Page 101 of Demon and the Raven

“You’re patronizing me,” I murmured right before he kissed me.

I loved to be kissed by Lorne MacBain, and when he hummed as he did it, I realized I didn’t care that much if he was teasing me. I didn’t care even a little.

“Now tell me about the pomegranates,” he said, breaking the kiss I was leaning into.

“What?” I asked, my skin hot, almost itchy, needing to be under him.

“I dunno, you brought it up.”

He didn’t care at all, wasn’t affected in the least by being so close to me. It stung, but a niggle in the back of my brain reminded me I was running on fumes at this point.

I tried to scoot away from him, but he wrapped me in his arms and held tight.

“You think stupid crap when you’re tired.”

“Pardon?”

“Everything you do affects me, Xander Corey, so knock it off.”

“How do you do that? Just know?” I asked, trying to wiggle free.

“Because I can read your mind,” he replied with a grin. “Now stop trying to get off the bed. Stay here.”

I chuckled, turning around so I could see his face.

“You’re all flushed right now,” he told me, “and your eyes are that peaty brown I love.”

“What?” I draped my legs over his thighs.

“They’re hazel, so they change. They turn this gorgeous brown with gold in them when you want me.”

“I always want you.”

“Yeah, but sometimes you’re ravenous for me, and I would like nothing better than to attack you right here, but for one, there’s kids out there.”

“That’s what a door is for.”

He shook his head. “And two, we still need to talk, and three, I wanna hear about the pomegranates.”

“You have a one-track mind.”

“Definitely a plus in situations like this when we’re looking for a foul creature from the pit, but go on now about fruit.”

“Foul creature from the—I’m sorry, who’s tired?”

“Please…explain.”

Long sigh. “I prefer apples to pomegranates, and lemons, cherries, strawberries, blueberries, loganberries, things of the berry persuasion in general.” I took his left hand in mine, and the smile I got was so fond, I had to swallow a couple of times to find my voice. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve said, out loud, that I would really love a lemon tree. A peach tree. A bigger assortment of berries. Cantaloupe, even.”

“Cantaloupes don’t grow on trees.”

I glared at him.

“They don’t,” he repeated. “But also, don’t Charles and Allie send their boys down here all the time with all those things you mentioned?”

“Not the point.”

“You bake for them, protect their land, their crops, and in turn, they keep you in fruits and vegetables, both fresh and canned, because, as we all know, you’re not so great at gardening.”