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Then again, maybe she did grasp his meaning just fine. What she saw is what she got.
Or what she thought she saw, he corrected in his mind.
What she pretended to see?
It dawned on him this could be the perfect opportunity to put her to the test. With her guard down and her loose tongue, he could prove she was a fraud like all the people at that damn psychic hotline. He’d called the cops to report their fraud on his non-wedding day, but they’d already skipped town, so he never got his justice.
“What do you see when you look at me?” he asked.
She stared at him with that eerie intensity brightening her eyes again.
He suppressed a shiver. He didn’t believe she was a real psychic, and yet his heart pounded high in his throat at the possibility she would see something he didn’t want her to see—something he didn’t want anyone to see.
For the first time ever, he noticed her thick-lashed eyes weren’t a plain, chocolate brown. There were intriguing, subtle variations of dark and light that could apparently mesmerize a guy into letting her look deep into his soul.
Holy fuck, he was in trouble.
And yet, he couldn’t look away.
After a long moment, she looked away and reached for her glass. “I can’t read you. I’ve never been able to read you.”
Relief released his trapped breath, followed by the oddest sense of disappointment.
Then again, how convenient. “Why not?”
“I don’t know.” That note of belligerence crept back into her voice. “Some people I can’t read. It’s not that big a deal. I can’t read my mother, either.” She took a gulp from her glass, then muttered into her wine, “Don’t need to read her to know she’s no good.”
He frowned at that comment. It didn’t sound like she had a good relationship with her mother.
“Don’t need to read you either,” she added as she pushed to her feet.
To know I’m no good?
He had no time to ponder that question as she swayed hard. Loyal lunged forward and caught her before she fell flat on her face. When she was somewhat steady on her feet, he took her almost-empty glass with his free hand and transferred it to the kitchen counter.
“Hey. Gimmie that back.”
“Nope. You’re done for the night.”
“You’re not the boss of me.” She tried to shake him off, but her inebriated efforts were laughable at best.
“Come on.” He got a firm grip on her arms and turned her around so he could march her ahead of him. “It’s time for bed.”
“Ooooh.” She did drunken jazz hands as she stumbled back against him. “Loyal’s going to bed with the whack-job.”
He snorted even as the brush of her ass against the front of his pants got his blood flowing fast and furious. Steady pressure on her arms put a few inches between them and started her moving forward. “I’m not going to bed with you, Roxanna, I’m putting you to bed to sleep it off.”
“I need to sleep you off,” she muttered under her breath.
His pulse skipped a beat, and he gave her a sideways glance as they reached the bedroom. “What does that mean?”
“It means you’re no good for me.”
Well, that actually might be true, but why was she saying it? Why would she even think it?
He steered her to the bed and turned her again to sit her down. After a moment of scrutiny, he kneeled and started untying her girly combat boots. She braced her hands on the edge of the mattress and leaned forward. He caught a stronger whiff of peppermint as those long, wavy locks of hers spilled down to bracket both sides of his head, the tips brushing against his forearms. The thought of her hair brushing other parts of his body made his erection throb and had him biting back a groan.
A swift upward glance caught her watching him, her brown eyes shadowed with an emotion he couldn’t identify. Or maybe didn’t want to identify.
