Dexter’s alive and apparently uncharred, thank fates, sitting there with the blanket down around his armpits.
One hunky eyebrow slides up. “What is that?” He nods toward my hand.
“Um, it’s a Dustbuster.”
He blinks. “A vacuum cleaner?”
“Yeah. Duh.” I resort to snark when I’m nervous, and I know it. Defense mechanism. I can’t help it. Snark, and sharp number-two pencils.
“And were you going to attack me with it? Your broom handle would make a far better improvised stake.”
I’m so wound up I totally ignore the handsome smirk on his face and realize I’m an idiot to think I could ever have happiness, rich hunky vamp or not. “I wasn’t going to attack you with it, asshole.” Yes, I know he’s trying to deflect with humor because he probably senses how stressed and upset I am.
“Then what were you doing?”
I feel my face redden and, for the first time in my dealings with vampires, I outright lie to one. “I wasn’t sure what I’d find when I opened the door. Don’t I get brownie points fornotopening the door early?”
He studies me for a moment. I knowheknows I just lied. “You wanted it in case I burned up.” He states it in an annoyingly amused tone.
“Hey, I have a pair of Jimmy Choos in there, jerkface. They’re worth a lot of damn money to have your icky, ashy self dusted all over them, all right?”
“I’m flattered.” He pulls the blanket off. At some point, he shed his vest, and his shirt’s unbuttoned, exposing his firm, hunky chest and abs. He’s also barefoot, which is unexpectedly sexy and I don’t know why. “You could have bought new ones with my credit cards, though.” He smiles. “I wouldn’t have minded you modeling them for me. Or did you buy some?” His smile widens.
I step back, ignoring his last comment. “Yeah, well, they’re not only the best pair of shoes I own, they’re probably the most expensive thing I own. Except the tires on my 4Runner, thanks.”
His gaze pointedly drops to where the ring hangs on its silver chain under my shirt.
“That doesn’t count,” I quietly say.
He stands, unfolding his body and reminding me how tall he is. I take a step back, still brandishing the Dustbuster between us. I don’t know what I expect to do with it.
“Why on earth doesn’t it count?” He starts to fold the blanket with precision. “Is it not far more precious than those ‘chew shoes’?”
“They’re Jimmy Choos, and you damn well know it.” I hate that he’s trying to be dryly witty and charming. “Because I don’t own…it.” I take a breath. “I sometimes feel like it ownsme.” Holyhell, why did I admit that? The things he does to me.
“Did you ever stop to think perhaps you should rid yourself of it?”
“Why?” One hand protectively flies up to cover it through my shirt while I step back and hold the Dustbuster out in front of me as menacingly as possible.
“Because perhaps it’s how you’re being tracked.”
“What? It’s not a damned GPS. It’s a ring. It’s a very old ring that belonged to my father. It’s all I have left of him. I’m not getting rid of it. My mom probably died trying to protect this ring.”
He finishes folding the blanket, and I hate that he gives me a look that’s three parts pity and one part smoldering, sexy heat.
Not the bad kind of smoldering, either.
“I’ve been thinking,” he says. “If it’s a magickal artifact, it could very well be a supernatural GPS, in a manner of speaking.”
I stare at him. “Go on. Pull the other one.”
He holds out the blanket, and I finally take it from him with the hand not brandishing the Dustbuster, being careful not to touch him when I do.
“I’m serious.” He glances at the windows. “Don’t you have to be at work?”
“I do.” I’d been growing increasingly worried about that, too, adding to all my stress. “I need a shower. Your stuff’s here. I’ll text Theophilus that I’m running late.”
He studies me for a long and uncomfortable moment. “What happened, Eilidh?” he softly asks. The concern in his tone nearly undoes me.
