together, he knew she took notes on her device, snatches of lyrics or notes of a melody.
It had intrigued the hell out of him— impressed the hell out of him—what she could do. They’d be sitting side-by-side, and he could see her mind skate away from the present, skate away from him, which had been a little kick to his ego on more than one occasion, as her imagination tugged her down its own path.
He’d ignored his stinging pride because, hell, what a rush it was just to be next to her when that happened…that thing she did.
She fucking made magic, just as he knew a fairy would.
Music that was as fluid yet as solid as a glass sculpture. Words that could pierce a heart and twist a gut.
Her head would tilt to the left, and he’d know she was hearing something for the first time that would later come out through her fingers or on the lilting river of her voice.
Fairy magic, like he’d said.
Finally, her car reversed from the spot, and he slid lower on the cushions. As she passed, he readied himself to spring into the driver’s seat. When he popped up, he saw her brake as she neared the entry onto the street.
Then she turned off her car.
What the hell?
In the puddle of the security light, he watched her pop open her door then stride around to stand at the rear of her vehicle. As she bent over one of the tires, he saw what she did. A flat.
His gut clenched again, and he was out of his own car before his next breath. Was this some ploy of the bad guys to disable her vehicle?
At the sound of his rushing footsteps, her head whipped around, her expression alarmed.
“It’s just me,” he said, to reassure her.
She didn’t look soothed.
He glanced about, scouting for signs this was the first step in an ambush. All appeared quiet.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded.
Bending over, he inspected her tire. Running his fingertips over rubber, he found what he discerned to be a common construction nail. “Looks like I’m changing your flat.”
Her shoulders squared and her chin jerked up. “I’ve got an auto service. Two brothers.” She slammed her arms over her chest. “My own muscles, when it comes to that.”
“You’re too puny to loosen the lug nuts.” And to prove he was right, he bodily lifted her out of the way, trying not to savor the silky bare skin of her upper arms. “Do you have a sweater? You feel cold.”
“I feel outraged,” she said.
“Maybe it’ll keep you warm while I take care of your tire.” He held out his hand for her keys and was surprised when she dropped them to his palm instead of gouging them into his flesh.
“I’m only allowing this because it will get me on my way faster,” she said as he went about his task.
“Whatever,” he muttered, making quick work of it.
When he was done, he dumped the flat in the trunk and slammed it closed. “Get that repaired tomorrow.”
She bristled again. “I don’t need your advice.”
I don’t need you , he heard instead. He didn’t let that sting either as he dangled her keys.
For a moment, she hesitated. The pause gave him the opportunity to study her features. Yeah, still the same combination of eyes, cheekbones, and mouth that was too delicate to be termed beautiful and too riveting to label with mere prettiness. It was a dream of a face, one that inspired the launching of ships and had men reaching for their weapons.
The mental double-entendre made him smile, to which she snapped out her hand.
“I’ll take those back.”
Instead of passing over the keys, his fingers curled around her wrist.
“What’s this?” he said, turning her arm so the overhead security light hit the trailing vine tattoo inked there.
“Nothing.” She tried to tug free.
Narrowing his eyes, he took in the design that climbed from her wrist toward her shoulder. Before, it had been simple and delicate S-curves of leaves and flowers. But now a tiny bird in bright blues and pinks clung to a free space on the vine. A
It had intrigued the hell out of him— impressed the hell out of him—what she could do. They’d be sitting side-by-side, and he could see her mind skate away from the present, skate away from him, which had been a little kick to his ego on more than one occasion, as her imagination tugged her down its own path.
He’d ignored his stinging pride because, hell, what a rush it was just to be next to her when that happened…that thing she did.
She fucking made magic, just as he knew a fairy would.
Music that was as fluid yet as solid as a glass sculpture. Words that could pierce a heart and twist a gut.
Her head would tilt to the left, and he’d know she was hearing something for the first time that would later come out through her fingers or on the lilting river of her voice.
Fairy magic, like he’d said.
Finally, her car reversed from the spot, and he slid lower on the cushions. As she passed, he readied himself to spring into the driver’s seat. When he popped up, he saw her brake as she neared the entry onto the street.
Then she turned off her car.
What the hell?
In the puddle of the security light, he watched her pop open her door then stride around to stand at the rear of her vehicle. As she bent over one of the tires, he saw what she did. A flat.
His gut clenched again, and he was out of his own car before his next breath. Was this some ploy of the bad guys to disable her vehicle?
At the sound of his rushing footsteps, her head whipped around, her expression alarmed.
“It’s just me,” he said, to reassure her.
She didn’t look soothed.
He glanced about, scouting for signs this was the first step in an ambush. All appeared quiet.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded.
Bending over, he inspected her tire. Running his fingertips over rubber, he found what he discerned to be a common construction nail. “Looks like I’m changing your flat.”
Her shoulders squared and her chin jerked up. “I’ve got an auto service. Two brothers.” She slammed her arms over her chest. “My own muscles, when it comes to that.”
“You’re too puny to loosen the lug nuts.” And to prove he was right, he bodily lifted her out of the way, trying not to savor the silky bare skin of her upper arms. “Do you have a sweater? You feel cold.”
“I feel outraged,” she said.
“Maybe it’ll keep you warm while I take care of your tire.” He held out his hand for her keys and was surprised when she dropped them to his palm instead of gouging them into his flesh.
“I’m only allowing this because it will get me on my way faster,” she said as he went about his task.
“Whatever,” he muttered, making quick work of it.
When he was done, he dumped the flat in the trunk and slammed it closed. “Get that repaired tomorrow.”
She bristled again. “I don’t need your advice.”
I don’t need you , he heard instead. He didn’t let that sting either as he dangled her keys.
For a moment, she hesitated. The pause gave him the opportunity to study her features. Yeah, still the same combination of eyes, cheekbones, and mouth that was too delicate to be termed beautiful and too riveting to label with mere prettiness. It was a dream of a face, one that inspired the launching of ships and had men reaching for their weapons.
The mental double-entendre made him smile, to which she snapped out her hand.
“I’ll take those back.”
Instead of passing over the keys, his fingers curled around her wrist.
“What’s this?” he said, turning her arm so the overhead security light hit the trailing vine tattoo inked there.
“Nothing.” She tried to tug free.
Narrowing his eyes, he took in the design that climbed from her wrist toward her shoulder. Before, it had been simple and delicate S-curves of leaves and flowers. But now a tiny bird in bright blues and pinks clung to a free space on the vine. A
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