purpose.
Every morning for the past week that he's been back home, I've trudged up the stairs to his flat and entered the dining room to find Victoria What's-her-name perched in the fourth seat of our table, munching away on my white-chocolate, cranberry muffins. Victoria with her perfect white-blonde hair, her perfect milky skin, her perfect pixie-like body, and her perfect position at St. Mungo's. Furthermore, my seat is directly across from the one she occupies, meaning that I have a blindingly clear view of her perfectness. On good days, I keep quiet while she and Harry discuss work over breakfast, feeling like a complete hag compared to her. On bad ones, I entertain the notion of stomping her face in with one of her high-lacquered heels and other similar scenarios that involve putting blood on the walls.
Most nights, she's here for supper, too, unless she stays late at St. Mungo's to oversee a patient. Unfortunately, tonight is not one of those nights, and I am being subjected to a Friday night with just the three of us, while Ron is enjoying a week and a half long trip to Greece to promote the England National Team. Some friend he is.
Victoria says something particularly witty, and I look up from my lemon-roasted chicken to see Harry throw his head back and laugh.
I don't understand what he sees in her. I mean, she graduated second in her class. Second. Clearly she lacked any sort of dedication to her studies, since she was chasing after a snitch in her spare time. My research--which Malia, my secretary, scoffed at when I wasted three lunch hours on it--has found that she was the fifth woman in her family to be appointed as Head Girl at the Salem Witches' Institute before she came to England to study magical medicine. How flighty of her to leave such a distinguished family to go gallivanting around another country. Shows where her priorities lie, if you ask me.
I sigh heavily in irritation, my composure leaking away with every chirp of her voice. His eyes expertly avoid mine, giving her his undivided attention.
He's doing it to make me jealous. It's working.
I want to be the one he picks up from work, the one he spends his breakfasts, dinners, and suppers with. I want to be the one who washes the dishes while he dries (an exceedingly annoying habit the two of them have picked up). I want to be the one who makes him laugh like that. In fact, I want to be the only woman who can make him laugh like that. I want to be the only one to light up his face. The only one, every day for the rest of his life. . .
I am so jarred by this sudden realization that I let my fork clatter onto the tabletop. Neither of my tablemates notice, however, which is a good thing, seeing as I feel as if I've just run into a plate-glass door. I suppose saying that I feel like I've been hit by a ton of bricks would also be appropriate, but at least you can see a ton of bricks coming at you. A glass door is invisible until you crash through it.
I gaze to my right, reveling in the way his eyes sparkle when he smiles, in the ways his shirt skims over his shoulders, in the way his hand grips his wine glass.
The wave of possessiveness that rolls over me tenses every muscle in my body, and the anger and annoyance toward Victoria that I've been holding at bay taints my every cell. I struggle to harness the magic I feel thrumming through my veins, but some of it is uncontrollable, and spider web cracks crawl up Victoria's goblet, shattering it and sending deep red wine onto her pristinely white Chanel suit.
"Bloody hell!" she exclaims, standing up to avoid anymore damage. Harry's wand is out in an instant to clean it up, but she holds a hand out to stop him.
"Don't! I have a special potion in my bag for stuff like this. Do you mind if I use your bathroom?"
Harry nods and points her toward the hallway. He waits to here the bathroom door close and the lock to click into place before turning to me, standing up and sliding his chair under the table.
"Would you like to explain what just hap--"
But his sentence is cut off. I suppose that's what happens when your best friend has practically vaulted over the table to assault your mouth with hers. The force of my attack slams him against the wall, and satisfaction flits through me when I hear the painting not far from us rattle on its nail. His response is instantaneous. His arms encompass my waist, pulling me more tightly against him, and he relinquishes a stronger attack on my lips. It's a good thing we weren't eating at a restaurant; otherwise, we'd be creating quite a spectacle.
This time, when the flaming sensation sears every fiber of my being, I relish it. The sharp chill of the rim of his glasses stings my cheekbone, and I hurriedly whip the modern silver frames from his face with a catlike hiss, flinging them over my shoulder. A small groan escapes him at the sound of the lenses fracturing on the tiles, but I ignore it. I've gone about minute and a half wanting to ravish him and not doing a bloody thing about it. I'll be damned if I go any longer without it. I won't allow anything to interrupt this moment.
Nor anyone, as Harry finds when Victoria's heels clack toward the kitchen, and I begin to trail lazy kisses down the side of his neck.
"Hermes," he gasps out in warning.
I respond by playfully sinking my teeth into the place where his neck and shoulder meet.
"Hey, Harry, do you need any help clean..." Victoria's voice trails off as she spots us. At least I assume that's what stopped her. I'm far too busy trying to pretend that she's not here to notice.
"Am I interrupting something?" she asks loudly. How rude of her. Isn't that question a bit obvious?
Harry's hands find a way in between us, making a gap between our bodies. Bloody idiot. He's trying to stop me.
"No, not--" he starts.
Being the mature person that I am, I tug his shirt from the waistband of his slacks and allow my hands to roam his back in retaliation.
Perhaps the action is a bit more effective than I imagined, because the muscles in his neck slacken and his head thumps back against the wall.
"Yes," he whistles the word through clenched teeth, "Definitely interrupting something. Perhaps you should leave and come back later--"
My fingers skitter to his front and begin to unfasten the buttons on his shirt at record pace, all without my teeth leaving his skin.
"--or not. You could just leave and stay home, and I'll see you tomorrow at the hos--"
I shift to slide the completely unbuttoned shirt from his shoulders.
"--or I may just call in sick. You know the way out..."
His voice falters with the quickly retreating, highly disgusted clacking footsteps of Victoria What's-her-name. I make out one word before he recaptures my lips.
"Finally."
A/n::: There it is. A snippet I wrote at Beta Convention inbetween competitions. Hopefully I'll be able to punch out a longer chapter soon. Yet again, unbetaed. Sorry.
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