Lightning Game (GhostWalkers #17) -Christine Feehan Page 0,20
sound of your voice. You’re an incredibly charismatic man. I remember thinking you had everything. Looks, brains, your voice. You were fourth-generation GhostWalker, so even that was perfection. I should have known better than to judge anyone like that, let alone someone Whitney had access to.”
She sounded thoroughly ashamed of herself. He was just happy she thought all those things about him. He sent her a quick grin. “You think I’m brilliant?” Of course she’d found a way to cover herself. A Faraday cage essentially made into clothing. Clearly, the covering hadn’t contained the electromagnetic buildup completely, but certainly contained it enough to get her through the conferences for the most part. She was smart. Highly intelligent. He liked that.
“You know you are.”
“And charismatic?”
She gave him a faint smile. “You know you are,” she repeated.
“You like the sound of my voice and my looks?”
“Now you’re just pushing it.” She heaved an exaggerated sigh and rolled her eyes. “But yes, since you need affirmation, I do rather love the sound of your voice, and you’re impossibly good-looking.”
His smile widened. “Let me just tell my brother. He needs to know someone finds me attractive. He gets all the attention from the women.”
She thinks I’m brilliant, handsome and charismatic and that I have a great voice. Just so you know. She hasn’t mentioned how I smell yet.
You smell like a goat.
“He says I smell like a goat.”
Jonquille burst out laughing. A real laugh. His body reacted to the sound. She wasn’t loud, in fact her laughter was very soft, but it moved through his body the same way the electrical charges had.
“I can assure you that you do not smell like a goat. You have your own unique scent. In fact, I was upset with myself that I wasn’t aware of you when I first entered the cabin. Ordinarily, I have a very good sense of smell, thanks to our mutual enemy Whitney. It’s very …” She trailed off and looked away from him. “Suffice it to say, you do not smell like a goat. Your brother just wishes you did.”
He laughed. “We used to get into arguments over songs. I would listen to every song that had lyrics to do with storms. Thunder. Lightning. I’d learn the words and the beat. It drove Diego up the walls.”
“You did?” She stopped right on the small dirt path and turned to him. “I did the same thing. I think I know every song about lightning there is.”
At last, something to connect them. It was silly, but it was something to make her relax in his company. They walked for the next ten minutes slowly, shooting off names of songs they each knew that had the lyrics containing the word “lightning” in them, each trying to stump the other. Rubin was older than she was and certain he would stump her first, but she knew every song he tested her with.
It was Jonquille who bested him with a band from the UK. She sang a few lines and tapped out the beat over and over on her thigh as she sang the refrain. When he couldn’t name it, she was declared the winner, and he insisted she sing the entire song. He was fascinated with the way she tapped on her thigh as she sang, clearly typing her own code of the song with the pads of her fingers. It was fascinating and a little sexy.
He indicated the small pathway leading deeper into the woods, the one that led to the spring they’d developed behind the house. It was a pretty walk. He wanted her to feel comfortable. Night sounds always brought him peace. The katydids in the trees were rubbing their wings together like violins to give them their continual tunes. The crickets accompanied them without missing a beat. Frogs chimed in, a chorus of various types, tree frogs and frogs sitting down by the stream calling back and forth to one another. He could identify each of them and whether or not they were male or female.
He waited until they were halfway to the spring. “I’ve been thinking about our conversation on smells. A lot about it, actually. You’re not going to get away with that. I told you what you smell like. It’s only fair that you tell me what I smell like, even if it’s worse than a goat.”
She walked a few steps, color seeping up her neck into her cheeks. She gave him a faint smile. “When the needles of