The Pagan Stone Page 0,81

And so thinking, turned to study her. "How about making fresh coffee since I almost died?"

"Doing ordinary, routine things, such as making fresh coffee, would probably make you appreciate life more."

So much for sweet talk, he decided. Since there was a bag of Fritos on the counter, he dug in. "What was in the tea?"

She only smiled. "About four hours' sleep, apparently. Someone dropped by to see you while you were out."

"Who?"

"Ann Hawkins."

He considered, sipped coffee. "Is that so? Sorry I missed her."

"We had a nice chat while you sawed a few off."

"Cute. What about?"

"Life, love, the pursuit of happiness." She picked up her bottle of water. "Death, demons. You know, the usual."

"More cute. You're on a roll." And on edge, he mused. However well she masked it, he sensed nerves.

"I'm working on something that popped into my head when we talked. We'll go over it when I nail it down a bit more. She loves you."

"Sorry?"

"She loves you. I could see it in the way she looked at you while you were sleeping. And by the expression on your face now, I see that kind of talk is uncomfortable for a big he-man like you. But that's what I saw on her face, heard in her voice. For what it's worth. Now, go find something else to do and somewhere else to do it. I'm working."

Instead, he crossed over, grabbed a fistful of her hair and tugged her head back so he could crush his mouth to hers. The moment flashed, then spun, then held. He felt another hint of dizziness, another taste of euphoria before he released her.

Her eyes opened, slow and sleepy. "What was that about?"

"Just another ordinary, routine thing to help me appreciate life."

She laughed. "You're cute, too. Oh the hell with it," she said and pulled him against her to hold on, to lay her head on his shoulder where the demon's mark rode. "Scared me. Really, really scared me."

"Me, too. I was going. It didn't seem so bad, all in all." He tipped her head back again. This face, he thought, these eyes. They'd filled his vision, his head. They'd brought him back. "Then I heard you bitching at me. You slugged me, too."

"Slapped, that time. I slugged you before, during our brilliant performance on the deck."

"Yeah. And about that. I don't remember us talking about punching."

"What can I say. I'm a genius at improv. Plus, it seriously and genuinely pissed you off and we needed plenty of anger to sucker the Big Evil Bastard in. Your plan, remember? And you said we'd all have to get rough and real to make it work."

"Yeah." He picked up her hand, studied it. "You've got a decent right jab."

"That may be, but I believe it hurt my hand more than it hurt your face."

He closed her hand into a loose fist, then brought it to his lips. Over her knuckles he saw those gorgeous eyes go wide with shock. "What? I'm not allowed to make a romantic gesture?"

"No. Yes. Yes," she said again. "It was just unexpected."

"I've got a few more, but we made a deal early on." Intrigued by her reaction, he rubbed his thumb over the knuckles he'd just kissed. "No seduction. Maybe you want to close that deal off, consider it old, finished business."

"Ah... maybe."

"Well then, why don't we..." He trailed off at the sound of the front door opening, slamming. "Continue this later?"

"Why don't we."

Fox strode in first, carting a couple of bags. "Look who's back from the dead. Got food, got stuff, got beer. Couple of twelve-packs in the car. You ought to go out, give Cal a hand bringing the rest in."

"Got coffee?" Gage demanded.

"Two pounds of beans."

"Grind and brew," Gage ordered and walked out to help Cal.

Cybil looked at Fox, who was already pulling a Coke out of the fridge. "I don't suppose you'd take that and go away, and take the rest of your kind with you for an hour."

"Can't. Perishables." He pulled milk out of one of the grocery bags. "Plus, starving."

"Oh well." Cybil pushed away from the laptop. "I'll help you put those away. Then I guess we'll eat, and talk."

SHE WASN'T REQUIRED TO COOK, WHICH CYBIL felt she was often cornered into doing. Apparently Cal and Fox had decided it was time for their own backyard barbecue. There were worse ways to spend a June afternoon than watching three good-looking men standing over a smoking grill.

And just look at them, she thought as she and