Page 124 of Beyond the Cottage

“I’m going now.”

“Be out in a second.”

Ice formed in his gut at the thought of leaving her. It further illustrated how important it was he go. Heneededto dilute this attachment. For him, their friendship was inching dangerously close to obsession. He feared it had already crossed that line.

Was it better if he said goodbye through the door? Or slipped away without saying anything at all?

Inhaling deep, he settled against the wall. He was a man, not a callow adolescent. He could handle saying goodbye for one night.

Her bedroom door swung open, and he straightened, clasping his hands behind his back. When she stepped out, whatever inane bullshit he’d meant to say died in his throat.

Mouth caked with sand, he stared. He ran a hand over his nighttime stubble.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“What the hell are you wearing?”

“An outfit?” She looked down at herself. “What do you mean?”

That wasn’t an outfit. It was a goddamn ambush.

Gretta, his unrefined little tomboy, had come out to say goodbye wearing askirt. It was long and full, and its tight, high waist shaped her like an hourglass, drawing his eye up to the undersides of her breasts.

Her blouse was even worse. Its high collar lay spread, the neckline plunging a millimeter shy of indecency. The white silk begged him to search for her nipples through the flimsy fabric.

It was unsporting. A hit below the belt, literally.

He coughed into his fist. “I didn’t know you favored such garments.”

“Did you think I go to dinner in my beat up field clothes?”

The ice in his gut spread to his chest. Who had she worn thisoutfitfor?

“Dinner with who?”

“No one. Nat keeps a tab open for his people at a joint downtown. I go there when I don’t feel like cooking.” She crossed her arms, plumping her breasts further. “Do you want to come? It’s better than hotel food.”

“Yes.” The word fell out before good judgment could interfere.

He didn’t take it back. What was a couple more hours spent safely in public? Besides, the sandwich had barely dented his hunger, and he was in no position to turn down a free meal.

“Do you mind stashing this somewhere?” he asked, holding out the case. “I’ll get it on my way to the hotel.”

She took it and disappeared into the bedroom. She came out wearing a cropped jacket in the same green fabric as the skirt, and it made her brown eyes look flecked with jade.

Not sporting in the least.

Chapter 43

Gretta scanned the crowded restaurant, ignoring the bill that had been sitting on their table for twenty minutes. The muted globe lights and cigar smoke wafting from the club lounge gave the room a hazy aura.

She pointed to a vampire wearing tight, vermilion breeches and a billowing yellow tunic. He leaned on the mahogany bar, sipping a martini as he chatted up a trio of women.

“What about him?” she asked.

Ansel glanced that way thoughtfully. “An artist. Modern, not classical. His work features bold, saturated colors, and you secretly wonder if a five-year-old painted them. His patrons are new money who each claim they discovered him first, while the old guard sneers because color is vulgar.”

Gretta snorted a giggle. She pointed to a stern-mouthed fairy with a tight chignon and wings hidden under a dour gray caplet. “Her?”

---