His gaze locked with hers. “Sweet?”
Maybe that hadn’t been the right choice of word.
“I didn’t tell you to be kind,” he said evenly, “but because I want only the truth between us.”
Her pulse fluttered. His words reinforced what she’d believed about him from their first meeting: that he was a good person. A man of integrity, unlike Howard.
“I want you to know you can trust me. Always. With anything.”
“I want you to know,” she countered, “that I don’t normally go to a guy’s apartment and kiss him—not until I get to know him a little better than I know you.” Heat burned her face. “Tonight, I….”
“You?” he coaxed.
“I’m not sure what came over me. I’m guessing the liquor is partly responsible.”
“Since this is my apartment, I’d say the responsibility for tonight is entirely mine.” He looked down at their joined hands. “Speaking of responsibilities, I should check on the store. Will you be okay here by yourself?”
Her disappointment drove deeper, but she managed a smile. “Sure.”
“I shouldn’t be long. Galahad will cry at the door until I return, so I’ll take him with me.”
“Okay.”
He stared at her for a long moment then lifted his hand, raising hers along as well. Bringing her fingers close to his lips, he kissed her knuckles.
In one of the historical romance novels she’d read after her break-up with Howard, the hero had kissed the back of the heroine’s hand not just to show his interest, but his determination to claim her. A tremor raced through Molly, because she had to wonder about the meaning of Lucian’s kiss.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said, rising. “Help yourself if you’d like something to eat.”
“Why did you stop kissing her?” Galahad demanded, as soon as they were out of the apartment.
Raising his hand, Lucian added to his earlier spell. Silver light glimmered around the doorway, along with hallmarks identifying him as the sorcerer who’d cast the enchantment, before the illumination became invisible.
Carrying his laptop bag, Lucian hurried to the stairs. “You know why I stopped. You heard our conversation.”
“I heard it, but I don’t understand why you didn’t act on the kiss. She seemed willing.”
“As I explained, the situation wasn’t right.”
“Is that Lucian speak for ‘she didn’t turn me on?’”
“Hell, no,” Lucian muttered. When he’d kissed Molly, his jeans had grown so tight at the zipper, he’d wanted to tear them off, but the situation hadn’t been right for that, either. While he hadn’t mentioned his arousal to Molly, it had been a good reason for him to go to the shop and get himself under control.
“Let me get this straight. Because of your qualms—knightly honor and all—you’re walking around unsatisfied and as grouchy as a bull with a toothache.”
Pretty much.
Outside, twilight had fallen. Rain still fell in heavy sheets, but the thunder was less frequent and sounded farther away.
Lucian approached the rear door of the store. “I did what I thought was best.”
“Yeah, well, let’s hope she’s still in the apartment when we get back.”
“She will be. I cast a sleeping spell on her and strengthened the magical locks.”
Lucian entered the shop. The storm had riled up some of the dark magic collection. A cacophony of sounds greeted them: wailing, clicking, and thumping.
Galahad pressed his ears back. “Can you put a sleeping spell on me? Wake me when it’s quiet?”
“You have a job to do. Go check the store.”
“Aye, my lord,” the cat grumbled as he darted across the shadowy interior. The shop wasn’t usually dark in the evening, but the street lamps weren’t working.
Lucian put his laptop bag in the storage room then using his flashlight, headed to the shelves holding the dark energy items. Among the antiques affected by the storm, the Lady of the Plate was moaning; a sound of agony. The scarab’s wings flicked every few seconds. Judging by the intermittent tap, the finger of the murdered trapeze artist was moving in its box.
Lucian closed his eyes, focused his energy into a calming spell, and the noise-level in the store diminished. While the instruments in the storage room were quiet, and he hadn’t received any alerts on his phone, he hooked up his laptop and reviewed the readings for the past couple of hours. No trace of the ancient magic.
How puzzling.
The storm would have provided the perfect conditions to empower the anomaly, but it hadn’t appeared. Why not?
