Suddenlyherhands were onhiships. Nigel was so shocked by this turn of events, he nearly dropped his apples. But Bryony angled him, very much as Ward had done for Luna, then ran her hands slowly along the line of his shoulders. Quite a languorous touch, and Nigel couldn’t help the shock of heat that went through him. She put her scarlet lips close to his ear and said, “Now draw back your arm, keep your eye on the target, and . . .”
He obeyed. Forcing himself not to look at the Bad Apple himself—who was wriggling his bum and blowing raspberries—he focused on the big red dot in the center of the target. Only it wasn’t a big red dot he saw, but Ward’s handsome face. Right there. Surrounded by concentric circles. Winking.
“Go!” Bryony cried.
Nigel let loose. His missile hurtled through the air, through the reaching hands of the red-painted man. It struck center with a resoundingding!
The Bad Apple had just enough time to exclaim, “Oh sh—” before he plunged into the water tank. He burst through the surface in a fountain of bubbles and bobbing apples, sputtering curses. His red paint ran like blood in the water.
Nigel wiped his hands in satisfaction, not quite deaf to the enthusiastic cheers of the onlookers. He turned to find OfficerWard watching him. Did the wardsman sense the faintest trace of Dire Matter, infusing that apple-toss? Nigel met his gaze without flinching. Until Bryony dragged him over to the prize display, that is.
“Those there!” she declared, pointing a bright red nail. “He wants those!”
The vendor handed over his prize, and Nigel found himself in possession of a pair of vibrant purple lace garters. He stared at them, uncertainly.
“Well, now, Mr. Grimm,” Bryony twittered, leaning plumply against his arm. “Whatwillyou do with those I wonder?”
“Oh, um, I’m not sure,” he murmured. And stuffed them into his trouser pocket.
Bryony’s lip stuck out in a little pout, but Nigel scarcely registered it. He was looking for Luna. She and Ward were already moving on from The Bad Apple, but he half-caught Luna’s gaze, turning to look at him over her shoulder. A crowd of howling teenagers streamed across his field of view, blocking her from sight, and when he spotted her again, Ward was guiding her deftly over to the high striker.
But she had looked back at him. Of that, Nigel was certain.
Trailing Bryony in his wake, he made his way through the busy throngs toward the high striker. With every step he took, his reasonable, internal voice wailed:What are you doing, man? Make yourself scarce! Let her have her day with Ward, if that’s what she wants!
Only, did she truly want a day with Ward? Because he wasn’t totally convinced.
Luna stood with the crowd gathered around the high striker, waiting for Ward to take his turn. Nigel took a step to join her, only to stop short, his heart suddenly in his throat. Her cardigan. She’d unbuttoned it. Revealing sights Nigel had never before glimpsed, for her work blouses were all buttoned to the throat.Even that rainy afternoon when she’d worn his dressing gown, she’d kept it carefully secured in front.
Now the sweetheart neckline of her dress revealed a perfectly tasteful display of collarbone and sternum. Hardly an image of lust-fueled fantasy, and yet . . . Nigel’s mouth went suddenly dry.
His heartbeat returned with a painful thud, however, when he realized where her gaze was fixed. She chewed her lip in a contemplative way, her attention totally taken up by the sight of Officer Ward, who had rolled up his sleeves, showing off the might of his muscular forearms. These flexed impressively when the vendor handed him the heavy hammer. He faced the high striker, planted his feet before the tilted lever. The onlookers—many of them female, congregated for a good show—murmured with excitement. Ward cast Luna a quick glance, then brought that hammer down with profound force.
Up shot the puck.
Ding!went the bell.
“Oooooooh,”said the crowd. Several feminine voices catcalled enthusiastically. Nigel thought these people rather too easily impressed.
Ward turned, winked at Luna. Then he hit the lever again.
Ding!went the bell a second time.
“And the man does it again!” the manager of the high striker exclaimed, waving his hands to hype up the already-hyped crowd. A display like this was good for business. It didn’t matter if they came for the game or for the impressive physique of the burly wardsman. Business was business. “Tell you what, sirrah!” he cried, turning to Ward. “Do it five times running, and your little lady can pick one of myexclusiveprizes!”
Ward tossed back his bouncing curl. “No problem.”
He hit the bell again. And again.
He made it look easy.
The vendor threw up his hands in mock despair, even as he goaded the crowd. Luna’s eyes shone with excitement, her attention entirely absorbed.
Nigel’s fingers played softly, tracing an unconscious sigil. He felt the faintest accumulation of Dire Matter forming at his call, and—No!He squeezed both hands tightly into fists.
Ding!went the bell for a fifth and final time.
“There it is!” the vendor cried, and he threw back the cover of his little cart to reveal a display of shockingly cheap prizes. “Well, little lady”—he beckoned to Luna, who suddenly found herself the object of much female scrutiny and no little jealousy from several dozen pairs of mascara-limned eyes—“why don’t you step forward and pick yourself a prize?”
