Burning Dawn
Page 29
“I see.” He pursed his lips. “And what was yours?”
“Well...” she repeated. “I liked to help him.”
Lashes practically fused together, he said, “I’m sorry, Elin, but this is...” He stopped, thought for a moment, and sighed. “I’ve had worse.”
A polite way of saying it sucked. “You hate it, don’t you?”
“I...do. I’m sorry.”
Her shoulders drooped. “At least you’re honest.” She quickly rallied. “I’m out of practice, that’s all.” She snapped her fingers. “I know! I’ll bake a few cakes a day and sell the slices to your customers. Soon, I’ll do its name justice.”
“I’m not sure—”
“I’ll give you fifty percent of the profits,” she rushed out. “And don’t you dare say there won’t be any profits. I’m not that bad.”
“Very well.” A gleam of pure calculation brightened his eyes. “We have a deal.”
Why the calculation? “So, uh, yeah. Bellorie mentioned you had a library here.” Wise to change the subject before he changed his mind. And wise to leave his presence, like, now. “Can you point me in the right direction? I want to check out a few books.”
“You like to read?”
“Very much,” she said.
One of his brows arched. “What type of books?”
Only, like, the best ever. “Romances.”
“I have none of those.”
“Oh,” she said, trying not to pout.
“But I can get some,” he added.
She perked up. “That would be awesome. Thank you. All right. Well. I guess this is good-night.” She made to step around him, only to note the bleakness he’d sported earlier returning to his expression. A yearning to lighten his mood...his burden...or whatever it was that plagued him overshadowed her desire for escape. “Mr. Downfall, we need to relax you.”
“And how do you suggest we do that?” His voice had changed, going low and husky.
With arousal? Attraction?
Please, no. She’d never be able to resist him then. And if she couldn’t resist him...goodbye, job. Goodbye, moneybags. Goodbye, new friends.
Goodbye, Thane.
“I’ll show you.” She handed the cake to the guard at the end of the hall. “Do me a favor and throw this in the trash. Do yourself a favor and never taste it.” Then, in front of Thane again, she held out her hand. When he hesitated—why had his mood shifted so suddenly?—she added, “Go on. Take it. This sweet little human isn’t leading you into an ambush, I promise.”
Frowning, he curled his fingers around hers. There was a shock through her system at the moment of contact, but it was expected. It had happened before. And yet, she still trembled as she tugged him through the building—or rather, the maze, as she’d begun calling it—and to the backyard.
She never would have pictured a garden growing from a cloud, but stranger things had happened, she supposed.
“Sit,” she commanded, waving toward the only bench. The stone structure looked as if it had grown straight out of the ground. Ivy clung to the legs, and a rose bloomed just over the right corner.
He severed contact and sat. Those lovely wings arched away from him, the gold-tipped ends brushing over the ground. The sun cast golden beams directly on him, paying tribute to his raw, masculine beauty, and making him look as though he’d smuggled diamond flecks in his pores.
“I didn’t mean on the bench,” she said with a grin, “but in front of the bench.”
His frown returned as he lowered to a crouch.
She knelt beside him. “Now, do you see this?” She plucked a weed from the dirt. “It and everything like it are weeds. Weeds are bad. But those,” she said, pointing to the flower stems, “those are good. Right now, bad is murdering good, so we’ve got to go to war and help.”
Horror dawned on his features. “A fancy way of saying I am to...garden?” He shuddered.
“You’ll be doing more than that, thank you. You’ll be saving something beautiful.”
He studied her. “Removing weeds is that important to you?”
“It’s critical. And not just to me.” Drawing a parallel, Thane? Because you totally should. My hints aren’t that subtle.
Better question: Are you drawing a parallel for yourself, Vale? Survivor’s guilt is a big, thick weed with sharp thorns.
Whatever.
As they worked, she tried not to notice the way Thane’s muscles strained under his robe. She failed, and by the time they finished two hours later—the area around the bench cleared of weeds—all of Elin’s girlie parts were desperate for attention.
Want him, they shouted.
Well, too bad. You can’t have him.
But...but...he was so close...so beautiful...so obviously skilled with his hands. How easy it would be to lean into him and offer her mouth for the possession of his. She would lead at first, because he would be surprised, but then his desire would get the better of him and he would take over. He would taste her and touch her and urge her to her back. He would—
Blimey. Stop!
She cleared her throat. “While you’re working, it’s hard to tell you’ve accomplished anything, right? All you can see are the things you have left to do. But then, suddenly, ta-da. This happens.” The finished product. And it was better than she could have hoped. The colorful vines were thriving at long last.
He nodded, giving nothing away.
She anchored her fists on her hips. “Next time, would you rather I relax you by teaching you how to bake a cake?”
“So that there will be two of us capable of gagging my patrons? No.”
The dryness of his tone drew a snort out of her. “See Mr. Serious tease Ms. Crocker,” she mumbled, but inside, she rejoiced. Her plan had worked! The bleakness had left him. He actually sported an air of satisfaction in a job well done. “I’ll improve. You just wait and see.”
“Kulta, you couldn’t get any worse.”
She laughed with startling delight. “You never told me what kulta means.”
His eyes glowed with a triumph she didn’t understand. “I probably never will.”