Lucian tugged at his beard. What piece of the magical puzzle was he overlooking?
“No problems in the store,” Galahad called from the main room.
“Good.”
As Lucian went to join the squire, headlights cut through the rain outside. A vehicle drove slowly down Whiskers Road.
“No one should be driving in these conditions,” Lucian muttered.
The same instant, he experienced an odd feeling: like ants crawling across the back of his neck.
A Dealer was nearby.
A gray SUV came into view, slowed, then parked outside the shop.
The feline growled. “I have a bad feeling.”
“Me too.” Foreboding rooting in his gut, Lucian reinforced the protective spells on the shop and cast enchantments to disguise his and Galahad’s physical presence. He moved backward, making sure he had a clear path to the storage room.
“Hide,” he said to the cat.
“But, your spells—”
“Until we know what the Dealer’s doing here, we’ll play it safe. Those are the rules.”
Growling again, Galahad hid under a chest of drawers.
Lucian stopped beside a tall wardrobe. Anticipation hummed in his blood. Motionless and silent in the quiet store, he was acutely aware of the sweat dampening his palms and the whisper of air as he breathed through his mouth.
He didn’t take his eyes off the SUV, while he mentally analyzed what might happen in the next few moments. He couldn’t use his magic to attack—not unless the Dealer struck first, there was no other way to spare innocents, or the situation was life-and-death critical. While he didn’t agree with all of The Experts’ rules, he’d sworn an oath to obey them, and so he would.
A man pulling up the hood of his raincoat got out of the SUV. Lightning flickered. In its light, Lucian saw the vehicle bore no markings. The Dealer obviously hoped to appear to be a tourist or town resident.
While training with Julius in his teens, Lucian had learned that once, there’d been only one omniscient organization: The Experts. After a disagreement in the time of the Ancient Egyptians, The Dealers had split off on their own. While The Experts strove to protect humankind from dark magic, The Dealers used it to manipulate people and events. Their ultimate goal: to become Gods of a world they’d enslaved.
During the reign of the Pharaohs, The Experts had been associated with the symbol of the ankh. When The Dealers had formed their own organization, they’d claimed the serpent, especially the cobra, as their symbol. The Experts had adopted a key.
Through the centuries, The Dealers’ influence had pervaded many societies around the globe. That meant not every instance of the serpent—in tattoos, jewelry, logos, and more—identified a Dealer. But, Dealers’s serpents were always visible, symbolically representing the role of choice in corrupt magic: not just the choice of The Dealer who used it but those who yielded to it.
The man hurried through the rain to the front of the antique shop. He had something in his hand: A phone? That’s what it appeared to be. He seemed to be scrolling, as though looking for specific information on the internet.
The man’s gaze, though, kept darting into the store.
As the hood slipped back a bit, Lucian committed to memory the guy’s features: buzz-cut blond hair, rounded face, thin mouth.
The Dealer set his left hand to the
glass and peered in. He looked right at the shelves of dark magic objects, and as he did, Lucian saw the cobra tattooed on his inner wrist, previously hidden by the raincoat’s cuff.
The Dealer’s phone—the magic-tracking device it really was—must have picked up the special collection. Knowing the downtown streets would be deserted, had he come to break in and steal some of the corrupted antiques?
He’d have detected the protections around the building that bore the hallmarks of William Lord, Lucian, and The Experts. Robbing the shop would be extremely risky and, quite frankly, stupid.
Unless….
Unless he hadn’t come for antiques, but for something else.
Someone else.
Lucian’s blood ran cold.
Since the Dealers had their own state-of-the-art detectors, they’d also know of the dark magic in Molly’s late mother’s home. Lucian thought of her asleep in the apartment. The spells he’d cast were strong, but he hadn’t expected a Dealer, and there could be more than one.
He had to get back to the apartment.
The man straightened away from the window, slipped the phone inside his raincoat, and returned to his vehicle. Moments later, the SUV eased onto the road and disappeared into the darkness.
