Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 92996 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92996 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
When we entered the living room, we found both girls passed out on the couch, Shelby snoring. Not loudly, but constantly. The necklace was around her neck, and when I looked at it, it glowed slightly to let me know it was where it was supposed to be.
“You saw that, right?” Lorne asked.
I smiled at him. “I did.”
“I’m thinking that’s a good thing, yeah?”
“It’s a very good thing,” I promised him.
TWELVE
Lorne checked on the kids, made sure Argos was all right, and I took a shower. By the time I got out, it was nearly one in the morning.
“Oh, Lorne,” I said, drying my hair as I walked into our bedroom. “It’s so late.”
“Or early,” he teased, smiling, having changed into a pair of sleep shorts, his T-shirt still on. “Either way, we have to talk.”
I sighed, feeling drained. “Well, we can try.”
“I know what’ll help,” he said, taking the brush from me. “You forgot to put the hair oil in. Go do that, and then I’ll brush it.”
“I can—”
“Please, Xan,” he husked. “This’ll be the most relaxing thing I’ve done all night.”
Darting back into the bathroom, I used the large jar with the dropper, measured ten or twelve into my hand, and smoothed the oil through my hair from scalp to ends. It made it silky but could not combat the curl or the wildness, as Lorne said of my wavy mane that fell nearly to the middle of my back. I had told him it needed to be cut, but then he’d tangle his fingers in it and tug me gently to him, and I’d forget what I’d been saying.
When I returned, having changed into sleep shorts as well and nothing else, Lorne gestured for me. He was sitting up, propped by pillows, and I moved up between his legs, crossing my own, and he started to brush. He was so much gentler than me.
“All right now, are you focused?”
“I am,” I promised, though the brushing was very soothing.
“So where do you—”
“Sorry, I have to ask, and I am focusing, just not on the part of the problem you’re trying to solve at the moment,” I said, looking at him over my shoulder.
I loved the mischievous grin I got in response. “Go ahead. What part of this insane problem are you trying to solve?”
“The getting-the-demon-on-Corvus part.”
“Okay.”
“Last year, yes. Possibly. If the demon didn’t attack me immediately, I could see it. But now, the second there’s a glimmer of I want to hurt Xander, the roots of all the trees would shoot up through the ground and suck it down under.”
“Which would be cool to see again.”
I turned to look at him.
“What?” he asked.
“When you saw the land do that in the past, those were very specific instances of defense. The land is not the giant plant from Little Shop of Horrors.”
He chuckled. “Toby was so cute in that.”
Toby was cute in everything. “He was, but, Lorne, Corvus is more beautiful than deadly.”
“I’m not disputing that. But it would kill anyone here trying to hurt you.”
“Or you.”
“Really? Me?”
I glared at him. “Of course. You know the land wants you here, and the cottage adores you. Both would protect you the same as they do me.”
“The cottage, I’ll give you,” he agreed. “But the land?”
I took a deep breath.
“Wait, listen, Xan, I’m not saying I’m some nobody off the street, but—”
“You love pomegranates.”
It took him a moment. “What?”
“You love pomegranates,” I reiterated. “I like them. They’re fine. But I can take ’em or leave ’em. I prefer oranges, as they have more uses for simmer pots, and if you cut them in half, eat the fruit but leave the center stem and then pour olive oil in it to just below the top of the stem, then boom—you have an oil light that smells good.”
After a minute of nothing but silence, I turned to find him smiling.
“What’s with the face?”
He put the brush down and took my face in his hands. “Your brain, I swear, is filled with so many fascinating tidbits of information and fun crafts.”
“You’re patronizing me,” I murmured right before he kissed me.
I loved to be kissed by Lorne MacBain, and when he hummed as he did it, I realized I didn’t care that much if he was teasing me. I didn’t care even a little.
“Now tell me about the pomegranates,” he said, breaking the kiss I was leaning into.
“What?” I asked, my skin hot, almost itchy, needing to be under him.
“I dunno, you brought it up.”
He didn’t care at all, wasn’t affected in the least by being so close to me. It stung, but a niggle in the back of my brain reminded me I was running on fumes at this point.
I tried to scoot away from him, but he wrapped me in his arms and held tight.