“Not in this.”Sybil sipped her tea, but the disgusted curve of her mouth suggested she’d rather toss it in someone’s face.“Even Temple says the forge is too dangerous for a woman like me.”
“That sounds like him.”Not that she knew him so very well.But she did know he was a protector.Down to his bones and whatever was more foundational to making him who he was.His soul sought to see others to safety.Diana’s gaze drifted toward that sliver of space between doorways where she could see into the other room.Snatches of conversation lifted on the air—Temple’s low voice and his mother’s higher one.“But you designed this cup.”
“Designed, yes.Built, no.”But Sybil had wanted to build it, that much clear, not a word needed to make it clearer.
“Have you ever considered potions?”Diana asked.
“After today I have.My mother dabbles.Potions and alchemy go well together.Metals come from the earth, after all, as do, well, everything that goes into potions.Would you like to see my designs?”
“Yes, I would.If it’s not against some alchemist rule of secrecy.”
Sybil chuckled.“I can tellyou.You’ll soon be part of the family.It’syouwho can’t tell anyone else.Besides, the Grants are known for having loose lips now.But I’m sure Temple has told you all about that.”She swished away, leaving Diana confused.And… frustrated because Temple had told her nothing about loose lips.What did Sybil mean by that?
Before Sybil could return, Temple slunk into her seat.“How are you doing?”
“Dizzy.”
“That’s natural.Bad dizzy or good dizzy?”
“Good, I think.”
His gaze dipped to her hand like he was thinking of touching it.He’d removed his jacket at some point and rolled up his shirtsleeves.His forearms were indecently beautiful, corded with muscle and dusted with dark hair.Would that hair be crisp or soft?The arms ended in powerful hands, long fingers.Clever fingers, she knew.Her mouth suddenly dry, she sipped her tea.
“Still hot,” she said weakly.
“Sybil is clever.Did she tell you about it?”
“She did.”
He took the cup, his fingers brushing oh so briefly against hers.Her muscles clenched, heat pooling low in her belly.From a touch.A mere touch.She was tuned to it, though, tuned to him.
He set her cup aside.“Time for dinner.Are you hungry?”
She was.For more than a nightly repast.This a dangerous hunger, one that would cloud her ability to make decisions, to stay steadfast to the truth.She could not take a husband, could not burden this man or this family with the complications of her existence.
She nodded, and he helped her stand.His hand on the small of her back fit perfectly.She could imagine it being like the little disc of copper that bottomed Sybil’s teacup—keeping her warm as long as she needed.
“There’s no formal sitting arrangement,” he whispered in her ear as they entered the small dining room.“Sit next to me.I’ll keep you safe.”
He would, wouldn’t he.
The table was already filling up, and Temple bounced Helios out of a chair so he could claim two side by side.
“Mother,” Helios whined.“Temple is being a pain in the arse again.”
“Helios!”Mrs.Grant pulled herself up to her considerable height on one far end of the table.“We have company.Please gather up your discarded manners and tend to them.”
“Fine.”Helios threw himself into a seat across the table from Temple.“Temple is being an irritation in the backside.”
“Unfortunate for you, my dear,” Mrs.Grant said.“But Temple has a guest, and we must show her our best hospitality.Don’t you agree?”
Helios began to dissent, but Helen elbowed him the ribs.“I guess so,” he grumbled.
“If you bring a bride home, Hel,” Mr.Grant called out from the other end of the table, “you can have the best two seats in the house, as well.”
“She’s not my bride,” Temple rumbled, then, lower for her sake, he added, “Yet.”
Diana wanted to swat at him, but that might imply a greater sense of understanding and intimacy between them, and his family already thought them connected.
