a perfect complexion, but she seemed to have a soft glow to her skin as well. Maybe from years sailing the seas under the Caribbean sun with the wind in her hair, and salt spray peppering her body in the sexy pirate outfit she’d described to him.
All right, he acknowledged, she probably hadn’t spent much time in the sun. She was immortal after all. But damn, did she glow. And while she wasn’t wearing the face paint most mortal females depended on, she was wearing a bright red lipstick that drew the eye to her pouty lips, as well as a bit of eyeliner that accented her large, gorgeous deep brown and gold eyes. She looked beautiful, he acknowledged, and then realizing he was blocking her from entering the building while he stood gawping at her like a love-struck teenager, G.G. cleared his throat, muttered a gruff, “Morning,” and turned away to head back to the bar, leaving her to follow.
“How was traffic?” he asked as he claimed one of the high-back bar stools, settled H.D. in his lap, and reached for his coffee.
“It started to pick up at the end of the drive, but was good most of the way,” Ildaria said lightly, taking the seat next to his.
It put her close enough that he could smell her perfume, a mix of vanilla and spice. It made him think of muffins, which made him hungry. And then he became aware of the heat coming off her body, and realized that if he shifted just the tiniest bit to his left, his arm would rub against hers. It made G.G. think perhaps they had too many bar stools along the bar. Maybe a few should be removed and the remaining stools spaced out farther to give customers more personal space.
“How was your night?” she asked.
Fighting the urge to shift a bit to his left to better feel her heat and perhaps even rub up against her, G.G. took a sip of coffee before answering. “Good. Busy as usual. Thanks for the pictures,” he added, recalling the photos she’d sent him during the course of the night and morning. The first had been of H.D. cuddled up with Julius on a dog bed, the pair both sleeping. The next had been of H.D. curled up against Ildaria’s legs on a bed. The picture had focused mainly on H.D. and had only shown her legs from mid-thigh down, but they’d been bare, and he’d found himself staring at them and wondering what she wore to bed, if anything. The next two pictures had been waiting for him when he’d woken up this morning, one of H.D. and Julius playing in Marguerite’s large backyard. The other of H.D. and Julius, side by side, gobbling up their breakfast. The last picture she’d sent had been just a little more than half an hour ago and had been of H.D. standing on the front passenger seat of the car, looking out the half-open window, his fur blowing in the breeze. Which reminded him—
“You shouldn’t be taking pictures while you’re driving. You could have got in an accident.”
“We were stopped at the end of Marguerite’s driveway, waiting to turn onto the road when I took that picture,” she assured him with a faint smile, and then explained away the windblown effect by adding, “It’s windy today.”
“Oh.” He nodded, but the tension in him didn’t ease much. He just couldn’t seem to relax for some reason. G.G. had no idea why. He wasn’t usually tense around women.
“Have you had breakfast yet?” she asked suddenly, and he glanced her way in surprise, and almost wished he hadn’t looked. Damn, she was smiling at him so sweetly, her luscious lips curved up, red and wet, as if she’d just licked them, and he had the sudden urge to lick them too.
“No,” he said finally, forcing his gaze away from her lips. “I slept in. I’ve only been up half an hour or so. Took a shower, made coffee . . .” He shrugged.
“And fixed your hair,” she teased lightly, her gaze sliding up to the Mohawk he’d tended to and formed after stepping out of the shower. He’d had the Mohawk so long, that fixing it every morning was second nature, and now took only a couple of minutes to do. G.G. was used to the looks he drew with it, and hardly noticed them anymore. Usually. But right now, with Ildaria examining the tall straight strands, he found