Pajama party? I’ll be at your door in five.
I’ll be ready. His presence let go of her mind, and Bridget leaned forward to grip her knees and breathe. “He’s okay. Not dying.”
Bridget went into the bathroom and brushed her teeth and ran a comb through her hair. Not that it did much good. She was in baggy pj bottoms and an old shirt with a faded print of Loki on it. He did say a pajama party, so she didn’t bother to change.
There was a soft tap at her door, and she rushed to open it. Bas was wearing gray pajamas and a black T-shirt. Bridget stared up at his tired eyes and messy hair and swallowed hard.Lust shot through her like adrenaline. Yeah, she was completely gone on Bas Greatdrakes and to hell with the consequences.
Bridget crashed into him, her arms going around his waist and squeezing him tight. Bas hugged her back without any hesitation.
“Don’t you ever do that to me again, or I will kick your ass,” she murmured into his warm chest.
“I’m sorry I scared you. It was more of a magic drain than I expected.” He brushed his fingers through her hair. “Let’s go downstairs, and I’ll tell you what happened in Lily’s head.”
Bridget nodded and reluctantly pulled out of the embrace. “You better because I was really freaked out.”
Bas kissed her forehead, and her worry softened. “Sorry. I should have warned you magic drain might have been a possibility.”
He took her hand, and as they walked downstairs, Bridget told him everything that had happened since he had passed out.
“Did my family feed you at least?” he asked like that was more of a priority than dream monsters.
“Yeah, your dad heated up some minestrone he found in the freezer. He said you keep it stocked,” Bridget replied.
“I have to. None of the rest of them can cook anything decent. I’m glad they went with the freezer option and didn’t try to make you something from scratch,” Bas said, making her laugh. “What? It’s the truth.”
Bridget pulled on his hand. “You are seriously worrying about that when some creature tried to suck the life out of you today? Why is it such a concern if people eat or not?”
Bas ran a hand through his curls. “I’ll tell you when I have the rum. Gods, I need a drink.”
Bridget took up a seat at the counter and watched Bas move around the kitchen. She shouldn’t find it so sexy watching himmeasure flour, but there she was, lusting away. She blessed whatever gods invented his gray pjs, too, becausedamn.
Bas opened a door at the other side of the kitchen and disappeared through it for a few moments before returning with a dusty bottle of dark, spiced rum. He poured two shots into his mixing bowl before getting some glasses and pouring a few fingers in each.
Bas smiled as he swirled the liquid. “The color reminds me of your eyes.”
“Maybe my dad was a pirate,” she replied with a laugh. “With my mother, anything is possible.Slainte!”
“Slainte,”Bas said, tapping her glass against his before they drank. “So you really don’t like your mom, huh?”
Bridget drained her glass and reached for the bottle to refill it. “Straight to it then?”
Bas fixed her with his steady gaze. “You need to tell me about it, love. I try not to pry as a rule, but when I woke tonight, it was with your thoughts and anxiety beating at me. Whatever you feel is so deep and dark and horrible, know that I can handle it.”
Bridget’s shoulders hunched in. “You can’t say that. You don’t even know what it is.”
“I know you’re not going to let me get any closer to you until you get it off your chest.” Bas topped up his own glass and sipped. “You show me yours, and I’ll show you mine. That way, we are even in the vulnerability department.”
Bridget stared at the dark amber in her glass and thought about it. It was a fair deal. “I will, but I still want that torte, so get cooking, Greatdrakes. It will be easier if you’re not looking at me with those big eyes of yours.”
“Fair enough. This torte won’t make itself,” Bas said and got back to doing his kitchen wizardry.
“What I said the other night about having no idea who my father is is the truth. Although I do like the idea of being a long-lost daughter of an Arabian prince, but that’s my obsession withA Thousand and One Nightstalking,” Bridget began. The first glass of rum she had downed was filling her with warmth, so she nursed the second one.
“When I was little, I had a very chaotic life. My mother didn’t see any reason why she should slow down her lifestyle because she had a kid. I was left alone in hotel rooms, so I read a lot. My schooling was scattered, to say the least. My mother was always on the prowl for the perfect, rich man who was going to sweep her off her feet. She found George by pure accident. His church and the party she was attending were at the same hotel. She changed after him, wanted to reform herself and begin her life anew and all that crap. The only problem was me, the illegitimate brown daughter who was a constant reminder of her party days.”
Bas paused in stirring the chocolatey mixture. “So much for Christian charity.”
“Ha! Yeah. I was precocious and didn’t know why I got in trouble when I asked why Jesus was white in all their pictures because historical accuracy demands that he be brown like me,” Bridget laughed, but it just came out awkward. She had another mouthful of rum and watched Bas pour the mixture into a cake tin and set it in the oven. It was a nice sight, especially in those gray pants.
