Bewitched (Betwixt & Between #2) - Darynda Jones Page 0,29
me of the edge of a dull knife.
Annette bolted to attention. “Sorry. Defiance has been under the weather—”
“Yes,” he interrupted. “Until yesterday.”
How could he possibly know that?
“I called seven times.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said. “The phone was ringing off the hook, and it’s so loud. I unplugged it for a couple of days to allow Defiance a chance to rest.”
I reached over the table and set my hand on top of hers. She had zero reason to apologize or explain anything to this man. His demeanor spoke volumes.
He stopped and scanned the table as though just realizing we weren’t alone. “I have a situation I’d like your help with.” He changed his attitude, though not by much.
“We aren’t taking on clients just yet.” Annette squeezed my hand.
“I thought you took over for the witch,” he said to me, his earlier marching back.
“I haven’t done anything of the kind.”
I could practically hear his teeth grinding when he bit down. “It won’t take long. I have money since that’s all you people seem to care about.”
I was just about to launch into a tirade—one I had no hope of nailing, since I had no clue who this man was or what he wanted—when a calmness came over me. I looked past the giant and saw Roane walking toward our table, his strides full of purpose.
He didn’t stop when he walked up behind the man. He strode past him, leaned down, and pressed his lips to mine.
The kiss lasted barely the span of a heartbeat, but it was enough to steal my thunder. And my breath. And my complete train of thought.
He kept his face close to mine. “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
He raised up and addressed everyone at the table. “Ladies, gentlemen, lunch is on me, but I need to steal these two away if you don’t mind.”
They shook their heads indulgently. A few gazed lovingly. Serinda gave him a wicked grin. “Thank you, Mr. Wildes.”
He took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Anytime, Ms. McClain.”
She shook her head. “Incorrigible.”
After gracing her with the sexiest wink I’d ever seen, he helped me to my feet and led me and Annette away without so much as a glance at the man.
I risked a quick peek just in time to see ire spark around him as he watched us go. “I’m going to lose count,” I said, as Roane held open the door.
“Count?”
We walked toward a public parking area. “How many times you’ve come to my rescue, especially considering the fact that I’ve only known you five days. If you leave out my six-month dream-a-thon.”
“How many times has it been?” Annette ticked them off on her fingers. “He rescued you when your ex and his horrible mother were trying to weasel Percy away from you.”
“And when my powers emerged,” I said, remembering how Roane had held me under the cold shower while my powers burned me from the inside out.
“And when he got stabbed saving our lives from that guy who wanted to kill his girlfriend for leaving him.” She added another finger.
“If we keep going at this rate”—I weaved through a group of tourists—“you may not live much longer.”
“You’re worth the risk.” He kept his hand on the small of my back as we walked. His warmth seeped through my sweater and blouse.
“Were you following us?”
“Not us,” Annette said. “You. General’s orders.”
“What?” That threw me. “What general?”
Annette grinned. “That would be the silver-haired vixen living in the basement.”
I rolled my eyes. “Roane, you do not have to watch me.”
“Because it’s so taxing?” he asked.
“Yes. You have things to do, I’m sure.”
“Not today I don’t.”
A rush of excitement laced over my skin.
“So . . .” Nette glanced over her shoulder at us. “About the nibbling.”
Leave it to Annette to douse that excitement with a hefty dose of humiliation. Thankfully, we got in the car alone, and Roane followed us home on his Harley. I was nigh hyperventilating from watching him in the rearview. Muscle looked good on him in every way imaginable.
“You know”—Annette adjusted the mirror yet again—“some drivers like to use the rearview for their own, selfish purposes.”
“Are you catching this?” I pulled down the sun visor, trying to see him in that mirror. “He’s riding that Harley in his kilt.”
“Duh. That’s the selfish part. I want to see too.” She’d brought her car from Arizona at some point in the last six months, a ruby red Dodge Charger with a blacked-out hood. We’d had a lot of good times in that car.