Despite his calm tone, the nervous vibe increased. He genuinely cared whether she agreed.
Her pulse thudded as she turned her hand over to take his. "I haven't been out to the mounds in quite in a while."
She wanted to go. Oh, yes, indeed, she did. But was that a smart move? Or incredibly stupid? Belinda had known him for years, even knew someone he'd dated, so he obviously wasn't an axe murderer. Besides, if he were, wouldn't the awareness coming through their joined hands alert her with some kind of squicky feeling?
"You know you're going to be great," he said, "so don't overthink it."
His faith in her was reassuring. It flicked the soft spot in her heart that she tried to keep under control.
"My hero's stuck," he added. "I need to get out and walk and recharge the magic. Maybe it'll clear my brain, maybe not. Either way, I'll enjoy it more if you're with me."
Maybe she could help him figure out his story problem, sort of repayment for his help with this demo. "Okay," she said. "How's two thirty for you?"
"That works."
Maybe it did, Caro thought. Or else it was a huge mistake, but there was only one way to find out.
#
Rick kept a sharp eye on the path. Caro walked a half step behind him, her left hand gripping his right elbow while her right plied her white cane. The leaves underfoot on the unpaved path didn't seem to slow her down. They'd been in the woods about fifteen minutes, and she seemed to be reveling in the sunlight and life energy around them as much as he was.
"Do you want to climb the temple mound?" he asked as it came into view through the trees.
"Not unless you particularly want to. You can feel the residual power in it when you're up there, but it isn't really a comfortable sensation."
"No, it isn't. We'll stick to strolling through the trees."
Despite the shirt sleeve between his arm and her hand, having her hold onto him felt good. Not nearly as good as her growing trust did, though. He'd seen enough at the gallery, overheard enough of Dickhead Jerald's comments, to realize she'd had her share of bad luck with men.
Which you're about to add to.
Yeah, he'd doubtless become Dickhead Rick, but it was for a good cause. The mages who'd died at her brother's hands deserved to have the real story told.
From the right of the path came the faint zooming noises and thrum of wheels from traffic on I-16. Here under the trees, though, the air smelled of pine needles and damp earth and bark. A light breeze rustled the leaves, casting moving patterns of shadow over Caro's elegant features.
She wore wraparound sunglasses–to blend, since it was such a sunny day, she'd said. Caught up in a ponytail, her hair swung free of the long, smooth column of her neck.
A very kissable neck. As kissable as her sexy half smile.
Not that he had any business noticing. Gaining her trust for a story was one thing. Actual seduction for that purpose was just scuzzy. Especially with a woman who'd been hurt.
Yet he couldn't help asking, "What're you smiling about, Sunshine?"
"The sunshine, actually." Her smile broadened into a grin that had him fighting a sharp, strong urge to kiss her. "Plus the trees and the rabbits and birds and deer in the woods around us. You were right. Being out here feels good."
"To me, too." He drew his arm close, briefly pressing her fingers against his body. Her thumb stroked the outside of his elbow, a light, brief caress that shot all the blood in his head due south.
What the hell? She was barely touching him. He needed to make friends with her, not think about having her under him on a bed of pine needles.
Her smile faded. Above the sunglasses, her brow furrowed. She dropped his elbow and stopped. "Rick?"
Of course she'd sensed his change in mood. They'd both had their personal walls down, and magic carried emotional vibes that could be read at close range. But he didn't need magic to read her obvious emotional withdrawal.
He blew out an audible breath. "Sorry. Beautiful day, gorgeous woman, and a walk in the woods. It's a recipe for libido, but I didn't ask you out here for that."
"I know." When she cocked her head, that sexy half-smile quirked her mouth. "Considering all that, I'll just thank you for the compliment, and we can move on."
Moving on. Great idea. Not as great as the idea he wasn't pursuing, but a smart guy seized his reprieve and ran with it. Yet the light grip of her slim, strong fingers on his elbow seemed to echo through his body.
"You said you began weaving with one of those potholder kits," he said as they strolled down the path. "Why? What drew you to that?"
