Dark Flame (The Immortals #4)(15)

“And then there’s the small fact that you started this car without a key—and I think we both know it’s not that kind of car—that this particular model definitely requires one. And let’s not forget about the first day when I found you in the store, despite the fact that the door was locked, not to mention how quickly you found The Book of Shadows, which was also protected by a lock. So, forget all the rest, forget the apologies and explanations and all of that nonsense, what’s done is done, there’s no going back. All I want now is for you to explain the how. That’s all I’m really interested in.”

I glance at him, swallowing hard, unsure how to proceed. Attempting a feeble joke when I say, “Okay, but first, tell me, have those pain meds kicked in yet?” Chasing it with this horrible laugh that only succeeds in making him mad.

“Listen, Ever, if you ever decide to get honest, you know where I live. Otherwise—” He tries to open the door, tries for the big, bold, dramatic exit, but with both arms bandaged, it’s not as easy as it seems.

So I jump from my side to his, appearing beside him well before he can blink and hoping he doesn’t view it as a threat to his masculinity when I say, “Here—allow me.”

But he just stays seated, sighing and shaking his head as he says, “And then of course, there’s that—”

Our eyes meet and I suck in my breath.

“The way you move as quickly and gracefully as a jungle cat.”

I stand there, silent and still, unsure what comes next.

“So, you gonna help me or not?” he asks, raising a single spliced brow.

I nod, going through the motions of opening his door and offering my arm for support, sensing how weakened he is the moment he leans his weight onto me.

“Can you get the front door too?”

“Of course.” I nod, looking at him. “Just hand over the keys.”

His eyes graze over me. “Since when do you need a key?”

I shrug, heading down the narrow, softly lighted path that leads to his door, taking in an amazing array of vibrant pink and purple peonies when I say, “I had no idea you had such a green thumb.”

“I don’t. Well, not really. Lina planted everything. I just maintain it. We grow most of the herbs for the store right here.” He motions toward the door, obviously tired of this, tired of me, eager to just get inside and be done with all this.

So I close my eyes, seeing the door open before me until I hear that unmistakable click and wave him right in. Then I stand there like an idiot, performing this ridiculous little half wave, like I just dropped him off after a really nice picnic. Reluctant to move even after he shakes his head and motions me in, requiring a firm, verbal invite before I venture any farther.

“You gonna attack me again?” His gaze sails over me, filling me with a wave of nice, languid calm.

“Only if you get out of hand.” I shrug.

“Was that a pun?” He squints, his lips curving ever so slightly.

I laugh. “Yes, and a really bad one at that.”

He leans against the doorjamb, looking me over slowly, leisurely, taking a long deep breath before he says, “Listen, I hate to admit this, especially to you of all people, since you’ve pretty much emasculated me enough for one lifetime, but I might need a little help getting set up. The meds are kicking in and I wasn’t much good when I was sober and one-handed, so I can’t imagine how I’ll fare now. It’ll only take a minute, two at the most, and then you can get back to Damen and on with your night.”

I frown, wondering why he just said that. Switching on the lights and closing the door behind me as I follow him inside, gazing around the small cozy space, amazed to find myself inside a real, authentic Laguna Beach cottage. The kind with old brick fireplaces and large picture windows. The kind you don’t see in these parts anymore.

“Cool, isn’t it?” He nods, reading my face. “It was built in 1958. Lina picked it up cheap, a long time ago, before all the money and reality shows rolled in.”

I head for the sliding glass door that leads to a nice brick patio that leads to a steep grassy slope, a set of stairs, and a slightly moonlit ocean beyond.

“She rents it to me cheap, but my dream is to buy it someday. She says she’ll only sell if I promise not to turn it into yet another Tuscan-style duplex. As if.” He laughs.

I turn away from the window and wander into his kitchen, flicking on a light and opening a few cupboards until I find the one containing a set of drinking glasses. Looking around, searching for a bottle of water, only to find him standing so close I can make out each individual fleck in his eyes.

“Isn’t it easier to just manifest it?” he says, voice thick, low, deep.

I gaze at him, not sure what I’m bothered by more, his intimate proximity, the longing in his tone, or the way he was able to sneak up on me.

“I—I thought I’d just get it the old-fashioned way—if that’s okay? Guaranteed to taste the same,” I mumble, the words clumsy on my lips, hoping he’s too hopped up on pain medication to see just how much his nearness is affecting me.

He continues to stand there, gaze steady, giving nothing away. Voice groggy and deep when he says, “Ever—what are you?”

I freeze, fingers gripping the glass so hard I’m afraid it might break in my hand. Focusing on the tiled floor, the small table to the right, the den just beyond, anywhere but at him. The silence hanging so thick between us, I only want to break it when I say, “I—I can’t tell you.”