I cut a glance at the blue mark on his neck and came up with a quick, literal translation. "You know what I think it represents?"
"This oughta be good," he grunted, and rolled his eyes.
I tried not to let his reaction bother me. "I think it's supposed to be two hands, each holding a stone, one facing upward and the other facing downward."
"Meaning?" he challenged me.
"Well, it's like…it's like the power of reason gives you the ability to weigh an argument from opposite points of view."
"Wow," he muttered cynically. "That's deep."
His attitude wasn't exactly encouraging. Feeling defeated, I lapsed into silence.
The rest of the trip was way uncomfortable. Reason didn't talk. He didn't say anything. And it's a long way from Pine Grove to Boulder. His silence made it seem even longer. I was hyperaware of his presence in my car as he stared out the side window. I was paying more attention to him than the traffic, or the weather, which was beginning to look a little scowly.
About half way down Highway 93, it started snowing and I slowed down, feeling my way along the road, which was covered with a thin layer of white.
"Is something wrong?" he asked. He must have picked up on my tension. Either that or he was wondering why we were going like twenty miles an hour.
"I've never driven in the snow before."
"It doesn't snow in Texas?" he asked.
I shook my head. "Not very often. I suppose MacKenzie doesn't have any trouble in the snow," I stated, which was probably a safe bet, considering where she lived. I assumed the foothills got a lot more snow than Boulder or Denver.
"MacKenzie's a good driver," he said quietly.
Of course she was. I stepped on the gas, determined to be as good a driver as MacKenzie. But evidently, I was still traveling too slowly for the natives. The SUV behind me decided it was time to pass the little white Rabbit with the Texas plates. And that might have been fine except that headlights appeared suddenly in the other lane. I slowed down to let the passing car get in front of me but it was still a close thing. The SUV swerved into my lane with about two inches to spare. I slammed on the brakes before his bumper could come in through my windshield and stamp his license number on my face. My little car fishtailed on the tricky road, and I swore beneath my breath.
Finally, Reason decided to get talkative. But he didn't say anything about my driving, or the car that had just jumped in front of us. Or the fact that I'd used a particularly bad word to express my disgust. "There's something I've been wanting to ask ever since I arrived here in the twenty-first century."
"Why didn't you ask MacKenzie?" I muttered, feeling tense and crabby, my brow knitted into a fierce frown as I peered out the windshield.
He rolled his shoulders without looking at me. "MacKenzie's young. I wasn't comfortable asking her."
Huh. That made me feel a little less defensive. Maybe there was something I could do that MacKenzie couldn't. "So, what do you want to know?"
Reason turned his handsome face toward me. "How do you to flip someone off?"
I wasn't expecting that. A soft burst of laughter broke from my lips, and I showed him my middle finger.
So, Reason opened his window, stuck his hand out into the cold night air and flipped off the SUV. I doubt the driver saw him but I figured it's the thought that counts. It was a bit of a Sir Galahad moment and helped to break the ice a little. A faint smile touched his lips. "Thanks," he said.
"Don't mention it," I answered with a grin, and felt brave enough to try a little more talk. "You seem to have adapted well to the twenty-first century."
"What's that supposed to mean?" he drawled, all bored-like.
"You speak modern English remarkably well for someone from the thirteen century."
He slanted a condescending look in my direction. "Prithee, young maiden. What didst thou expect?"
I sent him a sideways glance. "Is that how people talked back in your time?"
"Nay. That's how people talked back in the seventeenth century. If I were to use medieval English, you wouldn't understand much more than every third word."
"Really?" I asked, getting curious. "Say something in your old language."
He tipped back his head and sighed like he thought I was the biggest nuisance on the face of the earth. "What do you want to hear?"
"Well, for instance, what's the word for like?"
"Gloppin," he answered so easily and quickly that it never occurred to me that he might be messing with me.
"Gloppin." I tried out the word, and rolled it around on my tongue. "What about something more than like? What about…love."
