Sibyl’s eyes went skyward in exasperation. Though, she had to admit, if anyone deserved snarling, cranky Mallory tonight, it was definitely defunct-date Steve.
Colin walked toward her as she reached in and turned on the light switch that her father had rigged to light several of the lamps around the cottage, making traversing it easy upon entry with one single switch. This caused the whole glade around the front of the cottage to be diffused with soft, dim light.
Mallory followed Colin to Sibyl, snuffled Sibyl’s hand in belated greeting and then moseyed off into the night to do his business.
And suddenly Sibyl felt awkward as Colin stood looking down at her. She stared up at him, noting it was rather strange doing so. Being quite tall herself, and also wearing high heels, she would normally be eye-to-eye or looking down at the majority of people, even men.
She hid her discomfort and tried valiantly to end the night on a good note.
“Thank you for the ride,” she paused, “And the rescue.”
“You’re welcome.” Simple, softly said in his deep voice, and unbelievably effective, Sibyl felt the shockwaves of his tone all the way to her toes.
A shiver slid through her and she shook it off.
“Mallory!” she called, turning toward the dark night. When she glanced back to say goodnight to Colin, he spoke.
“Tell me something,” he requested quietly.
“Yes?”
“Your dog’s name is unusual. How did he get it?”
She shrugged feeling somehow this question seemed too personal because something in his tone made it so.
She decided to give him the short version. “My Dad names my pets. I’m hopeless at it. My Dad is kind of…” she hesitated, not wishing to share too much. It was easy when it was banter and it wasn’t dangerous. Colin Morgan knowing personal things about her and her family, she, for some reason, felt the need to be guarded. “A mythology buff. Thomas Malory wrote Le Morte D’Arthur and my father loves Arthurian Legend. So, he named him Mallory.”
“I see.” This, obviously, was a highly acceptable answer because he stepped toward her and she read the meaning to his advance loud and clear. She began speaking in a rush to stop his progress.
“Bran, my cat, is named for Bran the Blessed, of Welsh Mythology.”
Her ploy didn’t work, though he stopped, he did it close enough to her that she could feel him even though he wasn’t touching her.
“Can I see you again?” he asked, he was using his soft, effective voice and her toes curled.
Sibyl was stunned to her core at his request. She would never have expected after that night at Lacybourne that he’d want to see her again.
Tonight, however, he was different. Completely different.
She used every bit of willpower she had to say what was logical and right for her peace of mind. “I’m not sure that’s wise.”
She saw the flash of his smile and noted with a thrill of fear that he was entirely unaffected by her refusal.
“Why isn’t it wise?”
“Because I think you might be a little insane,” she blurted more bluntly than she would have done if she wasn’t trying very, very hard not to throw herself at him.
This could be her dream man. He was certainly acting like her dream man.
The problem was, the other Colin was most certainly not.
“I’m not insane,” he assured her, his voice made even more effective by the addition of a teasing note.
Then he came even closer.
Sibyl stepped back.
“Mr. Morgan –”