A few ounces of wine were enough to sabotage Jade’s telekinetic control and send every glass in the Magnoliasoaring. But that put only objects at risk, not Jade’s mind, not her sanity. Under the influence, Rory had touched Arthur’s jacket and gotten lost in its creation. When would he have come out of that vision? In another moment? When he sobered up?
Ever?
Rory’s free hand suddenly looked like a time bomb to Arthur. He grabbed that one too, holding both tightly in his own.
Rory flexed his fingers in Arthur’s grip but didn’t try to pull away. “You’re holding my hands.”
“I don’t think I want you touching anything but me.”
Rory gazed at him through half-lidded eyes and criminally long lashes. “I can live with that.”
Was he—flirting? No, surely not, the boy was out of his preternatural head. “Focus on the present, on your own identity,” Arthur said. “What did you mean,which name?”
“My name’s Rory now.”
“Now? If that’s your name now, what was your namethen?”
Rory didn’t answer, eyes fluttering shut.
“No sir,” Arthur snapped. “You’re not sleeping until I’m certain you’re going to wake in the right year.” He gave Rory another shake. “Hello, Rory.”
Rory cracked an eye. “Ciao, bello.”
Hello, handsome. Heat reflexively shot through Arthur. He’d had been abroad enough to know the phrase, had said it himself to more than one handsome Italian.He’s a drunk Irish boy parroting Little Italy, Arthur told himself, trying to shake off the desire Rory had inadvertently stoked.He’s not flirting with you, he doesn’t even know what it means.
Jade’s loss of control wore off with the alcohol. Fine. Arthur just had to ride this out until all the brandy was out of Rory’s system. Just keep him awake, keep him from touching anything—and, oh yes, ignore accidental innuendo in a sultry foreign tongue. Arthur could do that. Hewoulddo that.
“Talk to me,” he ordered. “Do you know where you are right now?”
“A dream.”
Arthur’s stomach plummeted. “Dream?”
Rory tilted his head back invitingly. “A fella good-looking as you’s gotta be a dream.”
Arthur caught his breath in surprise as the cab driver made a choked sound in the front seat. “You shit,” Arthur said, with feeling. “Did you just take ten years off my life for some half-under mocking?”
Rory gazed at his mouth. “’S best dream I ever had.”
Arthur raised his eyes heavenward. “Not the worst line I’ve heard,” he grudgingly admitted, pitching his voice low enough the cabbie wouldn’t hear. “Try it on a pretty girl when you’re sober.”
“It was for you.” Rory, devil take him, was still staring at him. “Bellisimo,” he said, as if to himself.“Are your lips soft as they look?”
Arthur’s heart stuttered.Drunken nonsense, he reminded himself.Nothing but fiendishly charming drunken nonsense. You should hope to be so eloquent the next time you’re trying to pick up a man. A sober one. Older than twenty. Who likely won’t be half as cute as the man you’ve got pinned under you—
“You must spend a lot of time in Little Italy,” he blurted, desperate for distraction.
“I never been—” Rory’s intent gaze suddenly shifted to discomfort as he went an alarming shade of green. “I don’t feel so good.”
Oh no. “Pull the cab over!”
On the back seat of the cab, Rory leaned heavily into Arthur’s side, still peaky. “I threw up.”
“Yes you did,” Arthur muttered.
“’Cause I drank.” Rory’s head lolled against him as he looked up with glazed eyes. “No one’s supposed to drink. Did the bulls see?”
“The police didn’t see.” Arthur resisted the urge to wrap his arm around Rory. “You feel better now?”
