“But it wouldn’t be as much fun. Don’t you want to know something about Callaway House? People always want to know what went on.” She walked over and put the book on the desk next to him. If she put out her hand, she could run it down his arm. Her fingers twitched.
He looked up from the screen. “I’d rather know about you.”
She automatically put up her defenses, then stopped herself. Wasn’t this what she wanted—a chance to get to know him better? The only way she could do that was if she let him get to know her. “Ask something then.”
“What is your favorite room?”
Of all the questions he could’ve asked, he’d picked that. She wasn’t sure what to say. Was there even a wrong answer? “It depends. In winter I used to like sitting in the kitchen. It was always warm and smelled of homemade treats. But in summer evenings Gran would open up the glass doors and the scent of jasmine would fill this room. I’d sit and read and pretend I was a princess in a palace. Do you have a favorite room yet?”
He blinked. His dark lashes rested against his skin for a heartbeat before he opened his eyes again to look at her. This time there was almost a sadness in his eyes. “Your gran might have let me in, but I couldn’t afford a drink in here. My mother’s a nurse. My father’s a mechanic descended from French pirates. I don’t have class, money, or artistic talent.”
Lydia titled her head. Was he saying what she thought he was saying? That she was out of his league? She would’ve laughed except he looked deadly serious.
Her hand covered his. Skin to skin, her breath caught.
“Callaway House was never about the money or mistresses. It was about the party. Sure, the rich spent up big when they came to play and make deals, but without the struggling artists and the musicians who played for a meal and drinks—and to say they’d played here—Callaway House would’ve been no better than the motel that charges by the hour. It was about atmosphere. People had to want to come here.”
“But they stopped coming.”
“Nightclubs and bars took over. No one wanted to spend a weekend listening to poetry and getting high, or hearing some up-and-coming blues guitarist work on his next album. I wish I’d seen it in action.”
“It would have been some party.” His hand trailed up her arm.
Before she could second-guess herself again, she leaned in and kissed him. Her lips brushed his, testing to see if she’d like the feel of his mouth. She did. She liked the way he smelled of soap and that his cheek was rough because he hadn’t shaved before coming around.
He didn’t respond. His lips didn’t move. She pulled back.
“I don’t usually kiss while on the job.” This time there was only heat in his eyes, like someone had lit a match and held it to his soul.
She couldn’t move away as she waited for his next move. If he made none, that was it. She’d go and sit in another room while he worked and pretend as if it had never happened. Then he placed his lips to hers. Softly as if the kiss was something he shouldn’t be taking. Her eyes closed and her mouth opened, letting his tongue slip inside. Tasting and teasing. Her hand snuck around his waist, drawing him closer.
In return his hand swept over the curve of her butt. Pressed against her he felt good, his body was firm as if he spent his spare time keeping fit, not sitting. She relaxed into his hold as heat spread through her body. It had been too long since she’d had a man in her arms. He ended the kiss with a couple of slow ones as if he couldn’t bear to pull away. That made two of them. His breath caressed her lips as he took a final taste and then released her. Neither of them moved. All she could think about was her body and the way it melted in his hands like he’d seduced her with just a touch.
“That’s going to complicate things,” he murmured as he tucked a strand of her dark blond hair behind her ear. His lips still felt the pressure of hers, and his skin was hyperaware of every subtle move she made, her body pressed against his in a way that was far too intimate. He wanted her, he couldn’t remember wanting anyone quite so much, and he was sure she would have noticed his attraction.
A look of surprise lifted her eyebrows. “That’s not what I was expecting to hear.”
He let his hand fall away from the silken strands of her hair. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
Caspian’s hand touched the desk and his head was filled with images of another night years ago and what had happened on the desk.
It was the house.
It was what he was seeing.
He looked at Lydia.
Hell, it was the woman.
“Will you get in trouble?”
He paused before answering. She meant with work, but he was thinking about the Grey who’d been making threats. Not that he could explain how he was mixed up in a deadly game of fairy politics. He hadn’t lied to her about his lack of social standing… in the human world. The fairy world was a whole other festering kettle of fish.
“Depends. Are you seducing me to get a favorable valuation?”
That could be a problem if someone thought he was fiddling the figures. Surely no one could contest a will that left the estate to the only child and grandchild?
“I didn’t seduce you.” She gave him a halfhearted push. “I merely took advantage of an opportunity.”
Had he looked like he wanted to be kissed? Had it been that obvious every time he looked at her?
“Okay then.” He nodded, then placed another kiss on her mouth, taking the opportunity to kiss the beautiful woman in his arms, before she changed her mind and realized that he was not the kind of man she wanted. His tongue traced her lower lip just once, then he drew back before the temptation took hold. The echoes of what had happened previously on the desk still filled his mind with possibilities he hadn’t wanted to explore in a while. That he shouldn’t be thinking about exploring now. He didn’t want to risk dragging Lydia into his problems. Maybe it was too late. He was here and for all he knew Shea had followed him. He was sure there was a Grey in the house, not that he’d seen it… but there was something. Something more than a photo of a fairy in the living room.
“Okay.” She didn’t move away.
He didn’t care. If he had to come back here every night for the next year because they kept getting distracted, it would be worth it and much better than being in his empty house. Lydia’s childhood had been odd like his, and while he couldn’t talk about it, she could and it made him feel a little less strange that even humans without fairy blood could have bizarre families.
The pause stretched out as if neither of them was willing to end the moment and yet neither was sure how to move forward.
He tilted his head at the laptop. “I should keep going.”
“Right.” She looked at him as if she was about to change her mind. He knew if she offered he wouldn’t refuse. She was under his skin and he wanted her to dig deeper. Then he remembered what would happen if she did dig deeper. He’d have to tell her about his real father, about psychometry and fairies. The heat in his blood cooled. He didn’t know how to tell her the truth. He’d never told anyone.
Above them came the sound of soft, scuttling footsteps. Caspian looked up.
“It’s just the ghost.”
If that was a ghost, he’d give Shea his soul and the damn mirror. He knew what small fairy footsteps sounded like. And since Dylis wasn’t here, and there were no Brownies here, that only left a Grey. No wonder no one had ever seen the ghost. Only those with fairy blood could see fairies—unless the fairies chose to reveal themselves. Until now he hadn’t seen or heard a thing, which meant it had been hiding. Why? And why was it here? He couldn’t sense anything fairy-made here that would attract it. Usually anything that came from Annwyn had a resonance of power that all fairies would recognize. Had the man in the photo been a Grey who had decided to stay on after he’d had to stop mixing with humans? It didn’t feel right. Something was… he couldn’t put a finger on it, but it was that same feeling he’d had when he’d first come here. It wasn’t like a Grey to hang around; they generally gathered and kept to themselves in run-down areas of cities.
“Does it usually pace the floors?”
“Yes, and sometimes it opens drawers or cupboards.” She was smiling, as if she found it amusing that he
