She then disappeared.
And I didn’t know what came over me (I did, I was very fond of him).
I immediately jumped to my feet, raced down the hall, turned the corner, raced down that hall (damn, this house was huge), hit the foyer, and there he was, wearing a dark-gray shirt, the sleeves rolled up, the tie was gone, the shirt open, this over charcoal-gray suit trousers—tall, broad, beautiful.
Mine.
I threw myself at him, heard him grunt when he caught me, but his arms locked around me as I slid my hand into his hair to pull his mouth down to mine.
I didn’t have to expend much effort. He took my mouth, and we made out hot and heavy in the foyer.
When we finally broke, he purred, “Much better than you draped longingly over the balustrade.”
“I thought so,” I replied breathlessly.
He kissed my nose (a thing for him, since my freckles were a thing for him).
Then he let me go so he could kiss the waiting cheeks of Prue and Chassie while I greeted Bartholomew, who came home with him.
Prue clapped. “You made it in time for cocktails.”
“And a drink is precisely what I need, sweetheart. Traffic on the M4 was a nightmare,” he replied, rounding my shoulders with an arm and turning us to the plum parlor.
When we made it, Chassie asked, “Should I ring Fitzy?”
“I can manage,” Battle said, because not a single Talyn could toast a slice of bread, but I figured they all could make a variety of cocktails. He let me go and headed to the drinks cabinet, asking, “Orders?”
I tried to think of one to stymie him.
But he called me on it, saying, “I have a phone, Vivi. Whatever you cook up, I can look it up.”
“Martini,” I ordered on a huff.
He smiled at me.
I got over my huff.
“My usual,” Prue chirped.
“Me too,” Chassie surprisingly said (she was a non-frozen daiquiri girl, for the most part).
Battle got to work, and we took our seats, me in what had become my chair, next to Bartholomew, who put his slobbery snout on my leg, making me happy I was wearing jeans.
I stroked his head.
Battle had made the drinks, passed them around and folded into the chair beside mine when Tempie floated in looking her usual fabulous in a pair of wide-leg white pants and a red and white sleeveless blouse with a complicated bow at her neck.
She was accompanied by Fitzy.
“Good,” she said upon spying Battle. “I missed the reunion. But do tell. Was it mildly pornographic, or wildly pornographic?”
On his way to the drinks cabinet, Fitzy’s eyes went to the ceiling, but he was smiling.
Battle grunted disapprovingly.
“Blurgh! Tempie!” Chassie cried.
At that, I saw Battle’s body jerk in his chair, and I looked at him to see his eyes narrowed on his sister.
