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“James,” she says patiently. “You stand there smilin’ like that, speakin’ of his temper. Do you enjoy testin’ it?”
I consider her a moment, then answer honestly. “I’ve no wish to quarrel with your… sentinel. I’d never admit this to his face, but he would best me in that encounter.”
She snorts softly at that. “He’s not my sentinel.”
“Protector, then?”
“Am I not worth the trouble?” she asks, arching a brow. “Not pretty enough to inspire recklessness?”
Hell’s bells. She has me.
“I’d never imply such a thing,” I say evenly.
“Aye?” She pushes away from the table and comes nearer, closing the distance until I can feel the warmth of her presence. “Go on, then. Let me hear the best of you.”
“Very well,” I say. “I find myself distracted because you possess a mouth that invites closer inspection, and I’m not a man born with enough discipline to pretend otherwise. I also feel as if surviving a night with you might leave a man ruined beyond recovery.”
That draws a soft laugh from her.
“And what would you know of surviving me?” she asks.
“Nothing at all,” I say easily. “But I suspect I’d consider the attempt worthwhile for any man.”
She laughs a little louder—real laughter this time, bright and unguarded, head tipping back before she remembers herself.
“Is that the best you can manage?” she demands, though she’s still smiling.
“Hardly,” I say, stepping closer, lowering my voice. “But I should hate to waste the stronger artillery if you’ve not the stomach for it.”
She dances her fingers up my arm in a slow, idle climb, as though she’s merely settling herself—until her hand comes to rest on my shoulder. Her gaze slips past me toward the doorway, and something in her brightens at once.
“I think,” I begin—
A heartbeat later, a presence presses in at my side.
Ellen’s smile widens, triumphant and entirely uninnocent.
I turn from Ellen’s wicked satisfaction to find James beside me, face composed and his eyes anything but. They fix on me with an intensity that could strip bark from a tree.
“Do continue,” he says mildly.
“Ah,” I say. “I believe my audience has expanded.”
Ellen presses her lips together, colour rising—though whether from laughter or something else, I can’t say.
James is not smiling, not even at her.
“Have you quite finished dismissin’ the instruction to steer clear of the kitchen?” he asks.
Ellen clears her throat, striving for composure and nearly managing it.
“Dinnae mind him, Alex. You were sayin’?” she prompts, wicked again now that the danger is visible.
This little minx set me up.
I can feel James’s eyes boring into the side of my face.
Ellen doesn’t so much as blink.