He'd emailed her that question, but he was desperate for any topic that would divert the tiny idiot brain in his jeans from its doomed preoccupation.
"I wanted to make something. Mom sculpts, as you know, and she's not a bad painter. I wanted to create with colors."
Her brother was reportedly a talented painter, too. Had she trained herself never to mention that?
"Why not paint, like your mom?" he asked, and then realized. "Ah. You can't run your hand over wet paint the way you can over the threads on your loom."
"Exactly."
She beamed at him, and he had the feeling he'd passed some sort of hurdle.
"I learned to use the potholder frame pretty quickly, but I wanted more choices of colors and patterns. My folks got me a small loom, and we went from there."
"Well, however you started, you're a genius now. You're brilliant, Caro."
"Thank you," she said quietly.
A rush of color suffused her cheeks, and he clenched his fist against the urge to caress that swath of bright pink. Especially when he sensed her doubt.
"I mean it," he insisted. "Surely you know how good you are."
Caro shrugged. "I like what I do. That doesn't mean it's good."
"All the critics agree it is, even if one or two demonstrated a certain lack of perception."
"Lack of perception." She smiled. "I like it."
"Well, I do fancy myself a writer," he said lightly.
"According to my dad, you're a very good one. How did you get started on that?"
"Made up stories about characters in books I'd read. I guess you'd call it fan fiction, though I never showed it to anyone. Then one day, a librarian found some of my stuff on a desk. She told me she thought it had promise."
Trusting that Caro would feel the vibe of his smile even though she couldn't see it, he added, "Besides, I like being boss of my own small universe."
"Who wouldn't?" She bumped her shoulder companionably into his. "So what kind of trouble was Max Grant in this morning, and did you get him out?"
"He'd followed a beautiful woman into a deathtrap. The Shade's goons–do you know who The Shade is?"
When she nodded, he continued, "Anyway, the goons have Max tied up in the wine cellar of a Swiss chalet, planning to sell him to a jihadist group in Pakistan. Or maybe Chechnya. I haven't decided."
"Thinking with the wrong brain, was he?" she teased.
Rick grinned and carefully returned the shoulder bump. "You could say. Though Max would say he had to follow the woman because she was his best lead to The Shade."
"Can he have something up his sleeve? Or somewhere else he can reach?"
"He could, but I did that in the last book."
They walked along in silence. Caro didn't seem to mind his rejection of her idea. He could almost feel her thinking, trying to find a solution.
Paying him back, he realized abruptly.
Damn it, he didn't want payback. He wanted her to trust him so he could get his story. Clear his dad. More–worse–he simply wanted her to like him. Crap.
"What about a new character?" Caro suggested. "Someone he knows and maybe isn't counting on?"
The back of Rick's brain went click. Slowly, he nodded. "I could work with that. It's worth a try."
"Glad I could help." She squeezed his elbow again, and the contact zinged through him. Again. Damn it.
"There's mud
in the middle of the path for the next ten yards or so," he said. "But there's enough dry space on the edges for one person with a few inches to spare. It's only a few dozen yards to the road, but do you want to go on or turn back? Or, since there's no one else out here, we could just translocate across."
"I can't," she said easily. "I can't summon an image of any kind of destination."
He should've realized. Translocating without at least an inkling of a visual could cause problems ranging from nothing happening to a mage ending up far from the intended destination. He could translocate them both–
"We can go on," she decided. "Let me walk behind you with a hand on your shoulder." Hesitantly, she added, "You'll be like an extra cane. If that's okay."
"Sure. Why wouldn't it be?"
Saying nothing, Caro slid her hand up his arm and across his back, and just that fast, he was as rigid as her cane. Shit. Good thing she couldn't see it. Because she was still touching him, he tightened his emotional defenses in case she sensed his arousal.
If she noticed, she didn't comment. "Ready," she said.
They walked the edge of the track in silence.
