Mine flies true, Seth’s veers off to the left, but neither of them hit their mark because Mr Moving-with-super-speed shifts to the right. The quills pierce his collection of supplies, shattering one jar in an explosion of red stuff, knocking the lid off another and releasing some kind of buzzing insect, and tipping over fine yellow crystals that immediately begin to dissolve in the red liquid and stain the floor orange.
Roarke jumps to his feet for the second time in ten minutes, though this time without the squeak. He bounds backwards toward me, arms out wide as the final splashes of orange settle across the room.
Once it’s clear nothing is going to go boom, he turns on Seth, true anger in his eyes.
“Seth,” he snarls. “You could have killed her!”
I swallow. “He could have?”
“I have no idea what he just made. I’ve never mixed that much of those ingredients together before and never without the crushed moonlight bugs. A few drops – that’s all I ever use, a few drops!”
Damn, he’s really upset.
I shrink. “Sorry.”
“Not you, him,” Roarke snaps, pointing sharply at Seth.
The big guy runs a hand through his hair, moving out from Roarke’s line of fire. “He’s right, it wasn’t supposed to go wrong, but it did. Even if it’s harmless now, potions are unpredictable. Masters design them for a reason. Sorry, Vexy.”
“I’m not the one mad,” I tell him, then notice the red splatters on Roarke’s shirt. I have no idea what that stuff is, but it was heading straight for me. Doesn’t mean it wasn’t my own fault though.
Seth scoops down, picking up the two quills, both of them stained a burnt orange color, and both of them now clearly his. He doesn’t break his stride, heading straight for the stairs.
“Well, I need a shower and a rather private moment on the toilet, so I’m going to go this way and leave you two with all of that,” he says, waving an exaggerated hand to indicate that both Roarke and me are all of that. “Before I make more of a mess.”
His posture, the sag to his shoulders, and even the flat tone to his words, are all too much to bear.
“I still love you though,” I call at his back, which makes him freeze mid-stride, swivel carefully, and meet my gaze. As if looking for sincerity before his lips pull back into a huge smile.
Crap! Can he see how hard my heart is hammering – because where the chuck did those words come from?
I meant every syllable, but I hadn’t meant to say them out loud. Damn mouth!
He lifts one of the stained quills to his lips, kisses it, then blows the kiss across to me. “Always,” he says, then retreats so fast I’m pretty sure the word was a slip of his tongue too.
He’s gone, and I damn near can’t breathe.
Roarke smiles down at me, giving me a distraction from the empty staircase.
“He makes you happy, doesn’t he?”
“What makes you think that?” I ask, well try to ask, it’s part gasp really.
“Because you’re holding your breath. Those words meant a lot to you?”
Chuck yes, I want to say, but just manage a nod.
Roarke hooks a finger under my chin, trying to hold my gaze with a mix between curiosity and calm understanding written across his face. I draw in a full solid breath, but my insides are still buzzing with Seth’s words.
“I like seeing you happy,” he says, then he snatches the plate from the edge of the bench and drags me over to sit down next to his stack of books. “But I have to focus, and if you’re in here with me, you have to focus too.” He holds his quill up, waving it a little to get my attention. “Not for throwing.”
I try to snatch it off him, which doesn’t work because the guy can move almost as fast as time.
“I thought it was perfect for it, actually.” I accentuate the ‘actually’ and playfully nudge him with my shoulder. The contact feels warm, desire-filled warm, and I’ll admit straight away that I want to do it again.
Or hug him. Or maybe even tackle him and pin him down.
He’s smiling and looking at me, but not at my hand or even my eyes.
His attention is all on my lips.
I run my tongue across them slowly, teasingly, and his smile tilts at the corners in response. He reaches across and presses his finger to my lips, and I gasp at the slip of heat from his skin to mine.
“Stop that, Kitten,” he says, turning slightly and angling his full attention at the books on the floor.
I giggle and glance over them. The scrawls are pretty enough, but meaningless.
“I like teasing you,” I decide.
“You don’t even have to try,” he says, his tone soft enough that he might actually be talking to himself, then he grips my chin and turns my face toward the books – and away from him. “Focus.”
I chuckle at him, but in truth his touch is more than welcome, even if it is only on my chin. And even if he does let go way too soon.
“So… you’ve been up here reading for hours on end and thought you could do with some chocolate to keep you going?” I ask.
He makes a, “Mm-hm,” kind of noise, using his finger to track where he is up to on the page.
Then, like he’s paying no attention to me, he slides his hand under the cover of the book and pulls out half a block of chocolate. I snatch it up, even though he’s clearly offering it to me. With a sideways kind of wink, he relinquishes it.
“I’d never eat all of your chocolate, Kitten,” he says softly.
I snap two
