Loren hadn’t changed out of the clothes she’d worn to work today: a black shirt that showed a sliver of her flat stomach, and a plaid skirt. The latter was so short, Darien caught a glimpse of the hot-pink underwear she had on underneath as she maneuvered the steps. He somehow managed not to stare—though he had to admit, that flash of color turned him on like a light.
Darien forced himself to look away from Loren so he wouldn’t do anything that would make her uncomfortable—like pant over her like a dog with a bone, which he was borderline doing.
The plant—Miss Prickles—was still vying for his attention.
“Aren’t you pretty?” he said in a low voice. If a plant could blush, Miss Prickles certainly would’ve been, for she shrank a little in her pot, leaves curling inward.
Darien became aware of Loren’s full attention falling upon him. He wondered what it was that he said, but by the time he faced her again she was making a point to look away from him, her expression impassive, though he swore he saw a peculiar spark in her eyes.
When Loren reached the last stair, Darien stepped forward to take the suitcase from her.
Her grip tightened on the handle, her shoulders stiffening. “I can carry it just fine on my own.”
“I’m perfectly capable as well,” Darien countered, matching her defensive tone.
Loren gave him a tight, closed-lip smile. “How about no?”
Darien felt his features harden into stone. “Your favorite word isno,isn’t it?”
Loren hummed and pursed her glossy lips. “No,” she said cheekily, and scrunched her nose up at him.
He scrunched his back.
Something about what he did made her lift her chin, made her blink rapidly, color pooling in her cheeks. “You’re infuriating,” she stated. Her voice was breathy.
“If I infuriate you so much, then why are your little dimples telling me you’re trying not to smile?”
That inviting color in her cheeks deepened. “They have a mind of their own.”
Darien smirked. “Oh, I’m sure.”
They stared each other down for a full minute before Loren sighed and finally offered up the suitcase. He waited until he had it in his hand before speaking again. “Just so we’re clear, when I offer to do something for you, you don’t need to take it as an insult.” Loren Calla was the very definition of the wordstubborn.
“It’s kind of a knee-jerk reaction,” she said as she led the way to the door. “Growing up a human in Angelthene has made my abilities quite clear over the years. Or lack thereof.”
“Fair enough.”
A gust of scorching-hot air blasted them in the face as they stepped out onto the street. The light was changing in subtle ways, the hills in the distance shifting to a golden-brown with the arrival of fall. People milled about the avenue, poking in and out of the few shops, salons, and restaurants that kept their doors open until just after sunset.
Darien had given Loren the option to stay at Hell’s Gate this weekend while he and the others investigated the new breed of demon that had been seen on the Angelthene Academy grounds. He had to admit he hadn’t really expected her to say yes, what with the Avertera talisman still around her neck. But to his surprise, she had agreed to his offer instantly. She was beginning to spend more time at his house than anywhere else, her dog included most days.
As she yanked the door shut behind her, the sun fell upon her in slanted beams, turning her thick hair white-gold, and when she peeked up at him, he found that her eyes were the deep blue of the ocean, edged with a vivid shade of turquoise unlike anything he’d ever seen.
Loren dropped her gaze from his, color blooming across her soft cheekbones.
Shit. He was staring again, wasn’t he?
Loren fumbled in her bag for her keys. “Did you figure anything out about the scroll?” Her hands started to tremble, and the longer he took to answer her, the more she fumbled. She made to swear, but instead she bit her bottom lip—that pouty, fuck-me mouth he just couldn’t look away from, painted the gleaming pink of the inside of a seashell. Her habit of talking back to him only made him want to fuck that lush mouth of hers so badly, it sometimes kept him awake at night. It certainly didn’t help that she was at his house every weekend, sleeping just down the hallway from him.
He wanted to fuck her so hard, that every man she’d tasted before him would be erased from her memory.
She locked the deadbolt, plunked the keys into her bag, and looked up at him. Her expression was unreadable, but she tilted an eyebrow. “Something on your mind, Darien?” The question brought him back to that night in the dining room—when he’d called her out for wanting to drop her panties. “I had no idea locking doors got you so hot and bothered.”
Fuck, this girl. She was giving him a run for his money.
He felt his gaze darken with irritation—and a deep frustration he had no intention of admitting to her. “Start walking.”
She tossed her hair over a shoulder and breezed past him, so close that her arm brushed his with a heat more intense than the sun, despite that he was wearing his usual black leather jacket.
