"I've startled you," he said, his voice a melodic low hum.
"You have," I agreed stupidly. Not because I was afraid; it was because I'd just found Prince Charming's hotter, edgier older brother, and I wasn't sure what to do with that information.
He lowered his hands slowly, assessing me. "I'm sorry. It's just that you kept falling all over your feet. I thought you might be lost after happy hour or something." He gestured to the door behind me. "You know that's a research lab, right?"
I blinked twice. "Happy hour?" I'd seen the phrase on restaurant signs here and there, but I didn't know what it meant, really. Was that some kind of innuendo? I really should have tried to get out more after my sheltered, private education at home.
Amusement glinted in his sharp eyes. "Half priced drinks? Far too easy to consume and lose track of?"
"Oh," I breathed, straightening. "I rarely drink."
His amusement seemed to shift, taking on a glint of curiosity. "You're just naturally this clumsy?"
"I am," I confirmed, unashamed. "It's my curse."
"You should talk to the witch who cursed you," he said, sliding his hands into his black pants pockets. "It's incredibly severe."
"She's dead," I replied with absolute sincerity. "When I was fourteen, my cat killed my neighbor's canary. She cursed me and then died of an aneurism the next morning."
The man started to laugh and then quickly sobered as he took in my guileless expression. "Oh, you're serious."
"I'm afraid I am.” My heart had calmed down some, finding a steady rhythm again, and I realized for certain that this person really wasn't going to attack me. I'd overreacted, clearly. "I'm sorry for attacking you."
The man glanced down at his shoulder where I'd hit him. "Is that what you were doing?"
I allowed that jab because I was sure my attempt to fight him offhadbeen a little pathetic. I stepped away from the door. "Is this where you're headed, too?"
"Ah, youdidmean to enter the nerd's lair. Yes, I'm visiting Dr. Wells." He reached for the door, stepping around me and opening it smoothly.
"I supply him with bee venom," I said, holding up the tote, and the glass vials tinkled inside it.
Understanding brightened his features. "You're the bee girl."
I fought a smile. "Yes, I'm the bee girl."
He gestured through the door. "Well, after you, then. I'm interested in Wells' research into melittin compounds. He's trying to cure ALS, but my patients are more interested in eternal youth, so I'm piggybacking his hard work."
"That's very opportunistic," I said, sweeping into the office.
The man flashed me a smile, and I was reminded of an arctic wolf. "Always." As we entered the waiting area, the receptionist, Diya, picked up the phone to call Dr. Wells. My not-attacker held out his hand to me. "I'm Ben Frost. Most people call me Frost."
"Benjamin is a nice name," I thought out loud, reaching for his hand. Something about it sat right on my tongue, and itmatched him. Classic and strong but not as harsh or jarring as other common names like Chris or Jack.
Benjamin's warm hand enclosed mine, and he shook it firmly, considering me in a way that made me feel like a bird on the other side of a cat's window. "No one calls me Benjamin."
I met his blue-eyed stare, taking him in as we slowly released hands. He did have a certain aura about him, one that could match his cold last name. Like nothing could pass the icy walls of his exterior. But there was a cleverness to his eyes and a ready smile on his lips that felt more natural than whatever frostiness he exuded. "Frost doesn't match you," I replied finally.
He stared hard, the gleam of interest returning. "Really."
"Evie, Frost," Wells said, entering the small, slightly outdated sitting room. From what I knew about fastidious Dr. Wells, he was probably more interested in his research than what his small waiting room looked like, anyway. I'd never been past the solid oak door that led to his lab, but I knew he spent long hours in there, and he was often available to receive venom from me well past normal working hours. It was already past five as it was.
Not that helookedoverworked. Dr. Wells kept his strong jaw clean-shaven, and his pale skin accentuated the warm tones in his brown eyes and caramel hair. He wore his hair a little long, like he often forgot to cut it, and it brushed the crisp collar of his lab coat as he closed the door firmly behind him.
Benjamin leaned against the front desk, crossing one ankle over the other and folding his arms over his toned chest. "Hey,mate."
Wells' eyes hooded behind his thick-rimmed glasses. "Still on that, are we?" He had a soft, lilting English accent that I could tell had been diluted by many years in the States. Maybe Dr. Frost liked to tease him for it.
"You love it," Benjamin grinned.
