“You are not driving.” A deep voice laced with annoyance jolted through my back.
I gasped, jumping and whirling back. My foot landed awkwardly and I lost my balance, so I took a couple of quick steps to steady myself as I noticed who the voice belonged to—Karson. I didn’t hear him walk up behind me. He moved like a ghost.
Irritation replaced the fear. “I’m fine to drive.”
His gaze drilled into me like a hot brand, making me want to shrink. “You are not fine to drive.”
I lifted my chin. “I think I’ll be the judge of that.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I’ll call Matt then, shall I? I assume you know who Matt is?”
Matt would come and it would be an embarrassing few minutes of trying to prove I could walk in a straight line. He had me beat, and I hated being beaten. “Fine, I’ll grab a cab,” I said huffily, striding off toward the rank.
His steps fell in line with mine. “Amelia, stop. I will give you a lift home.” The only other person who’d ever called me Amelia was my mother. The way he curled his tongue around my name with his hint of an accent was music to my ears. Like the tune of a song I wanted to hear again. Could I be any more pathetic? I must be drunk.
“I’m fine to catch a cab.”
“You could walk all the way to the cab rank only to find no cabs there for at least another hour or so. We only have two that run here on a Saturday night. No doubt they’re busy, and it’s cold tonight.”
As if he’d conjured up his own wind, a strong, chilly gust hit. Brittle leaves flurried in circles across the road. I shivered as the cold ripped through to my bones, hugging my arms in tight around my waist. I was not used to this kind of chill. At least not in the middle of summer.
“Let me drive you home. I do not bite.” There was a twinkle in his eye that suggested he might like to, making something tingle right through my body.
I strained toward the taxi rank, hoping to see the familiar glow of the little sign that sat on top of the car. The rank was empty. I could sit in the blustery cold for over an hour, or I could accept the ride. Freezing to death wouldn’t be a pleasant way to die.
“Fine, I would appreciate that. Thank you,” I conceded, somewhat sullen.
He smiled. No flashing of teeth, just a gentle tug, but he had the kind of smile that lit up the dark. The kind of smile that made you want to smile in return, but I didn’t.
“This way.” He turned us back toward the bar.
I peeked up at him from under my lashes as we walked. He was tall, maybe six-foot-five or six, I guessed. He had a strong, angular face. His nose was straight and in proportion. His brows were low and thick, but not too low, not too thick. Lush, dark hair tousled forward onto his forehead. His face was perfection. He was a walking temple of testosterone. My ovaries fluttered, my eggs rushed out of the gates ready to party, and screamed, “Pick me, pick me!” like teenagers at a Bieber concert.
“How are you finding Church Heights, Amelia?” he asked, and his voice was like chocolate for my ears. But not ordinary chocolate—the rare, exquisite, “need to eat the whole block at once” kind of chocolate.
“It’s nice. I love the mountains.”
“What brings you here? Why does a young woman come alone all the way to Church Heights?” His gaze probed my face.
“I just needed a change,” I said, conscious of the weight of his gaze.
“A change from what?”
I searched for the right words as we turned left up a long alley. The floor was made of uneven cobblestone paving, commonplace in most old cities I’d seen in Europe, and as old as the buildings which surrounded it. The alley abounded with shadows. Only one solitary lamp threw its orange glow in silent defiance to the ground, and the darkness surrounded it like a pack of wolves.
My body stiffened, and my heart skipped a beat and then took off. I slowed my pace.
Karson stopped. He tilted his head, his brow furrowed. “We can take the long way if you like and go around the block?”
“No, it’s fine, I just need my eyes to adjust to the darkness.”
He let out an audible breath as if he was relieved. “Of course.”
Guilt tugged in my stomach. He had probably heard about the town gossip. Being accused of murder would be an awful burden to carry.
“May I?” He held out his arm for me to link mine through. It was an old-fashioned gentlemanly behavior, and I found it oddly charming.
As soon as my arm hooked his, it was as if someone had placed an electrical current between us. It tingled up my arm and shot down into my stomach, and lower.