"Gloppindop," he snapped off without taking a breath.
"Gloppindop!" I checked his face. If he was winding me up, he was doing a good job of hiding it.
"We can hear when we're in our stone forms," he offered with a smothered yawn. "So, even though we were trapped for eight hundred years, we knew what was going on around us and we were able to keep up with the changes in language."
"That makes sense," I murmured and got a little braver since we were getting along so well and almost having a conversation. "So, what was that stunt in the garage all about?"
He blinked and turned his head in my direction. "What do you mean?"
"Why didn't you wake up when I talked to you?"
It was a fair question, really. I mean, here's me, worrying for several weeks that I'd killed this other-worldly being and the whole time he's fine! Hanging around in Colorado, surrounded by his friends and family. I'm sorry, but he might have set my mind at ease when I got to Pine Grove and he could see I was worried. He might have come to life and told me he was okay.
"Isn't it obvious?" he snorted.
I flicked my gaze at him then focused it on the road again. "You didn't want me to know about you guys? You just wanted me to go away and leave you alone?"
"That's about it," he answered evenly, without a flicker of regret.
Wow. Why did that make me so sad? I returned my complete attention to the road and the next several minutes passed by in gloomy silence.
"Victor told you we try to keep our existence hidden," he muttered as a slight peace offering. Really slight.
I didn't tell him that I understood all that. It just bothered me that it didn't…bother him. I followed the taillights in front of me, keeping a safe distance between us. "If you were going to turn to stone and pass yourself off as a statue, why didn't you stay all crumpled up like you were the last time I saw you? Didn't you think I'd notice the change?"
"I thought if you saw me in my original shape, you wouldn't worry about me and you'd…be able to move on."
By that, I understood him to mean he thought it was the quickest way to get rid of me. I decided to shut up and quit asking questions since I didn't like his answers.
"So, what are you going to school for?" he asked after a long period of silence, though he didn't appear particularly interested.
"For an education," I snipped back at him.
"You know what I mean," he growled. "What are you studying?"
"Art," I answered in one chilly syllable.
"Art?" he echoed, and straightened a little in the passenger seat. "You're studying art? Really?"
"Really," I answered.
So, all of a sudden he seemed a little friendlier, like maybe I wasn't a complete waste of his time. His change in attitude wasn't exactly lost on me. I figured he was probably interested in art himself, if his sketches were anything to go by.
"My lecture classes will probably be huge," I mused grudgingly. "And you could maybe sit in on some of them. Nobody would notice."
He seemed pleased but he didn't say so. He could have just said, "That's great!" Instead, he acted all defiant. "I'll definitely be going to class with you," he clipped out. Which meant he didn't intend to let me out of his sight. But I bet he was relieved I wasn't studying something like Russian Literature or, even worse, The Female Reproductive System.
<
br /> "What you are smiling about?" he asked suspiciously.
I kept my thoughts to myself. "Nothing," I answered with a straight face.
Chapter Seven
Back inside the Boulder city limits, I carefully steered the car up a rather slippery Broadway Street and pulled over at a grocery store a few blocks away from my apartment so I could work on my shopping list. We picked up milk, cereal, bread, bagels, eggs, butter, cheese and a few cans of soup as well as a small nonstick fry pan. The pan alone cost fifteen dollars and I wasn't too happy about the expense. I'd only been in Boulder thirty-six hours and I'd already busted my budget. But Reason surprised me and paid for everything when we reached the cash register, pulling a hundred dollar bill from his front pocket.
"Where'd you get that?" I asked him.
"We have our means," he murmured and swept the grocery bag into one arm.
"I'll pay you back," I insisted, worried that the money had come from MacKenzie and knowing she couldn't afford to help support me.
"It's no big deal," he rumbled as we headed for the exit. "We build hunting bows and sell them online."
Huh. The hunting bow market couldn't be very big. Personally, I didn't know a single person who hunted. "How many bows have you sold?"
