Page 94 of Her Dreadful Will
Soleil caught him staring, and her mouth curved more deeply. A spark of sinful mischief glinted in her eye, and Achan’s chest tightened.
She had kissed him, out there in the forest. He could still feel the hot, frenzied press of her lips, too quick for him to do anything but stand helpless.
She. Kissed. Him.
God, how he wanted her to do it again.
Florence cleared her throat, and he jolted out of his own thoughts, remembering to breathe again. “Right,” he said dramatically, cupping his fingers over the wrinkled ones on his arm. “This way to your chambers, my lady.”
“Your little witches painted my nails the other night, which you know since you were in my head,” Florence said as they walked down the hall. Carebear paced behind them, apparently considering himself a necessary escort. “Do you want a better look at them?”
“Let me see.” Achan examined her fingers. Someone—probably Angel—had covered the old woman’s nails in rich blue and etched symbols in white. Strength, agility, and clarity, among others. Thoughtful choices. “They’re lovely.”
“I don’t know that they do much magic on someone like me,” Florence said. “But it makes me feel good to have ’em.”
Achan opened the bedroom door, easing Florence onto the bed. “Do you need Soleil’s help getting changed?”
“I can manage, thanks to you. But one more thing before you go.”
“Anything.”
“My granddaughter. What are your real plans for her?”
“Plans?” Achan kept his tone light. “Why does everyone assume that I have these well-laid secret plans? What am I, some kind of villain?”
“No villains or heroes in the real world, boy,” Florence said. “You’ve been both to me and mine, for sure. Can’t help liking you, anyway, but there it is. And I want to know what you’re going to do with Zillah.”
“The same thing I do with umbrellas, my love.” Achan bent to kiss her cheek. “I keep them around for a rainy day.”
Florence snorted. “My Zillah ain’t good for much. I can say that, since we’re kin. She’s not much of a waitress, and she sure can’t do anything else.”
“But she can watch. She can pass messages, run errands,” said Achan. “And when properly motivated, she’s willing to kill. That’s what I find most intriguing about her. And most hateful at the same time.”
Florence shook her head. “You’re a devil.”
“You still love me.” He blew her a kiss and closed the bedroom door.
Carebear stood in the hallway outside, ears pricked and legs braced. Achan crouched to his level, looking him straight in the eyes—a challenge he wasn’t afraid to make. He and the dog had an understanding. “Do you think I’m the devil, Cerberus?” he whispered.
The Doberman rumbled low in his throat, his lips twitching. A clear and unpleasant answer.
Achan straightened to his full height. “Stay,” he said, low and stern. Carebear lay down across the doorway.
With the dog, Achan was the alpha, the pack leader. To Florence, he was elegance and youth, with a dose of respectful charm. To Zillah, he was an unassailable god, the pillar of tyrannical order that she needed to reconstruct her ruined life.
He paused at the entrance to the living room, where Soleil was curled at one end of the couch, blissfully sipping a glass of white wine.
With Soleil, he was himself. Almost.
Not completely. Not yet.
She turned and saw him, and smiled, her cheeks pinking a little.
Did his heart justflutter? What the actual hell?
He sat on the edge of the sofa, not settling in because it was already late, and he wanted to try the cooperative magic with her, if she wasn’t too tired or too woozy from the wine. His knuckles brushed against Soleil’s thigh and stayed there, because he needed part of him to be touching her.
She didn’t scoot away. A good sign. Holy hell, he wanted to kiss her; but if he did, more might happen, things he couldn’t allow yet, not until—
