You going to be pissed if I engage her now?
Would it matter? I know what you’re thinking, neshama.
The fact that Evan used the Hebrew endearment said he hadn’t pushed it too far. Or Evan was engrossed in a project and would chastise later. Either way, Niall would take the opening.
Sliding his arms under her back and thighs, he lifted her, concerned by how light she was. He was going to have the stewardess make her that ice cream sundae for certain. For now, he’d put her on the couch, get her a blanket so she could be more comfortable. Hopefully she wouldn’t be one of those who got out of sorts because her hair got mussed. He could well imagine those thick red locks in disarray. Her hair fell to her hips, and he’d love to see it brushing her sweet, naked arse.
Stop being a rutting beast, he reminded himself. Christ, she was cold. Instead of going to the couch, he sat back down in the chair, cradling her in his lap. Her cheek lay on his chest, her hands coiled in her lap. He kept one hand on her hip, holding her there, but put his other hand up on the window. He copied the movement as he remembered it, and he’d been correct. It was like she’d been following the up and down soaring flight of a bird, keeping pace with the plane.
“Our Master . . . Debra said he’s an artist?”
She didn’t move at all, but it was obvious she’d been awake as soon as he’d touched her. She might not be a warrior, but over a decade of being an Inherited Servant meant he couldn’t sneak up on her. She’d let him pick her up without complaint, though. Maybe she thought Evan was okay with it.
“Aye. He’s ae o’ a kind. Paint’s still his favorite medium, but now he does photography, sculpting, metalwork, whatever interests him. He doesnae stay any one place too long. Never has.”
“How can I be a good servant to him?”
Such a simple, direct question. One he’d never asked himself, not in three hundred years. Niall shifted. “Cannae say. I’m no prize in that department, but he keeps me around. Gives him a dog to kick without me actually being one. He likes dogs.”
She was staring at him as if he’d spoken gibberish. When she immediately dropped her gaze at his attention, he touched her chin. “I’m not a vampire. You can look at me. Make faces, blow raspberries, whatever pleases ye.”
“You are his representative. An Inherited Servant treats all with deference.”
“Well, I’d appreciate it if ye didnae. I like your eyes. I like seeing your eyes,” he amended, in case she started worrying about the whole manners thing again.
She studied him. “How long have you been with him?”
She seemed okay being where she was, but he wouldn’t call her relaxed. She was a nice lapful, her arse soft, and she smelled exotic, some light scent he couldn’t place. He wrapped the hair spilling over his knuckles around them, gentle-like and casual. “Since the early 1700s.”