She played with her hands, grappling with an emotional mix of humility, validation, attraction, and fear. The crystal was powerful. Where was it? There was an evil force with a vested interest. How to stop the demon? Was this monster doing something messed up as they spoke?
“I wanted you to have it for that exact reason. We don’t know each other, obviously, but in the moment I was compelled to give something special to you. And my intentions were good and pure, if spontaneous. But those stones can carry a charge, otherworldly powers that act like a magnet, sucking in dark forces.”
The hex loomed large, unseen and unspoken.
“Not too long ago I’d have dismissed such talk as utter rubbish.” Brian toed off his loafers. Good. Meant he was adjusting to her presence. Still, best to proceeded with caution.
“What changed?”
Slapping his thighs, Brian rocked to his feet. “That subject calls for a bit of social lubrication. Fancy a drink? I’m having one.”
“Sounds great.” Alcohol could lessen awkwardness and facilitate conversation.
“What would you like? There’s red and white wine, beer, whiskey. Soda and sparkling water, too.”
“I’ll have what you’re having.” Her core softened. In some different scenario, she’d be all about getting this older, dignified, more than a little guarded and enigmatic rock god into bed.
Alas, sexual escapades didn’t align with the purpose of her visit.
Brian walked to a minibar and got down two lowball glasses and a bottle of whisky with a brand label she didn’t recognize. He pulled a plastic bucket from a freezer and used metal tongs to grab ice balls. He dropped an icy sphere in a cup, ball meeting glass with a soft clack. After depositing the second orb, he whisked back his tongs like a magic wand. A meticulous quality colored Brian’s mannerisms.
Helen held back a clap of appreciation. Brian Shepherd, always performing.
He kept up the performance, or she noticed new dimensions his mini-show. His movements, the way he held the liquor bottle high to make an elegant arch pour from a long-nosed spigot capping the bottle, added a touch of elegant flair to otherwise mundane action without crossing the line into cheesiness. Brian rocked top-notch style, an aesthetic of living that he executed with unique panache. Her knees drifted apart as he mixed their drinks with cocktail straws.
Brian handed her a glass and eased back into his seat, clinking his cup into hers with a melodious note that cut still air with intrigue and promise. They were allowing the tiniest steps of a mating dance to happen. Chemistry would emerge despite or because of their fighting it, so no point in denying their feelings space to breathe. This needed to go unsaid, imbuing their flirtation with an intoxicating charge.
“Cheers.” Brian lifted his glass and brought the rim to his lips.
“Cheers.” Her first drink delivered notes of oak and ink followed by an ethanol bite.
Flavors mingled with her desire, spurred by Brian’s dignified air, his British-isms, and the shape of the peculiar night. Contours tapered into points, spiky reminders of danger. The form of the evening, those knife edges, made their rendezvous sexy in an unspeakable, impossible way reserved for the two of them. “As you were saying.”
He winked, the look smart and tart and white-hot. “Right down to business.”
“I think something terrible is happening, and I need information to figure out how to stop it.”
Brian’s nonverbal reply spoke volumes. A strong chin tipped upward in a dry show of detachment, a courtly parry. His eyes glistened with the effect of a stormy sea at night. Suspicious, aroused, or both?
In one of his exacting movements fit for an observer of the world, a born storyteller, Brian fingered a miniscule chip on his glass. Her breath snagged. Did thoughts of fingering a small spot on her body teem in his head?
Helen had never met a man as opaque as Brian before. Most were obvious, in the puppyish, endearing and uninspired way men were. But not this one. He had the whole puzzle wrapped in an enigma thing down pat, and holy hell his gamesmanship got her motor running.
“Can I trust you?” His posture didn’t shift from the statuesque, careful arrangement he’d cultivated. But a quiver in his posh speech unmasked vulnerability, albeit a small peek. The first show of openness slipped through Brian’s shell, a secret she was privileged to see.
Perhaps he wore armor like she did, a brittle veneer covering skin bruised by letdowns and betrayals.
She organized her thoughts before gushing out an emphatic “yes,” so as not to come off short sighted, too thirsty to prove herself.
“I’m going to be one-hundred percent honest with you. I mean you no harm. I was trying to help. But with the first crystal I did something without meaning to. So I want to say yes, you can trust me, but I hesitate to say so because I’m not positive I trust myself at the moment.”
“Let’s take it from the top. Why did the witch give them to you to give away? What’s that got to do with saving your business?” Brian sliced a stare from Helen to his drink. He prodded his ice sphere with the straw, sending frozen water bumping into the sides of the glass. The effect was one of an aloof deity moving a planet, a presentation of self that drew her in while keeping her at an emotional distance.
“She said I was a witch and gave them to me during my initiation. I was supposed to give two clear crystals away to good people before starting my study of spell craft. But I missed a crucial step before giving you the first one.”
Brian sipped his beverage. Liquid glistened on his bottom lip, bringing attention to its kissable fullness in proportion to the top one. Ugh, why did he have to be so alluring? She had to concentrate.
“You’re also a witch?”
“Yeah.” She shifted
