suspended animation himself, but he had the overwhelming instinct to calm her down. Make everything right in her world. Immediately. “Yes, but now will I have to go away and marry the—?”
Tilda interrupted with a high-pitched laugh, a flush breaking across on her cheeks. “This should be a family discussion, dear. Not a public one.”
“Will you tell my future husband I’m blind or are we going to surprise him?”
Future husband.
Tucker bit down on the inside of his cheek, his knees twinging like they might drop him.
The marriage decree. It was for her. He’d known that, of course.
But she’d been faceless until now. Inconsequential.
What was she now? What was happening to him?
“Mary, please. Come upstairs.”
Mary’s head jerked to one side, like a woman home alone at midnight who hears a stair creaking. Wary, curious. Her nose wrinkled and she advanced toward Tucker slightly, her bare feet moving on the filthy, unworthy floor of the bar. Slayers parted like a book being opened as she got closer to him, her hand lifting slowly, reaching out. Was she going to touch him? Jesus. He started breathing hard, even though oxygen meant nothing to him.
Desire wasn’t exactly a word Tucker threw around, but there was no other description for the thick weight that stretched his loins just looking at the redhead. Soft. So soft and welcoming. A perfect foil to his ample size and coarseness. He would have begged just to press his mouth to her belly or inhale the scent of her from a piece of clothing. Anything.
He had one recurring thought that scared the shit out of him. If she touches me, I’m done. If she touches me, I’m done.
And she did.
And he was.
Her fingertips trailed sideways along the middle of Tucker’s chest. She traced his gold chains, branding the skin of his neck with gentleness, then carefully walked them over his features, a frown marring her brow. She felt her way along his nose, cheekbones and lips, disrupting his sanity wherever her touch traveled, arousing, while somehow comforting him at the same time. Giving him reassurance he’d never felt, not since becoming immortal. He would have closed his eyes and savored not only her touch, but the utter beauty of her up close, if he could have. If only he could stop staring. Absorbing the texture of her fingertips and imagining them much farther south. Unzipping his jeans and sliding her soft hand inside. Exploring.
Greedy. Be satisfied with her touching your face. Who knew when he might get this lucky again? This angelic creature seemed fixated on him—Tucker Moore—and he wasn’t budging for all the cigars in Brooklyn.
“Who is this, Mother?” Mary asked.
“You can ask him directly, Mary. He’s standing right in front of you.”
“I’m just Tucker,” he said, his voice far less firm than intended.
That line between her eyebrows deepened. “Just?”
Her confusion made his chest feel odd. Change the subject. Entertain her. Make her stay. “Why do you use a broom to guide you?”
Her perplexity cleared. “Because it serves a dual purpose. I’m not just walking around, I’m cleaning the floor behind me. I’m like a human—”
“Roomba,” they said at the same time.
“Yes,” Mary whispered, smiling. Happy red pinpricks came to life and whirred around the crown of her head, kicking up a hushed murmur around the bar, not to mention in his heart. Elsewhere, Tucker had far less admirable thoughts, though. Imagining those specks of light dancing on his thighs and stomach, the fly of his jeans turned even more restricting. But the swelling between his legs paused abruptly when she said, innocently as all get out, “Are you here to bring me to my future husband?”
Husband.
Husband?
Jealousy ripped through him. Was his throat caving in? “No.”
“Can you?”
“No,” Mary’s mother answered in his stead, once again seizing her daughter by the elbow and attempting to guide her away from Tucker. No. His muscles tensed, his feet jolting into action. He moved with the women, quickly, because distance between him and the redhead irked and rattled him. Pained him, even. Why? How? “No, he can’t, dear.”
Mary pulled out of her mother’s hold. “You haven’t even asked him.”
“I’ll do whatever she wants.” Tucker rasped, meaning every word. “Please.”
Just let me stay near her a while longer.
Tilda snorted. “Absolutely not.”
The red pricks of light doing a jig around Mary’s head started spinning. Faster and faster until each individual spark was indistinguishable and it looked like a halo. Fitting for an angel.
And this angel was pissed.
She sucked in a breath and screamed.
It wasn’t your