Magical Midlife Dating - K.F. Breene Page 0,49

tingling warmth spread within my lady-drawers. Usually a man got the position of power and the underling was an implausibly sexy young woman. The role reversal was a little hot, making me want to do things that were a lot naughty, and oh my God, where were these thoughts coming from?

I cleared my throat, trying to scrub my mind while I was at it. I might have to work with this guy—you never got involved with someone you worked with.

“You need to live a little. When the pants come off, make sure he’s the one on his knees.”

I blocked out Ivy House’s magical communication and thus her voice. She wasn’t helping.

“Well now, this is nice, everyone just standing around, staring at each other,” Niamh said, cutting through my frozen thoughts. Mr. Tom sighed much too loudly.

There went any semblance of classiness, gone with one comment.

“Hi,” I said to the room at large, not able to tear my eyes away from the tall man in the back. He was Mr. Tom’s height—six four or five—but he looked much larger by virtue of his perfect posture. His broad shoulders and muscular chest was nearly as robust as Austin’s, and his wings fell so low that they nearly dusted his ankles.

A surge of heat blistered through me, making me want to fly with him again. To see those incredible wings snap out before they pounded against the air. Something in me craved it. And I didn’t just want to see it—I wanted to join him, to meet him in the sky so we could tumble down together, our bodies entwining, reaching our finish and separating before we crashed into the ground.

I belatedly realized I was fanning my face while staring at him. A sheen of sweat covered my brow. Live a little, indeed. I’d gone completely off the rails.

“Hi,” I said again with a sheepish smile. “Welcome. I’m Jacinta—Jessie, if you like.” Mr. Tom sniffed, and I wasn’t about to stop and question why. I forced my gaze away from Mr. Hot Guy, looking over the others gathered in the room. Fourteen new faces. The guy with pink hair smiled at me, but the rest of them stood or sat with straight faces and patient gazes, living stone. “Thank you for showing up today. Really. You saved the day. We’re going to have to be a lot more careful now that we know people are infiltrating this neck of the woods. If not for you, I would’ve been splattered on the rocks.”

My gaze slid back to those serious, deep brown eyes in that handsome face, letting him know that last thank you was for him in particular. His nod was succinct—just another day saving damsels in distress.

“I’d like to go around and get all your names, if I could,” I said, taking another few steps into the room. “After that we’ll order some pizzas, I’ll give you a little history on my situation here, and we’ll figure out what we’re going to do with all of you. You won’t all fit in Ivy House.”

“At least one of them sure will, though,” Niamh murmured, and my face burned hot. This was not the time to return to blushing.

Or fanning my face.

Or agreeing with Niamh.

It certainly wasn’t the time for all three…

13

“Okay, well…” Later that night I stood in front of Damarion’s chosen room like a geeky teenager who didn’t know how to flirt.

He and two others, not including Cedric, who was also staying, had been given rooms in Ivy House, Mr. Tom insisting at least that many resident gargoyles were needed to protect me after the attack. Damarion had pushed for more, but I didn’t want to feel like I was walking on eggshells in my own home. Four strangers were bad enough, especially when one seemed to cause hot flashes of the lustful persuasion.

My God, the guy was hot, though. Hot and intense and I couldn’t push away the fact that he’d saved my life and thought nothing of the act. It made him that much more desirable.

I was crushing. Hard. I’d forgotten what it was like. I kinda liked it, though I could do without all the embarrassing remarks from Niamh and the goading remarks from Ivy House. I didn’t need one pimp, thank you very much, let alone several. Good grief.

Damarion waited just inside the door, his gaze rooted to mine, a man of few words.

“Thanks again, for everything,” I said, prone to babbling around him. I wasn’t a master at

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