He’d gone and put his foot in it, hadn’t he?
Shifting his glance to a watchful Elle, he said, “Elle, love. Can you lend me a clean bar rag?” Elle slid one over. Picking it up, Dev released the blonde to clean off the sweat and grime he’d left on her skin. She had a narrow wrist, a gemstone on one finger in proportion to the one on her neck.
“Some nice baubles to be wearing way out here,” he observed, trying not to focus on how easy it would be to make his functional scrubbing a teasing stroke over her pulse, a hint of what he could offer to other parts of her. As she lifted her hand to accommodate him, he could feel that pulse beating like a bird’s heart. There was a delicate web of lines on her palm. Her lifeline was long, he noted.
“No sense in owning something if you’re not going to play with it. Show it off.” She turned her hand, interlacing a couple of her fingers with his own despite the cloth, and held them there at eye level, keeping his gaze focused on her face. He was a few inches taller than she was. “I’ll tell you my name if you give me the extra egg.” Considering that, he gave her a half shrug. “Well, I haven’t asked you for that, have I now? As pretty a name as I’m sure it is, it’s not much currency for what could provide me a good meal or two. Barter again, love.” She studied him, her mouth curving up. “A dance.”
“A slow dance.” Dropping the rag on the bar and letting her go, albeit reluctantly, he took another bracing swallow of the beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. As he did, he let his gaze move down and then back up, with as much brazen appreciation as she’d indulged herself. He thought he saw that hint of a smile reach her eyes at his boldness, but something else, too. Something darker. “The kind of dance that tells a man what a woman’s got to offer under her clothes,” he added.
Elle muttered something under her breath. Dev was sure it was something like “stupid bugger,” but because he was cracking on to the pretty stranger way too hard or because he was going hip deep into trouble and trudging along happily, he didn’t know. Well, as for the first, the blonde had started it, hadn’t she?
“Done,” the woman said. “If you give me your name.”
He took one green-black egg from the bowl and pushed it a turn toward her. “Devlin. You can call me Dev.”
“Lady Daniela,” she responded. The way she met his eyes as she said it made something reach in, wring his heart out like the rag.
Pain came with it, of course, and the reminder of why he didn’t linger long around civilization, let alone with a woman. “How do I know it’s not rotten?” she asked. “The egg.”
“You got a straw from your broom, Elle?”
Though the older woman gave him a narrow look, she plucked a good one, knowing what he was about. Dev took the other two eggs out and brought the three together end to end, nodding to his fascinated audience. “Now put the straw on the top of your middle one while I hold these to it.” He shifted his body to block the air flow of the nearest fan.
When she did, he continued, “Now, if the straw spins, the egg’s good for eating. If it’s sluggish or dead in the water, well, I’ve given you a bad egg.”
Lady Daniela watched, obviously intrigued, as the straw quivered and then began to move. Rapidly.
“Check the others,” Elle groused. “I don’t want you giving away a good egg and leaving me a bad ’un for Joe’s cake.” He’d never bring Elle a bad egg and she knew that, but Dev let it pass. He tested all three to both women’s satisfaction before returning the two to the bowl and putting the other in the cup of his hat.