Free Cursed by S.J. Harper

board alongside the sliced cucumber.
    Zack jumps. The knife in his hand slips. “Crap. I almost sliced my finger off.” He sets down the knife, yanks the towel from around his neck, and wraps it around his finger. “What’s the matter with you?”
    “For the past twenty minutes I’ve been thinking about what you said. The more I think about it, the more pissed off I’m getting. I figure we should not be armed for this conversation.”
    Zack checks his wound. Not surprisingly, the small cut has already mended itself. The bleeding has stopped. The towel is tossed aside. “I’m not armed. Talk to me.” He raises both of his hands, taking a step back.
    “What are you up to, Zack?”
    He gestures toward the counter. “I’m making salad. Is this about your nose? You’re upset because I called your bump hideous. In my own defense, I was joking. You know that, right?”
    “This. Is. Not. About. My. Nose.” I emphasize each and every word with a finger poke to his chest.
    Zack and I are toe-to-toe. Suddenly I’m acutely aware of everything about him, his size, his strength, his power, and his almost complete lack of clothing. I try to pull away, but he reaches out for my hand and holds fast.
    “What’s happened?”
    “I take my job seriously, Zack.”
    “So do I. You know that. You know me.”
    “Look, I thought I knew what kind of guy you are. But maybe I don’t. Normally I’d say your personal life, the decisions you make are your own. I’d focus on the case, then the next one, then the one after that. I’d just go on living my quiet little life. But we’re partners and that means if a shit storm comes raining down on you, I’m likely to get crap all over me. I’m clean. I want to stay that way.”
    He releases my hand. “And you think I’m not? You think I’m dirty?”
    “Look around. Unless your mother’s maiden name is Rockefeller, yes.”
    He looks surprised, hurt, confused. He could be all of those things. He could be none of them. One way to find out.
    I lean in, lock Zack’s eyes in mine, let go. This is how it begins, allowing a tiny crack in the armor that contains my powers. “You broke the law by hacking into Barakov’s server. This house is worth a fortune. Your SF-86 is nowhere to be found. You agreed to no contact. Yet here you are.”
    As the power builds, the air around us warms, stirring an almost imperceptible perfumed breeze.
    Zack’s nostrils flare. His acute sense of smell detects the subtle yet complex blend of white florals layered atop citrus. A strand of hair escapes the coil at the nape of my neck and drifts in front of my eyes.
    “Here I am,” Zack says.
    He reaches up and tucks the loose lock behind my ear, his fingers tracing the curve of my throat. His inhibitions are lowered. He feels it, the attraction, building. He steps closer, then dips his head and breathes me in.
    The act is intimate, primitive. It makes me shiver.
    “And here you are.” He snakes one arm around my waist.
    Like water pushing through the spillway of a dam, I feel the rush of pent-up magic fighting to escape.
Focus, Emma.
I squeeze my eyes shut and swallow. It isn’t normally a challenge, reading someone like this. But it has been on occasion. Someone with as strong a will as mine, certain supernaturals, have a few times in the past tested my control. I know what I need to do. I need to hold steady, to ride the crest of the wave of influence, not drown in it. To stay in charge of the seduction, not get caught in it. He’ll tell the truth. He has no choice.
    I push myself back and away, trying to put some physical distance between us. “Are you on the take? Here under false pretences? Are you—?”
    Zack, however, moves with me, placing a finger under my chin. “Look at me.”
    I lift my eyes and seek out his. There isn’t a hint of deception. The surprise, hurt, and confusion I noticed before are all still there.
    He speaks slowly. “I didn’t steal evidence. I remembered seeing the