Page 80 of The Satyr's Guilt
Denim laughed. “I hear fathers are likethat.”
“My dear old dad retired from the Firebrandsabout a century ago. He heads up a village. Kind of a mayor. Momspecializes in parties.”
“I love Gramma’s soirees. That’s what shesays they are.” Jonquil shot a quick glance around the room. “I cancall her that, right? She’s not here.”
Ram explained, “Mom’s not fond of beinglabeled grandmother or any form of the word.”
“Anyway, Gramma’s parties are the best. Formy last birthday, she brought in a dozen vamponies. All the kidsgot to ride.”
“Vamponies?” asked Denim.
“Think short horses with a taste for blood.I spent the night keeping them muzzled so they couldn’t fang thekiddies. Great fun. What about your family?”
“I’m a foster home grad. My mother died ofParkinson’s when I was young. I have only snippets of memory ofher. No father I know of. At eighteen, I struck out on my own tojoin the army, where I found discipline and a purpose. When myenlistment ended, I did a stint with the New Orleans police. ACajun grandma popped out of nowhere, having looked a long time forme, claiming to be my daddy’s mom. She shared an interesting bit offamily history about Aeternals and ancient bloodlines. I thoughtshe was crazy until I checked out the Alliance at her request.”
Denim sipped her wine. “She died four yearsago. I miss her. I didn’t know her long, but she was good to me. Iloved her. So, I’ve only had family for brief periods.”
“After you decided the Alliance was real andyour grandmother wasn’t crazy, you joined?” asked Ram.
“Once I told them my background, I was a hotcommodity. They recruited me. Very persuasive people.”
“I’m glad.” Ram raised his glass in atoast.
“Me, too,” said Jonquil, picking up a spearof asparagus with her fingers. Ram frowned when she slid in intoher mouth.
Cutting another chunk of steak beforestuffing it between her lips, Denim hid how insanely happy she was.“This is really good,” she mumbled with a big bite.
While she ate, she watchedRam and Jonquil. They teased, talked, laughed. Like at Marta’s sheleaned back in her chair. There was love in this house. They were afamily. And somehow this satyr dulled her memories of Steven’scruelty.
****
Ram watched his daughter jump out of herseat. She was still in plan mode.
Jonquil grabbed her plate and glass. “I’llclean up. You two go to the study.”
Ram rose, clasping Denim’s hand. “Get yourwine. We’ve been ordered out.”
“I should help with the dishes,” saidDenim.
“Oh, no. I’ve got this.” Jonquil firmlyplanted her fists on her hips, her pose stern.
Ram led the way along the hallway. “Stopwatching my ass.”
Denim jabbed his shoulder. “Shh. Jonquilwill hear you. I was not ogling your ass.”
In the study, Ram flopped onto a well-wornmahogany leather sofa which creaked under his weight. He flung hissizable legs straight out while patting his stomach. “I ate toomuch. Must be the company or conversation.”
When Denim eyed two chairs clustered aroundan unlit stone fireplace, he slapped the couch beside him.
“Here, doll.” She was tempting tonight inthe purple sundress. He hadn’t expected such feminine attire, usedto seeing her in fighting garb for the job or tight jeans at theShed. Both of which he loved on her. The dress, though, was morethan a satyr could handle. The swell of her breasts over the top.The narrow little straps he’d love to slip off her shoulders.
Not now. Not here.
Denim sank into the couch, kicking off hersandals. She curled her feet underneath, looking comfortable and athome. “Your place is beautiful. I didn’t figure you for somethinglike this.”
“What did you expect?”
“Glass. Chrome. Leather whips. Chains.”
