“I see. Then I believe we owe you a debt of gratitude for loaning this to us. It wil be invaluable to our investigation.”
Theron’s lips twitched, but not in humor. Lyra’s stomach sank into the floor. She buried her head in her hands and sighed. She was busted.
“Oh, you are mistaken, Monsieur Valorian. I did not loan it to anyone. Ms. Magice stole it from my home.”
Chapter 3
When Theron entered the room and saw Lyra bent over his book, a look of fierce concentration on her face, his heart actual y fluttered. The reaction surprised him. Most of his reactions to women were in lower places on his anatomy. But there was something about her that was unique. He had noticed it before, and he was certainly noticing it now.
It wasn’t that she was gorgeous, because she wasn’t.
Certainly, she had some redeeming qualities—big, brown, soulful eyes; a wide, inviting mouth; a petite, nubile body—but it was something more. A quality that transcended physical beauty. Something almost ethereal in nature. Standing now, her face stern and her hands on her hips, Lyra looked like a diminutive Amazon goddess. Caine remained impassive, his brow cocked, regarding Theron as if he were nothing. Then he looked at the baron. “Are you taking this man’s all egations seriously?”
“Are you cal ing me a liar, monsieur?” Theron replied.
“I’m sorry, but I find it hard to believe that Lyra, who has more integrity than most of us at the lab, would steal anything.”
“Your investigator came into my home, bound me with a sophomoric binding spel at best, and took my book without permission. If that is not theft, then what is it?”
“It was not sophomoric,” she grated out between clenched teeth. Everyone looked over at her.
It made Theron chuckle to see the tick at the little witch’s jaw. Magic surged out of her like a suddenly sparking electrical wire. He could feel it all around him. It surprised him how intense it was. She possessed power, this woman. More than he suspected she even realized.
“Lyra, is what this man is saying true?”
“No. Not real y.”
“Is it no, or not real y?”
She shrugged. “It’s complicated.”
Laal huffed. “Wel , someone had better start explaining because I’m very close to firing someone.”
Hands clenched into fists, Lyra glared at the baron and took a step toward him like an advancing lioness. Theron swore he saw her eyes spark with flames. “You can’t fire me because of this.”
“I most certainly can.”
Caine put his hand up to interpose. “No one is getting fired.
I’m sure there is a logical explanation for all of this. Isn’t there, Lyra?”
Hands stil fisted, she halted her progression toward the baron and turned her fiery gaze onto Theron. “If this stubborn jerk hadn’t refused to help with the translation, I wouldn’t have done anything so…so drastic.”
His body started to sweat from her heated gaze. Oh, she was a firecracker indeed, this witch. If he had more time in Necropolis, he would certainly enjoy battling with her. He wondered if their battles would translate into something more passionate. Something they could take to a private venue, like his hotel room.
“I don’t remember you thinking I was a jerk when you were flirting with me at the seminar.”
“I wasn’t flirting. You were the one hitting on me as I recal .”
She pointed her finger at him. “You were the one who invited me to your house, for a little midnightrendezvous. ” She said the last few words in an exaggerated French accent.
Theron had the overwhelming urge to gather her in his arms and cover her mouth with his. To kiss the smirk right off her face. He could just imagine what all that spark and fire would be like in bed. It was too bad she wasn’t real y his type or he’d certainly try before he had to catch his private plane back to France.
“I was merely taking pity on you,petite sorcière. You are much too uptight and I thought you needed to…relax a little and enjoy what Nouveau-Monde had to offer.”
The power she tossed at him nearly pushed him back a few steps. It was like basking in a forest fire. Her aura sparked and flared with orange, yel ow and red. It was incredible to see. He ached desperately to reach out and touch her, to actual y feel that kind of intensity on his fingertips.
“You son of a—”