kind, he frowned, looking at me like I was speaking in tongues. “You kidding? Everybody should be afraid of knives. Or at least avoid them.”
“Even butter knives?”
He just shrugged. “Knives are knives. I don’t like ’em either. They’re worse than guns. They’re for people who like to kill up close and personal.”
I shuddered involuntarily at the thought, and he reached for my shoulder. For the first time ever, I saw sheer frustration cross his face—when his hand passed through my shoulder, giving me nothing more than a little chill. He clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut, taking a few deep breaths. I almost reached for him in return, like that wouldn’t have made it even worse, and I fucking ached with the need for it to work. To be able to touch him.
There was pain in his eyes when he opened them. “It’s shitty, being dead. I can tell you how to learn magic. I’ve gotten pretty good at teaching it over the years. But I can’t protect you from assholes. I can’t help you paint the back room of your shop or move stacks of books.” His gaze dropped to the tabletop, refusing to meet mine. “Can’t touch you.”
And gods, but there was nothing I wanted more. Screw magic and murderers and whatever, all I wanted was those strong, callused hands all over my body. They’d be rough, I was sure. I wanted to arch into his imaginary touch like a damn cat. Have him take both my wrists in one hand and press them up over my head, his whole body draped over mine.
“I wish you could touch me too,” I whispered.
In that moment, there was nothing I wished more. Yeah, sure, a hug to comfort me about my knife issues. My victimhood.
My mother’s brutal murder and my constant fear that it would happen to me too.
But more than that, I wanted him to kiss me. Wanted him to pick me up, toss me over his shoulder, and carry me off to his cave. Or my bedroom, I guessed, since it was closer and also existed.
He reached out again, this time toward my face, running his hand along the curve of my cheek, leaving just enough distance to preserve the illusion and not make me shiver at the cold of him.
His gaze dropped to one side, and he rolled his eyes and dissolved into laughter. I was offended for all of two seconds before I followed his gaze and found Fluke, having crawled halfway across the table, the second part of “his” piece of toast in his mouth as he tried to slip back into his seat with it.
Slowly, he moved forward as though to put it back on my plate, but I waved him off. “Take it, you monster.”
And so he did, his self-satisfaction evident in the way he held his head high and munched on the toast, a nibble at a time, savoring every bite.
Chapter Twenty
Rufus’s stubby little legs couldn’t hope to keep up with Fluke zipping around Iris’s house, but he chased after anyway, barking excitedly and trying to catch the wily fox. Every time he got close, Fluke bounded away and let him chase after again. Finally, when they’d made a circuit of the front hall and foyer, Fluke let Rufus catch him.
The chubby old bulldog bowled right into his side, and Fluke went down like a ton of bricks, collapsing melodramatically, rolling onto his back and letting his legs stick up in the air, tongue hanging out like something from a cartoon. Rufus pulled back, almost tripping over his own legs trying to untangle and move away as he stared at Fluke nervously.
Iris raised a brow. “Is he okay?”
“Fluke,” I called out. “Don’t be a jerk.”
Instantly, he hopped up onto his feet and bounded over to Rufus, bumping into him and playing like a puppy.
“I guess that answers whether they’re going to get along,” I said, sighing at my obnoxious familiar.
Iris laughed and motioned us into the enormous formal dining room. We were once again seated across from each other, but this time the chair at the end of the table was pushed out too.
“I thought that might simplify things,” she said, motioning to it. “And that way no one had to pull out chairs for anyone else.”
“Much obliged, ma’am,” Gideon said with a nod, waiting for her to sit first, and then taking his seat.
Iris blushed like a schoolgirl.
Yeah, I felt her on that. Fucking tall handsome cowboy types.
Dinner, too,