“No,” I say quickly. “Zane—no.”
He stalks me around the bed. One step. Then another. Predatory. Purposeful. “Yes, Ruby,” he murmurs. “Very much yes.”
My ass hits the nightstand and I half-screech in outrage, but he’s already cornered me, bracing my arms above my head, blocking my escape, caging me with heat and scent and impossible intensity.
“You’re so fucking beautiful when you laugh,” he whispers.
“I thought I was beautiful when I was pissed.”
His head tilts. A look that says eitherhow cute, she thinks she’s catching me out,orGod, she’s stupid if she doubts this.“You’re beautiful all the fucking time, baby.”
I swallow. Hard.
And once again, I want to slap him just a fraction less than I want to wrap every limb around him and let him ruin my entire moral code.
But I hold the line. Barely. “Pretty sure I’m letting the social contract down by not immediately reporting this to HR,” I deadpan. “Or society. Or a priest.”
“You don’t need any of those,” he says, brushing a thumb across my lower lip. “You need the phone.”
“What is ON this phone?” I demand, narrowing my eyes and eyeing the sleek device.
He smiles, too innocent and way too dangerous. “You’ll see.” He wobbles it at me.
And because I’m weak, and because my old one is now probably a pancake on The Strip, I take it.
Just as the door opens softly, and the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen materializes in the doorway like a sage-scented prophecy.
My eyes widenas she glides forward to the middle of the room like sheteleportedin. She’s in her mid-sixties maybe in a floating skirt, chunky crystals. Silver hair streaked with lavender.
She smells like sage and moonlight and something my Oregon childhood calledwitchy stuff the PTA didn’t approve of.
“Oh,” she gasps, clasping both hands over her heart when she sees me. “Oh myfrequencies, Zane, you didn’t tell me she was this radiant.”
I jerk back from thethank-youkiss I’m slapping on my man. Or I try to.
Zane tightens his hold on me, barely moves his mouth from mine as he groans. “Mom.”
She ignores him entirely, circling me like she’s evaluating my chakra alignment or checking if I have a soul.
“I saw you on TV,” she declares. “And the energies were vibrating. Unstable. Chaotic. Calling to me.”
Zane rubs his forehead. “Here we go.”
“We must talk,” she insists. “The frequencies are unstable again.”
Zane’s jaw clenches like he’d rather chew through concrete. “Not now.”
“Yes,now,” she snaps, then beams at me. “I’m Mama Draven. I know who you are, of course. You hum.”
I blink. “Um. Yes?”
She sighs dramatically. “Such a rare gift. I felt it from my meditation mat.”
Zane mutters, “It wasn’t a mat, it was a throw rug from Target.”
She whips around. “Energy flows where intention goes, Zane Augustus Draven.” She turns back to me. “I wonder if you could be a siren the way you’re so tuned to him.”
I choke, then my mouth drops. “A what?”
