Was this a date?
Was it trust?
The splendor of Las Vegas spread out around us, but I couldn’t look away from Beck’s shimmering golden eyes. The streaks of silver in his hair caught the light like veins ofprecious ore, threading through him as though he’d been forged from molten metal.
He pressed a kiss to my forehead, then his lips stayed close as he whispered, “I know you’re hungry, Beauty. I’ll take care of that too. One appetite at a time.”
At the car, he set me down, then opened the door.
The sight of this powerful man—this higher demon—who had just gone to war with Maslow on my behalf, signed a check for a ridiculous sum with no intentions beyond taking me to lunch, and carried me across the parking lot so I didn’t burn my toes, made it impossible not to pose the nagging question.
“Beck?” I perched on the edge of the limo’s bench seat and peered up at him. “Is this a date?”
Bracing one hand on the roof and the other on top of the door, Beck leaned into a frame of daylight. Every other feature paled in comparison to his smile. “I think it might be,” he said. “If that’s all right with you.”
“Yeah…” The word squeaked out of me. “That’s all right.”
Beck swung into the car, and we sat side by side. I pinned my hands between my knees to keep them from wandering, but Beck had no such reservations. He tucked my hair behind my ear, then draped his arm across my shoulders to pull me close.
My cheeks burned hotter than the gravel-studded lot as we took off.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
Beck
Lunch came after a pit stop for shoes—blindingly white trainers with arch support—and now we were strolling down Las Vegas Boulevard with Zephyr in wide-eyed awe.
His red hair dusted his shoulders with each buoyant step as he marveled over every billboard, fountain, and tourist trap like they were treasures. As though he weren’t the most stunning thing on display.
Sunlight bounced off glass towers and chrome signage, casting panes of bright and dark across the pavement, and when I paused to really see it, everything seemed softer somehow. The Strip had transformed from a carnival of excess to the place I used to love. I couldn’t remember the last time the city had felt this appealing, like something I might still want.
Like something I hadn’t already used up.
I’d stripped down to just my button-up, then rolled up the sleeves in a futile attempt to outmatch the desert heat.Zephyr had done the same with his cropped sweatshirt, the sleeves scrunched to his elbows as he pranced along in skintight leggings that clung to every curve. He worked a piña colada-flavored lollipop around his mouth, the one he’d picked up when we stopped for bottled water.
The water was long gone, but the sucker remained. It clicked against his teeth, making it impossible not to stare at the way his lips moved around the stick.
I wasn’t the only person who noticed him. Most people hurried past, dipping into casinos or street-side shops, too focused on their own business to care. But a few slowed. A few looked. We made an odd pair, and I felt the sudden, stupid urge to reach for his hand.
But I didn’t. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I was afraid. Afraid of looking foolish. Of being outmaneuvered by this stunning, unreadable creature. Or worse, of not being worthy of the affection he wore so openly on his face.
He was so young and full of wonder, and I was… changed. Different from the way I’d been before Hell spat me out.
“You’re new in town.” My statement signaled the end of a long stint of silence.
Zephyr’s gaze drifted toward an advertisement for the Museum of Illusions ahead on the left. “Um, yeah.”
“How long?” I asked.
He plucked the sucker from his mouth and held it out, glossy and gleaming in the sun. “Couple of months.”
“Months?” I echoed. “And before that?”
“Hell.” The lollipop slid back between his lips, and I swallowed hard.
Judging by his succinct answers, my choice of topic for small talk was poor. But Colette had dominated the lunchhour, sharing madcap tales about everything from her revolutionary days to romps in what was now known as the Wild West.
