Wolves at the Door - Lidiya Foxglove Page 0,26
doorway.
“Oh, sure,” Jake yelled back at me. “We all knew you were going to fuck the incubus. Get it out of your system and then let him go back to the senate or whatever he does.”
Chapter Twelve
Helena
If Graham heard Jake yelling at me, he gave no sign of it as we drove to the house. I was determined to project confidence. Billie hit a nerve when she talked about my boarding school education. As far as I knew, a confident woman knew how to play hard to get. How to say no. How to be aloof and modest.
Yeah, they taught me all of that and I wasn’t nervous at all on that footing.
What they never taught me was what to do if you were just feeling super charged up surrounded by sexy men all day, and they seemed as into you as you were into them. How long was I supposed to play hard to get? When Graham kissed me it was so hot that my lips still remembered every moment, and I was proud of myself for making him wait.
Now it was almost a month later and I was just itching to feel a man in real life. Dream sex was awesome but it was different. It lacked the raw edge of reality, the sweat and the smell of desire and all the messy stuff of life. I had never minded getting dirty.
Graham’s eyes flicked toward me like he caught a hint of the need building in me now.
The whole time he was driving, his phone kept vibrating with messages and missed calls, and occasionally he glanced at it, but now he turned the phone off.
“Here’s the house,” he said, stopping in front of a house that was cute as a button.
“A shotgun shack! In pink! How did you know I would love this?”
“I’m not sure I did know you would be this excited about a ‘shotgun shack’, but I got the feeling you like a lot more color in your houses than in your wardrobe.”
“That’s very true. Well, if I had a place of my own and I was more settled, I would want one just like this. Just the right size for me and a dog.”
“Just a dog?”
“Well…we’ll see what happens.” I hopped out of the car. We were close to a town now, within walking distance to shops and restaurants, one of those touristy small towns. It was the type of town a witch might prefer, one where you could open up a shop to sell herbs and human-approved magical stuff, or tell fortunes, or some silly thing, and walk to a bar in the evening for a nice drink in the fresh air, without being so saturated by human life that it killed you. We were about fifteen minutes from Greenwood Manor. Deveraux wasn’t the hermit that Fiore had been, but then, I could tell that from the house. I don’t know when he last partied as an old man, but it was obvious that at one point, he had a house worth showing off to friends.
Graham opened the little gate that surrounded the house, waved me into the spot of front yard where a few flowers clung to life before a frost nipped them, and entered a passcode to get the key.
Despite the small size of the cottage, it still had double front doors and inside it was just a dream. The style was effortlessly Bohemian with a well-worn rug and an antique green velvet couch, and old prints advertising Louisiana musicians on the walls around a small brick fireplace. Straight back was a dining/work space and a kitchen, and the bedroom must be up the spiral staircase in the attic space. The decorating theme was carried through perfectly from end to end, with glass-door bookcases, tall windows that generously spilled in light, instruments hanging in the dining room, and heart of pine flooring.
“I can tell you’re happy,” Graham said. “I’m glad you came to see it. As soon as I saw it listed I thought it was a place you would appreciate, even if it is a ‘human’ house.”
“It’s not your style, is it?”
“I’ve always been more of a minimalist. I don’t enjoy dusting. But I don’t have to dust this one, so let’s enjoy ourselves. Gumbo tonight?”
“Yes, please!”
We had a lovely evening. Hot, spicy gumbo loaded with shrimp and Andouille sausage on a cool night is not something I’d say no to, and I wasn’t inclined to say no to the handsome