Don't Hex and Drive (Stay a Spell #2) - Juliette Cross Page 0,6
have amplified. Or maybe that was just because I wasn’t so focused on the accident now that I was safe in my home.
He reeked of power. His disarming stance and charming smile did nothing to diffuse it. My Conduit magic could detect potent sources of energy better than any supernatural, and this guy was pumping it out in waves. I suddenly wanted him out of our house.
“Oh, my goodness,” gushed Clara, wide blue eyes staring at him. “Your aura is…”
His head tilted, his expression softening to one of humility. As if. “I’ve heard from other clever Auras that it’s a kaleidoscope. Am I right?”
She nodded eagerly. “Such a pretty rainbow.”
His smile brightened even more. Good Lord, Clara! Don’t encourage him.
“But I know you,” continued Livvy, standing closer to him, studying his face. “I’ve seen you.”
He offered her his hand. “I’m Devraj—”
“Holy shit!” Livvy gasped, grasping his hand in hers. “You’re Devraj Kumar.”
With a modest smile, he nodded once and shook her hand. “I am.”
“Who?” I asked. I mean, he’d told me his name, but why would Livvy know him?
She let out a laugh that sounded a little too fangirly to me. Livvy never gushed or fangirled. “Isadora. You were hit by the Devraj Kumar. Famous Bollywood movie star.”
“Oh, a movie star. Well, I guess that makes it all right then.”
“And you’re a vampire,” added Violet with wicked glee. “So fucking cool.”
Livvy dropped his hand and held her mixing bowl with both hands again. “Do you work for Ruben?”
Was she fluttering her eyelashes? What was happening here?
He paused, charming smile still in place. “On occasion. And I’m in town to visit and help him with a case. If I can.”
His gaze skated to me on the sofa where I was sure my glare of extreme annoyance—or seething hatred rather—was more than apparent. I don’t care if he’d won Sexiest Man of the Year, two Oscars, a Golden Globe, and Coolest Asshole in a Lamborghini Award. The fact that he had my sisters all swoony and girlish made me want to hurl.
“Speaking of which…” He glanced back toward the hallway that led to the front door. “I should be going.” He rounded the sofa and leaned over, taking my hand in his. “It was a pleasure bumping into you.”
“Really?” I snapped, a little too much venom in my voice.
He stifled a laugh. Just barely. “Truly.” He squeezed my hand with both of his, then he removed a card from his pocket and handed it over to me. “I’ll deliver your bicycle to you as soon as possible. And replace your phone.”
“I have phone insurance,” I said again, staring at the white card with just his name in bold print and his phone number.
“Then send me the bill for the deductible. I take full responsibility for this accident.”
Even though he’d mouthed off to me when it first happened, I was almost mollified as he strode for the hall.
“Wait! My pansies.”
He turned. “How could I forget? Could one of your sisters…?”
“I’ll go,” and “Let me help,” and “I’ll get it” came out of my sisters’ mouths all at the same time.
His charming smile brightened, and I wanted to punch it off his face. His sultry gaze swept back to me.
Sighing, I said, “Clara, you go.”
He dipped his head in a slight bow like some aristocratic lord from the 18th century then gave me one last searing look before he left. Which made me wonder again how old he was.
Vampires could live well close to a thousand years. They had the longest lifespan of the supernaturals. That we knew of, anyway. Werewolves could live to half a millennium or thereabouts. Most witches lived well into their three hundreds. Sometimes a little longer. The only one we still weren’t sure of was grim reapers. But that’s because we knew next to nothing about them at all. And they liked to keep it that way.
As soon as the front door opened and closed, Violet fanned her face with her hand. “Fucking hell, that vampire is hot.”
“You think everybody is hot,” I snapped.
Violet laughed, but Livvy shook her head, tasting the chocolate batter from her spatula before pinning me with her narrowed gaze. “Isadora. You can’t pretend he isn’t. Even you with your no-man-is-worthy attitude can’t pretend he isn’t panty-melting.”
I sniffed and straightened on the couch. “Whether he is or isn’t means nothing. He’s an arrogant ass who hit me with his car.” I pulled down the faux why chinchilla throw on the back of the sofa and