Page 23 of Demon Loved
She supposed she could have offered to be his chauffeur since she didn’t have much going on tomorrow except a voice lesson at three-thirty, but something made her hold back. Why, she wasn’t sure, except they’d gone out two nights in a row and would be seeing each other pretty much all day on Saturday until she had to go on stage, and that seemed like an awful lot of togetherness with a guy she hadn’t even known two days ago.
Even though some part of her wanted to spend every single minute with him that she could…right up until the time the taxi arrived to take him back to the airport.
Whenever that would be. He’d made it sound as if he planned to stay through at least the weekend, but what would happen after that?
You’ll find out when it happens, she told herself. In the meantime, stop being such a worrywart.
Easier said than done. Maybe they hadn’t discussed anything earth-shattering over dinner, and yet she thought the most significant thing about their meal was how easy it had been, how the conversation had mostly flowed from one topic to another without much awkwardness.
Except when she’d asked him about the food in L.A. No matter how you looked at it, that flash of fear in his expression had been downright mystifying.
Then again, maybe he didn’t go out much but didn’t want to confess that fact to her and sound like a stick-in-the-mud.
There was so much about him she didn’t know…and she had no idea whether she’d learn any of it before it was time for him to leave.
They were about halfway down the block before he said, “Do you play at all these wine-tasting rooms?”
“I do,” she replied, glad of the question, since it was one she could answer honestly. “Not every week, obviously, but I manage to cover all of them within the space of a month, give or take.”
“And in Sedona, and other places around here,” he said, clearly remembering her off-hand comment about that when they’d had dinner at The Asylum the other night.
“All over the Verde Valley.” A thought struck her, and she wondered if it would be too awful if she made the invitation, especially since they’d be spending all day at the folk festival together.
Well, if he didn’t want to go or had other plans, he could just tell her. They might not have known each other very well, but they were still both adults and could act like reasonable people.
“In fact,” she went on, “I’m playing at Alcantara on Sunday afternoon. It’s a gorgeous winery a little south and east of Cottonwood, right on the Verde River. You’ll feel like you’re in Tuscany or something.”
For a second or two, he didn’t reply, and she wondered if she really had put her foot right in it.
But then he smiled and said, “That sounds like fun. It seems as if there are always new and interesting places to explore around here.”
She thought so. Maybe once upon a time, the Verde Valley didn’t have much going on, but there was plenty to see and do now.
Well, as long as you were into wine.
“Great,” she replied, hoping her relief hadn’t seeped into her voice too much. “How about I pick you up around two? I need to get there a little early to set up.”
“That sounds good.” He paused there before saying, his tone almost diffident, “I can help you with your equipment, if you’d like me to.”
Oh, she’d definitely like it. Not just because he’d make the world’s best-looking roadie, but also because hauling her guitars and her amp and her mic and all the assorted other paraphernalia required for her performances could be a little exhausting. Having someone to lend a hand would make the gig a lot more fun.
“Then it’s a date.”
He was silent for a moment. But then his eyes met hers, and she found her mouth going a little dry at the need she saw in his gaze.
“Yes,” he said softly. “It definitely is.”
8
There had been a moment right after Brianna asked him to come to her performance on Sunday when he’d looked into her eyes and understood that if he’d bent down and pressed his lips to hers, she wouldn’t have stopped him. He’d seen the need in her gaze and felt the thrum of attraction between them, so different from the low-level hum of the hidden artifacts he’d sensed while exploring Jerome.
The moment had passed, though, as Belshegar had known it must. Whatever his heart and his body were telling him, he knew he couldn’t act on that impulse.
He looked human to her, but he wasn’t.
And he had no doubt she would recoil in horror if she were ever to see his true form.
Then again….
