He decided, probably wisely, not to respond.
“Where’s Bartholomew?” I asked.
“Last time I saw him, he’d made his way up to the attics to keep company with Prue, and then promptly took a nap.”
I laughed.
Then I shared, “Baby Blue spent the night with me last night.”
“I’d wondered where she’d gone,” he murmured.
“She’s a bed hog.”
“She is that,” he agreed.
Okay, now was the time to get into the whole What’s with All the Heavy Flirting, Your Grace? chat.
I did not.
We made the plum parlor, and I challenged him with making me a Mary Pickford.
He bested it with ease.
Clearly, he’d learned at the hand of a master.
This gave indication he was (almost) perfect in every way.
Drat the man.
CHAPTER 11
THE EVISCERATION
It happened after dinner.
We were in the games room, and I was losing a significant amount of the huge pile of cashews I started with because I sucked so bad at poker.
Chastity, Courtney and Prue were curled up in yet another seating area by a fireplace, the fire lit, having a quiet gab.
So it was Battle, Tempie, Rally, Chelsea and me playing.
“Wait. Tell me again, is a full house better than a straight?” I asked the table.
See?
I was bad.
Battle turned twinkling-with-humor eyes to me as Tempie smiled deviously, and Rally started chuckling.
“It distresses me to put a damper on your enthusiasm for the game, but you’re terrible at this, darling,” Battle purred.
I felt that “darling” in his tone of voice with those twinkling brown eyes in my throat, my chest, my belly, regions south and maybe even down to my soul.
I held his gaze, thrown completely off balance in the best possible way.
I forced myself to speak. “I’ll be out this hand anyway. I only have three cashews left.”
To this, Battle reached to his massive mound of cashews (a big part of that mass came from my old mass), grabbed a hefty handful and dropped them on mine.
