played slowly in the distance.
Dana got up. âIâll fix it. Reporters,â she told the older woman, âare resourceful. Or they get barbecued by city editors.â
She got on the phone and called an old friend at the local daily paper. From her, she got the name of a good local band, which could be had, fortunately, on thespur of the moment, and the address of a good local deli. She sent Frank for cold cuts, called the band and in five minutes had everything wrapped up.
âMagic,â Lillian murmured, shaking her head in awe.
âUnicorns,â Dana laughed. âI believe in them, you know.â
She stayed in the kitchen with Lillian when the guests began to arrive, every one of them late, and the band was already winding up its first number by the time Adrian Devereaux arrivedâwith the dragon.
Fayre Braunns was the perfect foil for Adrianâs satanic darkness. She was blond, petite, with eyes so big and green that they seemed to dominate her sharp face. She was wearing a white lace pantsuit that clung like skin to her slender figure, contrasting violently with the dark brown silk of Adrianâs open shirt and white slacks. They made the perfect couple, Dana had to admit, feeling an emptiness in the region of her heart as she watched the blonde cling to him.
She hadnât dressed for the occasion, wearing faded denims and a blue and white checked knit top, but the sweep of her blond hair gave the old clothes an elegance she wasnât aware of.
She was finishing another tray of bacon-rolled dates for canapes when she heard the door open behind her.
âIâll have this batch ready in a jiffy, Lillian,â she said cheerfully, arranging parsley around the edges of the tray.
âHiding, Meredith?â
She tensed at the sound of that deep voice, her muscles contracting when she felt him move closer, felt the warm vibrancy of his powerful body just behind her, almost touching.
It was the first contact sheâd had with him since the argument, and she didnât want it at all.
âLillian and I thought it would be better if we shared the kitchen chores while we were here,â she murmured.
âDid you?â His big hands slid onto her waist, drawing her gently, slowly back against him so that she could feel the hardmuscle of his thighs, his flat stomach, his chest. His breath was warm beside her ear.
âWhat are you making?â he asked.
âTheyâ¦theyâre date and bacon rolls,â she whispered.
âWhat do they taste like?â
Impulsively, she picked up one of the tasty morsels and, turning slightly, held it to his chiseled mouth. He took it, his lips brushing her fingers as he savored it.
âNot bad,â he said with a grin, his eyes washing over her soft, flushed face. âDid you make them, Persephone?â
âYes.â
âAnd some mushrooms in hemlock gravy?â he teased.
She smiled at him. âOnly as a side dish,â she replied.
His eyes held hers, narrowing, glittering, as the smile left his mouth. His big hands tightened on her waist in a hungry, painful grip.
âWhy donât you turn around?â he murmured in a deep, lazy tone. âIâd rather taste you than the canapes.â
She blushed to the roots of her hair.âIâ¦I have to finish these,â she protested breathlessly, tugging at his big, warm hands.
His open mouth ran up and down the softness of her neck in a sensuous, slow caress. âYou smell of spring buds opening after a soft gray rain. No heavy perfume. No stiff hairspray and layers of makeup. You make me hungry, wood nymph.â
She drew a deep, slow breath. âWould you like another canape?â she asked, trying to make a joke out of it.
âCome outside with me,â he murmured at her ear, his teeth lightly nipping the lobe, âand let me make love to you.â
âMr. Devereaux!â she whispered shakily.
Soft, deep laughter was
Kurtis Scaletta, Eric Wight