Galahad padded toward Lucian. “What did he want?”
“Molly, I think.” Lucian sprinted to the storage room and retrieved his laptop.
“Molly?” the squire echoed.
“Later,” Lucian snapped. “Come on.”
The cat bounding ahead of him, Lucian exited the store. He scanned the parking lot for the SUV—the driver could have pulled around to the back of the building—but the vehicle wasn’t there. However, the Dealer could have parked a block down and returned on foot.
Resolve tightened the knot in Lucian’s belly as he raced to the apartment. The spells he’d placed were still in force. Still, he wouldn’t be able to relax until he saw for himself that Molly was safe.
He entered the dark apartment. The air seemed close, stuffy, with the air-conditioning not running.
Crossing to the sofa, Lucian looked over the back. Molly lay on her side, eyes closed, her cheek resting on her slightly curled hand and her head pillowed by a decorative cushion. She even looked beautiful when sleeping.
He exhaled a harsh breath. “She’s fine.”
“For the moment.”
“I will not let her get hurt. I swear—”
“Then you know what you have to do tomorrow, regardless of any qualms,” Galahad said.
Yes. Tomorrow, without fail, he’d find the anomaly. Whatever it took, he’d get into her late mother’s house and find it, for her sake as well as his.
His gaze traveled over Molly again, lingering on the wisps of hair trailing over her cheek and her slightly parted lips. A renewed ache gathered in his chest. He was going to have to betray her trust, but for good reason. Still, it didn’t make what he had to do any easier.
Lucian set aside his laptop bag and once again, reinforced the spells on the apartment. Then he went to the linen closet and fetched a cotton blanket which he spread over Molly. She sighed, but didn’t wake.
Galahad jumped up by Molly’s feet. “I’ll stay with her while you get some sleep.”
“Thanks. First, I’m going to try and get a message to Julius.”
“How, when there’s no electricity? As far as I know, you don’t have carrier pigeons. Birds might be dumb, but they wouldn’t fly in this storm.”
“Somewhere in the storage room, my grandfather has equipment to send Morse Code—”
“It’ll work?”
“No idea. I’ll keep trying to send a text.” Lucian frowned. “Julius needs to know, if he doesn’t already, that there are Dealers in Cat’s Paw Cove.”
Chapter Ten
Sizzling sounds and tantalizing smells coaxed Molly out of slumber. Eyes shut, her mind and body waking slowly, she savored the heavenly aromas: Brewing coffee, bacon—
Something soft brushed her mouth. The downiness was also purring. She opened her eyes to see golden fur—not the right color for one of her late mother’s cats.
As the events of the previous evening came flooding back, she sat up, dislodging Galahad, who’d been curled up by her shoulder. A blanket fell away from her to land on the feline.
Lucian had covered her while she’d slept, and she’d been oblivious to him doing it. Normally she was a light sleeper. The Hot Toddy must have really knocked her out.
How sweet of him, though, to have made sure she was comfortable. Hopefully when he’d leaned over her to spread out the blanket, she hadn’t been snoring, or even worse, drooling.
A scraping noise drew her gaze to the kitchen. Lucian stood at the stove, spatula in hand, while he watched whatever was cooking.
Her half-awake brain vaguely registered that for him to be able to use the appliance, the electricity had to be back on.
Lucian was half-naked. He wore dark gray pajama bottoms, but no top.
Oh, wow.
Her mouth went dry as her gaze skimmed over his impressive, sculpted back, down to where his waist disappeared under the waistband of his PJs. Her vivid imagination had teased her with an idea of how he’d look without a shirt; he’d resemble one of the muscular Highlanders or knights on the covers of her favorite romantic tales. But, what she’d imagined was nowhere near as awe-inspiring as seeing Lucian for real, his skin satiny and bronzed in the light streaming in through the kitchen windows, his honed muscles flexing when he moved.