He lifted one shoulder in an offhand shrug. "Four or five."
I could tell he didn't really want to talk about money and who was going to pay for what, so I decided it would be best if I shopped without him half the time, just to make things fair. As we headed out of the store, I was surprised to find that the parking lot was dark; I hadn't realized we'd been inside that long. "Can you cook?" I asked him as he followed me to the car, and thick snowflakes caught in our hair and lashes.
"I can wash dishes," he answered.
"That'll work," I decided, glancing across at him as I opened the hatchback door. I hadn't noticed before that his lashes and eyebrows were dark, like the underneath layers of his hair. Quite dark, actually. And way attractive.
Back in the drivers seat again, I crept the last few blocks to my apartment. "This is it," I told him, looking up at my apartment above the garage.
Carrying the groceries, he trailed me up the stairs to the small landing in front of the door. I fumbled the door key out of my pocket and inserted it into the lock then stopped suddenly as I remembered what I'd tacked up on the wall before I'd left earlier in the day. "Uh. I need to go in alone for a minute," I told him.
"What for?" he asked, and shifted the paper bag into his other arm.
"Just…for…personal reasons," I explained awkwardly.
He narrowed his eyes on me suspiciously.
"One minute," I insisted.
He jerked his chin upward. "Hurry up."
I swept into the room and grabbed my sketch from the wall, stuffing it into my portfolio bag and zipping it closed. Smoothing my hands down my thighs, I hurried for the door and opened it. My heart hitched a little at the sight of his perfectly sculpted profile. His blue gaze was fixed off toward the south somewhere. A lonely but resigned look was stamped on his face.
I felt a little sorry for him, but mostly I was annoyed at his attitude. Settling my hands on my hips, I said, "You really hate being here, don't you?"
He set his very European mouth in a flat line and eased past me into the room.
"I told you the apartment was small," I said a little defensively. "Too small for two people."
"It's fine," he muttered and slid the groceries onto the kitchen counter. "I'm used to a lot less. Homes weren't very big back in my time and families were generally large."
I gave the room a doubtful once over.
He dropped his sports bag on the couch and turned to face me. "It's fine," he said more softly.
"Are you hungry?" I asked. Personally, I was starved.
"I could eat something," he answered.
So, I fixed grilled cheese sandwiches and soup for dinner. True to his word, Reason took care of the dishes. While he was clattering around at the sink, I unpacked the stuff I’d brought from home. It was ten or eleven by the time we'd finished cleaning up and I noticed he only had four or five T-shirts in his bag so I showed him the washer and dryer down in the garage. When we got back upstairs, I was ready for bed…and there was only one room…and only one bed.
Luckily, Mom had insisted I take extra bedding so that I'd have a clean set to use while I was washing the others. I went to work with my press pins. Dragging a barstool away from the kitchen counter, I climbed up onto the red vinyl seat and tacked a sheet to the ceiling. It's actually kind of hard working overhead like that when your feet aren't planted firmly on the ground and I lost my balance a few times.
"Steady," Reason murmured, his voice unexpectedly close as he clamped a hand on my hip, his long fingers gripping me firmly and sending a rush of excitement roiling through my system.
I tried to tell him I was fine but I couldn't choke the words out, so I opted for ignoring him and his unsettling touch. Not that it worked. But I finished up as quickly as possible and made a move to slip down onto the seat. But before I could do that, Reason locked his free hand on the other side of my hip and lifted me down.
I stepped quickly out of his hold and looked up at the white sheet that divided the room into two spaces, the hide-a-bed on one side and the couch on the other. After dusting my hands together, I rested them on my hips like I meant business. "You can sleep on this side of the sheet," I said all no-nonsense-like. I threw a quilt on the couch then looked at my two pillows and decided to donate one for the cause. "When it's night, this is my side of the room."
He gave me a blunt stare. "I'll try to resist the temptation."
