Page 18 of Charmed

Riley shot to his feet. "I'll go with you." He looked at Tristan. "You can drive Ceara, then we can ride back together." None of them were supposed to be alone.

"I'll clean up," Brady said, collecting plates. "Be careful."

Tristan and Ceara headed to the garage while Riley and Fiona walked across the front lawn toward the forest that separated their properties.

The heat had faded from the day, but humidity clung to the soft breeze off the Atlantic and brought the scent of brine to mix with peat moss. Twilight loomed across the horizon and stars poked through the navy sky. As they stepped under the canopy of birch, maple, and oak, he glanced down to watch where he was going and noticed her feet were still bare.

"Want a piggyback ride?"

Stopping dead in her tracks, she eyed him like he'd fallen out of the idiot tree.

He pointed down. "You're not wearing shoes. I don't have anything at the house that would fit. You might cut yourself."

Somehow, his explanation made her more bemused. "You'd carry me all the way back to my house because I'm barefoot?"

When she said it like that, he wondered if he'd not only fallen out of said idiot tree, but hit every branch on his descent. "Yes?" He cleared his throat, suddenly nervous. "Sure, why not?"

"Huh." Blink, blink. "You have a chivalrous bone. Interesting." She turned abruptly and continued the trek. "Thanks for the offer, but I'm fine."

He jogged to catch up and fell in step beside her. The quiet shuffle of their walking muffled over that of an owl hooting and the scurry of small creatures. Leaves crunched and pine needles whooshed.

A few minutes in, and he dissected what she'd said. "Why were you surprised by my consideration?" Was it a foreign concept to her? He very much doubted that. She was the sort of woman who inspired opening a car door and laying a coat over a puddle.

"Consideration is different than chivalry. By what I've witnessed, you've always been the first and the second must've been lying in wait."

Her and her non-answers.

Dropping the subject, he glanced at her from the corner of his eye. After their training, she'd put on the jeans and black blouse from earlier. It was more casual than he'd seen her to date. Not that he was complaining. Her interstate of leg wrapped in denim was wreaking havoc on his heart rate and those curves were enough to stop the beat altogether.

"Is there a reason you're staring at me?"

Because he liked to. "Appreciating the view, Fi. You know you're beautiful."

"Still nice to hear. Thank you."

He feared she was baiting him, but she said nothing more. "Usually you wear those killer dresses. Except when we're training. Then it's that dental floss you call yoga gear."

Her sly smirk sent his pulse into overdrive. "I'd be happy to string dental floss into an outfit. I'm willing to bet you'd notice the difference."

Images of her just like that flooded his mind and he sucked a breath. Forget her wearing the floss. He'd use it to tie her hands and...

She laughed, low and seductive. "Picturing it, aren't you?"

"Do you ever play fair?"

"Well, that would imply this is a game." She set those freakishly amazing eyes on him. "I don't consider flirting a competitive sport."

Flirting. Flirting? He halted and faced her.

"Are you flirting with me?" Oxygen vacuumed from the vicinity at the very notion. Sure, she toyed with him—constantly—but that was merely an idle Wednesday for her. He'd never deign to assume she actually meant anything by her antics.

Her lids lowered to half-mast and her grin grew into something downright evil. "You'd know if I was flirting. You wouldn't be standing afterward."

And...his lungs collapsed. "Prove it."

Shit. What? No.

Up went her brows as she advanced.

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