How she wanted to trail her fingers over that gorgeous back—
Lucian glanced over his shoulder. “Good morning.”
“Um…good morning,” she managed to say.
She ran her fingers through her tangled hair then gave up. To try and make it presentable was a hopeless endeavor.
Lucian’s attention returned to the stove. “Breakfast’s almost ready. You hungry?”
“Starved.” She stroked Galahad, now sitting in her lap. “Thanks for the blanket. I didn’t expect to spend the night.”
“Better that you did.” Lucian didn’t turn around. “I heard trucks driving by a while ago. Probably city crews checking for damage and clearing debris.”
“What time did the power come back on?”
“Around three-thirty.” He put sliced bread into the toaster. “Want butter on your toast?”
“Yes, please.” She frowned. “I’m really surprised I didn’t wake up when the electricity returned.”
“You must have been tired.”
“I wasn’t, until right after you left. It was a bit strange. All of a sudden, I was exhausted. I lay down for a second, and that was it.” She gently pushed Galahad aside and stood. “I’m being a terrible house guest. What can I do to help?”
“Get out the silverware? There are coffee mugs in the cupboard to my left.”
She crossed to the kitchen, found the cutlery, and set two places on the kitchen table along with salt and pepper shakers and napkins. Then she got out white stoneware mugs decorated with the antique store’s logo, into which she poured coffee.
She slid one mug down the counter toward Lucian. “Nice cups.”
“They’re a promo item my grandfather ordered a few Christmases ago. They were quite popular.” Lucian gestured to the carton of half-and-half on the counter, letting her fix her coffee first. Chivalrous yet again. She murmured her thanks and, after getting her java to the salted caramel color she preferred, she leaned back against the counter and took a sip. Yummy.
And not just the coffee.
Lucian used tongs to take cooked bacon out of a pan and dry off the fat with paper towel then served up scrambled eggs and the toast. As he turned toward her, she glanced over what she hadn’t been able to see before: his chest lightly dusted with dark hair, leading into six-pack abs that narrowed down—
She snapped her gaze back up before she could get herself into trouble.
Lucian handed her a plate.
“This is a
feast. Thanks.”
He smiled. “My pleasure.”
“Do you like to cook?”
“I do, when I have the time.”
She followed him to the table. “I know what you mean. Some days, when I get home from work, I’m too tired to make more than a salad for dinner.”
“Where do you work?”
“I’m a teacher. Third grade.”
“You enjoy teaching?” he asked, pulling out a chair for her.
Molly sat and waited until he’d taken his seat. “I do enjoy it,” she said. “I love the kids. Most of them are hungry to learn. A few don’t come from the greatest home situations, so it’s hard for them to focus on their schoolwork.”
Lucian nodded. “I expect you want to help them.”
“I do. And I try. But there’s a limit to what I can do.”
He was silent a moment while eating a mouthful of eggs. “I have to admit, I was once one of those unhappy kids.”
She paused, a piece of toast halfway to her mouth. “You were?”
His brows rose. “You’re surprised?”
“Well, yes.” He’d learned his chivalrous ways somewhere. “You seem well-raised, educated, highly intelligent—”
He grinned. “Go on.”
Molly chuckled. “You like having your ego stroked?”
His stare sharpened a little and his smile turned sly. He seemed about to answer her question, but then shook his head.
“Why did you shake your head?”
“I was going to say something rude, but decided against it.”
“You decided to be gallant, you mean.”
“It seemed the wisest option.”
“Wisest—?”
“For totally selfish reasons, I must admit.”
She bit into the toast, and his gaze dropped to her mouth. When she licked butter from her lower lip, his eyes narrowed again and his Adam’s apple moved with a hard swallow.
The way he was staring…like he’d wanted to lick the butter away himself. Her lower belly heated as she remembered his kiss.
“I liked kissing you yesterday,” he said quietly. “If you become upset with me, I’m not likely to be able to kiss you again.”
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