Page 20 of Once Upon a Curse for True Love
Andromeda tapped her fingers on the desk, thinking.Then her eyes drifted to the screen with Arcanet’s head.
“Why don’t we ask him directly?”she suggested.
Donatello stared at her.“You want to interview a glitchy consciousness trapped in a server?”
“It’s still more coherent than you.”
“But not nearly as good-looking,” he shot back, his tone dry but his eyes dancing with unexpected humor.
“Congrats,” Andromeda deadpanned.“You’re officially prettier than corrupted code.Want another certificate for your wall?”
“Oh, you think I’m pretty, Miss Swan?”His smirk was unbearable, complete with dimples she refused to find charming.
“If I squint.”She tilted her chin, assessing him.“And take a blunt-force trauma to the head.”
Donatello leaned closer, his voice sliding into a lower pitch that tangled low and warm in her gut.“Sounds like a dangerous amount of effort just for me.”
Andromeda’s cheeks warmed, and she stood, putting vital distance between them.
“You talk too much.”She gestured toward the screen where Arcanet’s digital remains waited.“At least Arcanet speaks only when consulted.”She turned to face the detective, one eyebrow raised in a challenge.“Shall we?”
Chapter Nine
The Early Bird Gets in Trouble
DONATELLO
That morning, forcing Andromeda Swan to cooperate on the case had seemed like a good idea.Now?Donatello wasn’t as sure.Mostly because the witch he’d shackled himself to was trouble—and smelled even better.Had he won the professional lottery or cursed himself?
A dangerous cocktail of admiration and dread churned in his gut.She was breathtaking.But her beauty was just a distraction tactic.The real weapon was her brain.The combo might prove lethal to his composure, his professionalism, and his career if he couldn’t get a grip on whatever this was that sparked between them.If she didn’t hex his life to pieces, his lack of self-control would.
She’d spent less than an hour with Arcanet’s code and already understood more than his entire tech department had in the last thirty-odd hours.
“Let’s go back to our digital friend.”Andromeda rose from the desk station.She brushed past him, her scent of vanilla and lavender enveloping him as she moved toward the center of the room where Arcanet’s consciousness pulsed on the large screen.“We need to ask more targeted questions.”
Donatello followed—like a puppy, waggling his metaphorical tail.The monitor still displayed the cascading green alphanumeric characters forming Arcanet’s face—an eerie afterimage of a man whose body now lay in the morgue.
Andromeda stared at it with her hands on her hips.“You should ask about potential suspects—rivals, enemies, clients who might have been unhappy with his work.”
His eyebrows shot up.“I should?”
“Yes, you should,” she replied, gesturing toward the screen.“You’re the detective.I’m the tech consultant forced into servitude.”
Gargoyles, she was bossy.Beautiful, brilliant,andbossy.He wouldn’t make it through this investigation in one piece.She was going to hex his life sideways, fry his case, and ruin his mental health.
“Right,” Donatello drawled, crossing his arms over his chest.“And now you’re telling me how to do my job.”He stepped closer until they stood toe to toe.“Miss Swan, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I’m the lead investigator.You take orders from me, not the other way around.”
Andromeda tilted her head, her expression more amused than chastened.“You sound like the bloodhound from ‘The Aristocats.’”She deepened her voice in a poor imitation of the character.“‘I’m the leader!’”
“Are you comparing me to a cartoon dog?”Donatello asked, fighting to keep his expression stern.
“If the collar fits,” she quipped, then gestured toward the screen.“Okay,boss, ask your questions whenever you’re ready.”
The way she said “boss”—with that perfect blend of mockery and sass—was simultaneously infuriating and arousing.The kind of trouble his body was too eager for.He had half a mind to skip the pleasantries, handcuff her to his bed, and wipe that smirk off her face until the only thing left on her lips was his name.
The mental image blindsided him with its intensity, and Donatello took a step back, alarmed by his own thoughts.Wildly inappropriate didn’t cover it.This woman had been a suspect last night.Now she was under his supervision as part of her sentence.Any move in that direction would be professional suicide, not to mention ethically questionable.
He needed to be the bigger person and let the bickering drop before it led somewhere they’d both regret.
