Page 18 of Dragon Touched
Finders keepers, losers weepers,Sacha thought.
Oh, how she wanted to watch him do alotof weeping. The thought of leaving here in the morning with the golden band—his treasure—made her want to dance and sing. Who knew a life of crime could be so thrilling? She hid her grin in the nearly empty glass of wine, trying to appear demure instead of smug.
“Everything okay over there?” Through her lashes, she peeked at another frantic pat down.
“Of course.” His brows drew tight, and he ran a hand through his hair, tousling it and giving him afresh-out-of-bedvibe that shot liquid heat to her sex. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
Hewashandsome. Not in the traditional sense, but more along the lines of something broken and put back together with painstaking care. The damage brought character and charming beauty to an otherwise mediocre item.
Grimacing, his little silver scar called to her, and she wondered how it had happened. He seemed to be self-conscious about the imperfection, but there was no need. It told a story, and she yearned to hear its narrative.
Whatwashis tale, and how old was he? Twenty, twenty-one? Even though he acted like a man of one hundred and fifty, there was no way he was more than twenty-two, not with his fresh skin and lithe, youthful body.
The memory of clutching his waist, and the heat radiating from under the robe, made the pulse rush to her ears. She chalked it up to an effect of the wine.
Alcohol raised her temperature—notthe man with hungry, red eyes.
He crouched to the floor and swiped across the worn stones.
“Lose something?” she purred, then craned her neck downward to watch his progress—or lack thereof.
This was turning out to be too good. Seeing him knelt on the dirty stones, dust clinging to his robe, was better than binging movies all night.
“Yes.” His answer was curt, almost a growl, but the gaze never wandered from the pointless task under the table.
“Need some help?” Her chest shook with laughter. “I hear rats are good at finding things.”
“Darling”—he bobbed his head out from under the table—“thehelpyou can provide is on your back.” A rakish smile twitched his lips. He ducked under again.
Nope, you’re not getting it. It’s mine now, jerk face.
“Impressive retort, coming from someone who wears a robe like he’s in a fantasy movie”—she twiddled her fingers under the table, near his ear—“then crawls around on his knees in the dust, acting like some crazy guy looking for his lost marbles.”
Only a grunt issued, and she couldn’t tell if it was from irritation or humor.
While he was out of sight, she pulled the low-cut material an inch away from her chest. The chain and band rested against her skin—snug, secure, and secret. Able to inspect it, she saw a small, flat pea etched onto the surface of the golden loop. Upon closer inspection, the tracing recessed into the band a bit, as if something, at one time, had rested in the setting.
Weird. Why would a guy keep a ring decorated with a vegetable hanging around his neck?
The band was thick and wide, made for a man, so she doubted it was from a long-lost love, unless he was into the same sex. Recalling the way his eyes swept over her body, though, it didn’t seem likely.
Or he could be into both genders.It shouldn’t matter to her one way or another, yet there was something attractive—irresistible, even—hiding under this strange man’s crass, gruff demeanor.
Her thoughts drifted back to his beloved jewelry. She understood he was an oddball, but this ring took it to a whole other level. Her fingers burned to try it on, but she didn’t want to risk getting caught.
A long sigh came from under the table.
“Find it?” She patted the filched trinket and returned to the meal.
Silence met her words.
Contentment and alcohol relaxed her limbs, and she poured a second glass.
After another minute of searching, Fin muttered something unintelligible and returned to his seat, a deep scowl pulling at the corners of his mouth.
“Enjoying the wine, Scabbers?” His vermillion eyes reflected the orange light of the fireplace.
He did have an interesting face—all shadows and angles, a slight bump in his nose. So distinct from the men she’d known growing up. They were strong-armed, tight-jawed, and severe.