As if that would stop her from guessing. “‘Witch’?”
“Well...” she repeated. “I liked to help him.”
Lashes practically fused together, he said, “I’m sorry, Elin, but this is...” He stopped, thought for a moment, and sighed. “I’ve had worse.”
A polite way of saying it sucked. “You hate it, don’t you?”
“I...do. I’m sorry.”
Her shoulders drooped. “At least you’re honest.” She quickly rallied. “I’m out of practice, that’s all.” She snapped her fingers. “I know! I’ll bake a few cakes a day and sell the slices to your customers. Soon, I’ll do its name justice.”
“I’m not sure—”
“I’ll give you fifty percent of the profits,” she rushed out. “And don’t you dare say there won’t be any profits. I’m not that bad.”
“Very well.” A gleam of pure calculation brightened his eyes. “We have a deal.”
Why the calculation? “So, uh, yeah. Bellorie mentioned you had a library here.” Wise to change the subject before he changed his mind. And wise to leave his presence, like, now. “Can you point me in the right direction? I want to check out a few books.”
“You like to read?”
“Very much,” she said.
One of his brows arched. “What type of books?”
Only, like, the best ever. “Romances.”
“I have none of those.”
“Oh,” she said, trying not to pout.
“But I can get some,” he added.
She perked up. “That would be awesome. Thank you. All right. Well. I guess this is good-night.” She made to step around him, only to note the bleakness he’d sported earlier returning to his expression. A yearning to lighten his mood...his burden...or whatever it was that plagued him overshadowed her desire for escape. “Mr. Downfall, we need to relax you.”
“And how do you suggest we do that?” His voice had changed, going low and husky.
With arousal? Attraction?
Please, no. She’d never be able to resist him then. And if she couldn’t resist him...goodbye, job. Goodbye, moneybags. Goodbye, new friends.
Goodbye, Thane.
“I’ll show you.” She handed the cake to the guard at the end of the hall. “Do me a favor and throw this in the trash. Do yourself a favor and never taste it.” Then, in front of Thane again, she held out her hand. When he hesitated—why had his mood shifted so suddenly?—she added, “Go on. Take it. This sweet little human isn’t leading you into an ambush, I promise.”
Frowning, he curled his fingers around hers. There was a shock through her system at the moment of contact, but it was expected. It had happened before. And yet, she still trembled as she tugged him through the building—or rather, the maze, as she’d begun calling it—and to the backyard.
She never would have pictured a garden growing from a cloud, but stranger things had happened, she supposed.
“Sit,” she commanded, waving toward the only bench. The stone structure looked as if it had grown straight out of the ground. Ivy clung to the legs, and a rose bloomed just over the right corner.
He severed contact and sat. Those lovely wings arched away from him, the gold-tipped ends brushing over the ground. The sun cast golden beams directly on him, paying tribute to his raw, masculine beauty, and making him look as though he’d smuggled diamond flecks in his pores.
“I didn’t mean on the bench,” she said with a grin, “but in front of the bench.”
His frown returned as he lowered to a crouch.
She knelt beside him. “Now, do you see this?” She plucked a weed from the dirt. “It and everything like it are weeds. Weeds are bad. But those,” she said, pointing to the flower stems, “those are good. Right now, bad is murdering good, so we’ve got to go to war and help.”
Horror dawned on his features. “A fancy way of saying I am to...garden?” He shuddered.
“You’ll be doing more than that, thank you. You’ll be saving something beautiful.”
He studied her. “Removing weeds is that important to you?”
“It’s critical. And not just to me.” Drawing a parallel, Thane? Because you totally should. My hints aren’t that subtle.
Better question: Are you drawing a parallel for yourself, Vale? Survivor’s guilt is a big, thick weed with sharp thorns.
Whatever.
As they worked, she tried not to notice the way Thane’s muscles strained under his robe. She failed, and by the time they finished two hours later—the area around the bench cleared of weeds—all of Elin’s girlie parts were desperate for attention.
Want him, they shouted.
Well, too bad. You can’t have him.
But...but...he was so close...so beautiful...so obviously skilled with his hands. How easy it would be to lean into him and offer her mouth for the possession of his. She would lead at first, because he would be surprised, but then his desire would get the better of him and he would take over. He would taste her and touch her and urge her to her back. He would—
Blimey. Stop!
She cleared her throat. “While you’re working, it’s hard to tell you’ve accomplished anything, right? All you can see are the things you have left to do. But then, suddenly, ta-da. This happens.” The finished product. And it was better than she could have hoped. The colorful vines were thriving at long last.
He nodded, giving nothing away.
She anchored her fists on her hips. “Next time, would you rather I relax you by teaching you how to bake a cake?”
“So that there will be two of us capable of gagging my patrons? No.”
The dryness of his tone drew a snort out of her. “See Mr. Serious tease Ms. Crocker,” she mumbled, but inside, she rejoiced. Her plan had worked! The bleakness had left him. He actually sported an air of satisfaction in a job well done. “I’ll improve. You just wait and see.”
“Kulta, you couldn’t get any worse.”
She laughed with startling delight. “You never told me what kulta means.”
His eyes glowed with a triumph she didn’t understand. “I probably never will.”
As if that would stop her from guessing. “‘Witch’?”