Okay. You know what? He didn't have to be insulting. It's not like I'm dog meat in the looks department. "Yeah, that's what my last three boyfriends said," I informed him acidly. "It didn't work."
It was only a tiny exaggeration. I'd actually had three or four boyfriends by then. But none of them were serious boyfriends, if you know what I mean. It's not like I was saving myself or anything like that, but my sister got pregnant in her freshman year at college and while Mom has never regretted her granddaughter for one second, I think she was a little disappointed that Ria didn't get a degree. So, I tried to be a good daughter.
"You've had boyfriends?" he snorted.
Getting even more insulted, I crossed my arms over my chest. "Why do you sound so surprised? Don't you think I'm pretty enough to have had boyfriends?"
He scowled down at me. "I didn't say that."
"I've had plenty of boyfriends!"
"Congratulations," he snarked. "Your family must be very proud."
That's it, I thought. I swept the bedsheet-curtain out of the way and grabbed my spare pillow off the couch, slapping it back on the hide-a-bed. "I'm. Not. Ugly." I stated fiercely.
He backed down a little. "I didn't say you were. It's just that you look…young. Younger than you are."
That was true but I didn't say so.
"And it's just that…I never have."
"You never have…what?"
"Never had a girlfriend," he said. Reaching up, he dragged his hands though his hair.
What the… No. No. He was messing with me. He had to be messing with me. Didn't he? I checked his face. He looked so embarrassed by the idea that I found myself believing him. Really.
"So, you've never actually kissed a girl?" I looked him up and down. "How did that happen?"
He gave a sullen shrug. "I don't know. The others always had plenty of lasses. Victor. Dare. Defiance. I just never got around to it. As second-in-command, I had responsibilities and I took them seriously."
"Maybe too seriously," I snickered.
"Maybe," he muttered and threw himself down on the couch.
So, I got to thinking about him being way more innocent than he looked. To be honest, he looked like a double helping of pure wicked topped with blowtorch icing. But for some reason, I liked the idea of him maybe being a little inexperienced where gi
rls were concerned.
Deciding to mess with him, I started acting all flirty and hot-babe-like, thinking that it would make him uncomfortable. Maybe even give him a heart attack. I plunked myself on the couch beside him and leaned into him, crossing my leg over his and plucking at the sleeve of his T-shirt. "So, you've never been kissed?" I breathed close to his ear, expecting him to pull away.
That's not what happened.
The next thing I knew, I was flat on my back and he was on top of me, pressing me into the cushions on the couch, ravaging my mouth with the hottest, sexiest kiss I'd ever been on the receiving end of. And after I recovered from the initial shock, I was eating it up, kissing him back like there was a limited supply of guys with lips, while a deep growl vibrated in his chest.
The guy was a quick learner.
My phone went off with a sudden scream of noise and I cursed myself for not changing my ring tone like I'd meant to. Reason jumped off me, breathing hard and staring down at me like he'd just kissed a snake…and wanted to try it again.
"What was that all about?" I exclaimed, ignoring my phone and trying to pull some air into my lungs.
"What was what all about?" he gasped.
"That…that…that kiss."
"Nothing," he snapped. "A mistake."
Okay, part of me was crushed that he thought the best kiss of my life was somehow a mistake. But I wasn't about to let him know. Instead, I went on the offensive. "Yeah, it was a mistake. You don't even like me!"
He pushed out a few more rapid breaths. "I seem to do that a lot."
"Do what?" I asked, struggling back up into a sitting position and eyeing him from the safe distance of one foot away.
"Fall for girls I don't like," he rasped, his gaze shifting away from me.
"What?" I asked, not sure I'd heard him right.
"Nothing," he growled. "Just drop it."
"So, I'm supposed to forget the fact that you just tried to eat my face off?"
He pinned me with an icy stare. "That's right. And unless you want more of the same, don't provoke me again."
The Greystone Bundle (Books 1-4) Page 44