A few minutes later, they were past the mud. Rick stopped so Caro could move back to his side. "It's dry again here, but Caro, why wouldn't it be okay to use me like a cane?"
She bit her lip. After a moment, she said, "Some people don't...adapt well."
"Some people are idiots." Like Asshole Jerald, who'd probably inspired her comment. "We all have to lower our expectations when dealing with them."
"This is true."
Damned if her bright smile didn't warm him inside the way the sunshine warmed his face.
"Have dinner with me," he said.
"I can't tonight." Her reply came fast, abruptly. With no further explanation. Her face around the sunglasses tensed.
He'd moved too quickly, forgotten her allergy to reporters. Best to regroup and ease back into her good graces. He still had ten days left to file the story. "Some other time, then."
"Sure."
She sounded relaxed, but he sensed her hesitation. Her barriers were subtly rising.
"I'll send back the answers to your questions tonight," she said.
"Take your time. I don't plan to submit the story until after your demonstration. It'll be a stronger piece when you've proved any doubters wrong."
Also, he was afraid the interview questions were the first item on a three-item checklist, with her demonstration being next and cutting him loose coming after that.
Caro grimaced. "No pressure, though."
"There shouldn't be," he said firmly. "Modesty's all well and good, Sunshine, but the one constant in all the press is that the work itself was great. Remember that."
They walked in silence a few more paces. "The parking lot's just ahead," he said. "Anything else I can do to help you get ready?"
Caro shook her head. Tugging him to a halt, she asked, "Why are you helping me with this, Rick? Why do you care?"
"Because I hate injustice." Meaning that emphatically, he let her feel his intensity in the magic. "You got a trainload of it dumped on you."
"So you're crusading against injustice?"
"Sometimes." Like with the "Furthermore" column. His royalties and other backup jobs, bartending and construction, produced far more income, but he held onto the column anyway. It was his only chance to be a voice for mages who lacked cushy connections.
But she couldn't know that now. In a lighter voice, he added, "Not to mention that you look great across a café table."
She pursed her lips, obviously considering, and he asked, "Why else would you think I'd be doing it?"
So far, he hadn't outright lied to her about wanting to do a story on her brother. At least not in so many words. He preferred to keep it that way.
"I just–" Her free hand clenched into a fist. "I don't want anybody feeling sorry for me, that's all."
"Feel sorry for you?" He shouldn't be shocked by that, not after what he'd overheard Jerkwad Jerald say, but he couldn't hold back a snort. "I don't feel sorry for you. I have no reason to."
#
Rick's voice rang with surprise that had Caro blinking behind her shades.
Before she could muster a reply, he touched her arm gently. "I'm guessing you grew up in Wesleyan or Idle Hour, some great neighborhood full of beautiful houses, with successful, loving parents who, based on what I saw at the gallery, either have a strong marriage or deserve acting awards. Good schools, art lessons, nice clothes, fun vacations. Yeah, you have impaired vision, but everybody's got some problem. On the overall ledger, you got a boatload more pluses than minuses."
"I know that," she said. "My parents made certain we–I–knew that."
"I'm sure you do." Again he touched her elbow gently. "But you asked. So the answer is definitely no, I don't feel sorry for you."
"Good. I wouldn't want you to, but I'm used to people seeing the white cane and not looking any farther."
His faint image in her mind nodded. Before he could change the subject, Caro asked, "Where did you grow up, Rick?"
Now his emotional walls shot up. Under her fingers, his arm tensed. Quietly, he said, "Birmingham. Alabama. It's not something I talk about a lot."
Caro could read an emotional no trespassing sign as well as the next person, but those rising walls made her curious. What had his childhood been like, to make him shield it so?
Well, it wasn't really her business. They had no reason to see each other after her demonstration two days from now. Yet her curiosity about his childhood reminded her she had no idea what he looked like. And she wanted to know that. Very much wanted it.
"Are you ready to walk on?" he asked.
"Almost." Putting herself out there was tough. This might be her only chance, though. "Rick, we've spent a good bit of time together, but I don't know what you look like. May I touch your face?"
