Page 51 of The Demon's Fire
“When we get to the Yeti camp, let me do the talking. They are allies but also easily insulted. So not a word.”
Skyler shrugged into the sleeves of the jacket and tugged up the zipper. “I’m quite tactful, not a complete twit.” He was being an ass again. Maybe she had been too early to applaud the man.
“So far, your understanding of our various cultures is nil. Do I need to remind you of the Genesis Rite?”
Skyler squeezed her lips tight. “Will you ever let me live the incident down?”
“Someday. Today is not the day. Do not thank a Yeti.”
“Why not?”
“It insults them. Implies you think them incapable of a kind act. Also, do not say their names.”
“Why?”
“It’s like stealing their souls. And do not ask questions. Questions are rude. Pretty much anything offends the Yeti. They’re a touchy lot. Speaking of. Do not touch them. Do not eat their food, but use tact when you refuse.”
“What’s wrong with their food?”
“Let’s just say it’s undercooked. So, I’ll talk while you smile and nod.”
He’s still a snarly, self-righteous barbarian. No matter how many sand leeches he fries.
Her gaze crawled from Kole’s boots to his fire-gold eyes framed by dark, long lashes.
But he is a breathtaking, towering wall of muscle.
“Where is the village?” she asked, clearing her head of the arrogant but virile commander.
“We’re at its edge. Start smiling and nodding, Chief.”
****
MargoHunter stared through the peephole at three breathtaking people in the hallway. “Hell. I can’t afford so many. I only asked for one. I’ll choose and send the other two on their way,” she muttered to herself while she opened the door, swooping a hand through the air. “Come right in.”
With her lips pursed, she angled her head, studying the hunky man in low-slung jeans topped off with a tight black tee. A tattoo peeked beneath his left sleeve, only talons and feathers showing.
Some kind of bird.
She judged the guy was about six-foot-three, lean but muscular, a swimmer’s build with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. “Well, turn around for me.” Margo eyed his confusion.
“What?” Hot Guy’s brows drew tight.
When she motioned a spin with her finger, he got the drift, doing a slow rotation.
Margo sidled alongside him. She closed her eyes when she combed her fingers through the strands of dark hair flowing down his back, held somewhat in place by a band of red cloth tied Apache-style around his head. Her palms glided downward, stopping just before his taut buns.
While she circled to the front of the dude, her gaze took in every inch of his delicious body. He grinned the whole time, a spellbinding cocky grin, kinda cheerful-like. But he oozed contradictions. Sexy though dangerous, his gray eyes the color of a gathering storm. Open though guarded. A youthful face, harshened by the rough stubble lining his jaw. She fondled his chest. “Flawless. Ripped. I could do a lot with you.”
He flashed his smile again. “Have at me, Red.”
With her hands on her hips, she continued to ogle the subject. “Very nice.”
When the tall, black-haired woman cleared her throat, Margo twisted toward her. The visitor wore skin-tight cargo pants tucked into thick-soled boots. Her jacket fell open enough to reveal a cropped knit shirt hugging sizable breasts. Margo would kill for the shiny straight hair. Of course, she would wear it longer than shoulder length and get rid of the multiple braids. The gal was a lean, leggy gym rat with a dream body and tan. Basically, a threat to all other women.
The third visitor dressed in a patterned blue shirt with matching pants—an attractive version of scrubs—but the shapelessness of the clothes made her body type hard to visualize. Still, her short-cut hair surrounded a soft, round, cherubic face.
Suddenly, Margo’s brows furrowed. “Say, how did you get up here? I live in a security-protected building. The guy didn’t phone telling me I had guests. Was the guard at the desk asleep again? I’ll have his lazy ass fired.” Her fists darted to her hips once more. Her head cocked to the side as her long red hair bounced with angry energy.
