The Last Warrior (Shifters Unbound #13) - Jennifer Ashley Page 0,61

one. She scrutinized the chip then tentatively put it into her mouth and crunched. “Not bad,” she admitted.

“Careful of those. Addicting.”

“Mmm.” Rhianne took the bag from him and munched a handful. “I understand why. Like shrimp.”

Ben grinned as she dug in for more. “I could get you shrimp-flavored chips.”

Rhianne wrinkled her nose. “I’m not certain that would be as tasty. But more shrimp would be nice.”

“We’ll go to New Orleans again once we figure out what’s going on and how to keep your father from finding you.” Ben lounged against the edge of the desk and opened a bag of chocolate-covered pretzels. “Why is the guy so evil?”

Rhianne crunched chips thoughtfully. If her father’s perfidy hurt her, she made no sign—or perhaps she was so used to his cruelty that she’d ceased being sentimental about him.

“Tuil Erdannan can do anything they wish, as you know. We don’t like the hoch alfar, and battle them, but that doesn’t make us good. Tuil Erdannan don’t notice what goes on in the world beyond their interests. Everything else is distant.” Rhianne took a final chip and gave the empty bag a disappointed glance. “Most Tuil Erdannan keep to themselves, like my mother, who focuses on her garden, her circle of friends, her own life. Even I don’t always figure into her world.”

“I understand that,” Ben said in sympathy. “I don’t know Lady Aisling as well as you do, but it’s like she’s remote and sharp at the same time.”

“Exactly. She knows precisely what goes on around her, but she chooses whether to put her attention on it or not. Ivor is somewhat the same. The difference is that he enjoys mastering others. He wants power for its own sake.” Rhianne shook her head. “Don’t worry. I got over him a long time ago. When I was little, I thought that if my father came to know me, he’d like me and take me under his wing, but I learned I was wrong. Another thing about Tuil Erdannan is we don’t lose ourselves to love. If love is there, fine. If it’s not, we’re not going to pine away and long for it. I came to terms with what my father was long ago.”

Had she? Ben read resoluteness in her, but did he see behind her lifted chin the child devastated because her father had rejected her?

“Goblins are totally different.” Ben fished in the drawer for another bag of potato chips, pulled it open with a satisfying crinkle, and handed it to Rhianne. “We love absolutely. Gut-wrenching, soul-churning, pining-away passion. We love with everything we’ve got.”

Rhianne took the bag, her rich brown eyes on Ben. “That must be hard for you.”

“It’s absolute hell. On the other hand, it’s sublime. Drowning in love is happiness you can’t imagine. It can also bring with it a world of hurt—but only if you make that love needy. When you turn it around, and love hard without being dependent on it in return, it’s the most magnificent thing in the world.”

Ben stopped, out of breath, wondering why he was yammering on about love while lost in her eyes.

Rhianne touched his lips. Her fingers were salty from the chips, and Ben licked her fingertip.

“I’ve never met anyone like you,” she said softly.

Ben swallowed, her touch, her words, going straight to his heart. “I’m the last of my kind. Unique.”

“That is not what I meant.”

Ben wanted to answer with a joke, but he could think of nothing. As she gazed at him, Ben moved her fingers from his mouth and kissed her.

He tasted the saltiness of the chips on top of the fieriness all her own as she returned the kiss, the chip bag crumpling between them.

If Ben ever allowed himself to lose his heart to a woman—which he could not afford to do—she would be the one.

Rhianne ran her fingers through his hair and down his neck, pulling him closer. She enjoyed kissing, and Ben obliged. His lips, still tender from their wild lovemaking, gentled the kiss, caressing her in softness.

A dry cough made them jump. Rhianne’s teeth banged against Ben’s before they broke apart and swung around. Ben’s hand went to the nunchaku he kept in the desk’s drawer under all the snacks.

The white-haired woman who’d paused on the veranda gazed at them from clear blue eyes behind a thick set of glasses. Her face bore few lines but the weight of her life’s experience was palpable.

“Ghosts, my eye,” she said in a firm voice. She pointed at