Page 82 of De-Witched

He lifted his chin as if the thought was preposterous. “No. It’s good manners, since I escorted you here.”

“Uh-huh.” She poked him in the rock-hard belly. “I’m onto you, Gabe. You’re such a worrywart.”

“Goodnights are not worrywarts.”

“They might not be, but you are.” She grinned at his irritated expression, knowing she was right.

Bastian spoke up. “We can get you home if it’s out of Goodnight’s way.”

Leah didn’t take her eyes off Gabriel’s face. “That’s okay.”

“You sure?”

The question seemed double-edged.

Emma reached over and slipped her hand in Bastian’s, tugged. “She’s sure.” She cast Leah a bolstering smile and then, to Leah’s surprise, said to Gabriel, “We’re trusting you with her.”

He gave a clipped nod.

“Okay. On that embarrassing note...” Leah nudged Gabriel to walk. “Bye, guys.”

They left her friends and the hotel behind, matching strides despite the height difference. Now they were alone, he relaxed his concrete posture, his face sliding into contemplation. “Are you pleased?”

Leah didn’t question with what; she was pleased with it all. “It went well. And I loved having my mom there.” She brushed her hand against his, the dark pleasure flirting inside her reflected in his eyes. He didn’t pull away.

He didn’t acknowledge her silent thanks, either, but she didn’t expect him to. He hated to be praised. She got the impression he hadn’t been on the receiving end much in his life.

Headlights slid over his face, golden, then not. “What?”

Another shiver, this one from cold, tickled her body. She lifted her arms to fold them around herself, chafed the trailing goose bumps. “Nothing. It’s just nice, finally being alone with you.”

He looked down at her, moving his gaze to where she rubbed her arms. The air warmed around her the next second, a small twist marring his lips as he turned his head away on an intake of breath.

“Are you okay?” she asked, concern overshadowing the jump of excitement at the display of magic. The display of magic in front of her.

He nodded, the movement stiff. As if it hadn’t happened, he gestured to the street where traffic kept the city active. “Shall we get a car?”

There were tough nuts and there was Gabriel.

Leah stepped closer, slipping her hand into his. With a glow of triumph, she felt the tremor go through him. “I don’t want to go home yet.”

He didn’t turn in to her but he didn’t let go of her hand, either. Even this late, Saturday night in Chicago had its own music, its own rhythm. Leah could barely hear it over her own breath as she waited for him to say something.

When he did, the words were low, filled with gravel. “It wouldn’t be a good idea.”

A car slid past, spraying puddle water near them, but neither paid it any attention.

“I think you’re wrong,” she challenged, fear of rejection clamoring in her chest.

“Must you always argue?”

“When you’re always wrong, yeah.”

He finally looked at her. His eyes were brilliant, lightning captured inside green glass. “I’m not wrong now.”

“A matter of opinion.” Her heart thrummed, so fast there was barely any space between the beats. Please. She took a shaky breath and went with her best offer. “Once.”

“Excuse me?”

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