Surprise leaked through his barriers. After a moment, cautiously, he said, "Okay."
He turned to her. Caro slid her hands up his arms–muscular, solid arms covered by blue Oxford cloth, the sleeves rolled up on his forearms–across his broad, straight shoulders and then up the sides of his neck. Rick stood like a statue, but his vibe in the magic subtly warmed. Her breath hitched.
Cupping his cheeks in her palms, she brushed rough stubble. Like Will, Rick must see shaving as optional.
She longed to caress his face, but that would send a message she wasn't sure she wanted to.
Instead, Caro made her fingers keep moving, examining his features and building a map in her mind. Golden-brown beard shadow on lean, tanned cheeks. Firm jaw. Wide brow under short bangs the pale brown of vanilla caramel laced with gold. At his temples, his hair was thick. Soft.
Her fingers wanted to explore, even caress, but that was too personal, and certainly not smart. "How long is your hair?" she asked, feeling slightly breathless.
"Check for yourself."
Low and warm, that aged whiskey voice made her fidgety, even eager. Caro slid her hands into his hair. It brushed the tops of his ears on the sides and touched his collar in back.
A tiny shiver rippled through his frame. He set his hands at her waist.
Caro's heart beat faster. Touching him felt right, no matter how stupid her common sense screamed that this was.
Gently, she traced his eyebrows–darker brown and level above a straight nose. His mouth was wide and generous, the skin of his lips warm and soft.
How would that mouth feel on her skin?
Way too soon to go there. If ever.
She forced her hands down, but they somehow came to rest on his shoulders rather than dropping to her sides. Suddenly, she realized he'd drawn her against him.
The hard bulge at his crotch pressed into her mound, generating quivers of heat. Caro swallowed a moan.
"If you want to step back," he began in a husky voice.
"No," she whispered, sliding her hand up to cup his nape.
"Than
k God," he muttered, and his lips brushed hers. A sensual fog blurred her brain. Then his mouth firmed on hers, giving and demanding and making her dizzy with pleasure.
Caro gripped his shirt collar as his arms encircled her waist, drawing her firmly against him. His erection prodding her belly caused a sizzle inside that made her press closer. His hands glided up and down her back, and restless yearning churned inside her. Everything about this–about him–felt unbelievably good.
She wanted more. But she didn't know him very–
His tongue flicked her lips, just once, gently, yet need shot through her. She gasped, opening for him.
With a groan, Rick deepened the kiss. His tongue stroked inside her mouth, and echoing flickers of heat lapped at the junction of her thighs. She sucked his tongue, unconsciously rocking against him.
He made a strangled sound. A moment later, he drew back. Reluctantly, she followed his lead in ending the kiss.
Their harsh, rapid breathing broke the woodland stillness. She should step clear, remember they hardly knew each other, but surely standing in his embrace a few more seconds wouldn't hurt.
His heart galloped under her palms, its rapid pace companion to her racing pulse. His fingers slid into her hair, stroking it back from her face.
Resting his forehead against hers, Rick swallowed audibly. "Damn, you even taste like sunshine."
Caro had to smile. At least he sounded as breathless as she felt. "What does sunshine taste like?"
"Sweet and hot." He kissed her again, quickly, as the words wrapped themselves around her heart.
"If you're going to call me Sunshine, I need a name for you." Besides Hot Sex Walking.
"If you'll kiss me like that, I'll answer to pretty much anything." He stroked her hair again, and she longed to feel those lean fingers on her body.
That way lay danger.
Caro made herself step back. "We should go. I have errands to run." As well as a stern talking-to to give herself about moving fast with men she didn't know. Jerald was the poster boy for unwise, hasty choices.
But Jerald had never made her pulse race and her body, her heart, yearn the way Rick did.
"Sure," Rick agreed.
She gripped his arm, and they headed back to the car. Soon, the soft dirt under her flats became harder, hotter asphalt reflecting the spring sunlight.
Sentinel: A Light Mage Wars Novella (The Light Mage Wars) Page 5