Chapter Nineteen

At a tentative knock, Grey glanced up from his email to find Rowan standing in the doorway.

“I wanted to let you know I was home.”

He leaned back in his chair, taking a moment to absorb how nice the word “home” sounded on her lips, taking in her appearance. She’d already kicked off her shoes. The woman seemed to have something against them. Her adorable toes scrunched into the thin carpet covering the hardwood of his office, like they protested his glance.

He lifted his gaze, trying not to also stare at that stubborn chin, or freckles, or lips that he wanted pressed against his. “Did you enjoy your day?”

“Yes.” Her expression gave away little, but the slight tightening to her lips told him she’d rather not talk about it.

Curious, he let it go, nonetheless. “Good. Have you had dinner?”

Only a slight hesitation. “No.”

“I make a mean spaghetti. Would you like to join me?”

A longer hesitation this time. What was with her all of a sudden? Had dealing with Castor, and the physical toll that took, scared her, made her rethink working for him? His job did have the potential to bring danger, but he’d warded the house against outside threats. The thought of her leaving was as sharply unpleasant as a punch in the nose, making it hard to see straight through the sting.

The same sting her fear of him in the woods had brought. Only that had been worse. The fear in her eyes, the certainty that he’d cause her any harm. But how could he harm someone who’d become as important to him as she had? The girls trusted her, had come to rely on her. So had he. He couldn’t do this without her. What’s more, he didn’t want to. When had that happened?

“That would be nice. Thank you.”

Still recovering from his over-the-top reaction, Greyson glanced at his watch, more as a stalling tactic to gather his wits. He knew the time, as the day had moved in frustrating slowness. This had nothing to do with the witch before him, of course, just irritation with the lack of movement on his case and the strange quiet of an empty house. “Give me about an hour?”

“Do you need any help?”

He shook his head. “It’s your day off.”

A genuine smile lit her eyes. “So it is. I’ll see you in an hour, then.”

A few hours later, Grey poured the last of the wine into both their glasses and led Rowan to the couch in the family room. She walked through the corner of the room beside the fireplace and shivered.

“Cold?” he asked.

She smiled and lowered herself to the couch. “Something about that spot. It’s always freezing.”

“I know. It’s been that way since…”

Why’d he pause? “Since?”

His lips tipped in a self-deprecating smile. “You’ll think it’s silly, but that spot showed up when my grandmother, Essie, died. I sometimes feel it around the cat, too.”

“You’re not the only one,” Rowan murmured, glancing around surreptitiously. If Grandma Essie was a spirit, what did she think about all this?

And why didn’t I see her that night I was in the spirit realm?

With a whispered spell from Grey, the fireplace blazed to life, casting a cheerful light over the night-darkened room.

All through dinner, Rowan had seemed hesitant with him—quieter than she normally tended to be, not looking him in the eye, a fact that bothered him more than he should let it. He’d spent most of dinner trying to convince himself that his feelings weren’t as deep as they seemed and keeping the conversation impersonal and light, putting her at ease until she relaxed, but her tension had spilled over to him. He kept rolling his shoulders like that would help. It didn’t.

Now, seated with one foot tucked up beneath her, she cast him a sideways glance, catching him watching the play of the firelight over her hair. He had to admit to a certain fascination at the way the dancing light burnished the tresses in alternating patterns of gold, dark red, and black.

He’d been doing that a lot lately. Watching her. He wanted to do even more. Only he was trapped between that need and who she was to his family. But he couldn’t look away now. Idly he wondered if her hair would feel as silky against his fingers as he thought. The image of her tresses spread out over a pillow or across his chest had him sucking in a sharp breath.

He curled his fingers around the stem of his wineglass to keep from reaching out for her. “What did you end up doing today?”

Wrong thing to say. Rowan lowered her eyes, her expression turning guarded. “I went hiking.”

Greyson took a swallow of wine as he considered why hiking would be a wary subject for her. “Where?”

“Off Trail Ridge Road.”

Ah, where he’d suggested taking her. Ignoring the bite of what that meant, Greyson tried to flash a teasing grin. “If you didn’t want to spend the day with your boss, all you had to do was say so.”

Her hands twisted in her lap. What was wrong with her? “It wasn’t that—”

Enough.

Grey plonked his glass down, lucky he didn’t break it with the force, and sat forward so he could reach across the space between them. He put a hand over hers, which twisted in her lap. “Do I make you nervous, Rowan?”

She whipped her head to stare at him, both wary and surprised. “No.”

Liar. “So it’s my position as your boss? Or maybe with the Syndicate?”

“Not your position exactly…” Now she was hedging. “More what you do. I imagine you must be a powerful warlock to be the lead hunter for the Syndicate.”

“I would never use my power against you, Rowan. I hope you know that.”

A flash of emotion, something he couldn’t pin down, but which had his gut twisting like her hands had been, was there then gone. Replaced by what he was convinced was a deliberate cheeky grin, the same one that had stolen his breath the day she walked into the house unannounced, past all his wards, and spelled his daughters. “You couldn’t risk losing another nanny.”

Compelled by the teasing dancing in her eyes and the need to take and keep that smile for his own, Greyson scooted across the couch, closer to her, allowing her wildflower scent to wash over him. Rowan’s eyes widened at his nearness, though he didn’t touch her beyond his hand over hers. This close, even by the dim light of the fire, he could see flecks of blue in the gray irises. What would she do if he kissed every one of those freckles across the bridge of her nose? “I mean it. You will always be safe with me.”

Instead of relief or trust, a deep sadness fell over her expression like a storm racing across the sky, blocking the glow of the sun. And fear. Just before she closed her eyes, shutting him out. On the heels of a sensation akin to a punch to the gut, a fierce, protective instinct surged through him with a strength that shocked the hell out of him. But before he could say more, she closed the distance between them. Surprise held him immobile as she pressed her lips sweetly to his.

A thank-you. That was all. He knew that, could feel it.

He wanted to sink into the kiss, plunder her mouth, and possess her body, while at the same time cherishing everything she was. But she pulled back before he could act, eyes still closed.

“You’re a good man, Greyson Masters.”

Why was she using his full name? She only ever called him Grey.

Rowan opened her eyes, wariness darkening the color to storm. “But you don’t know me. I’m…trouble.”

Sensing she wouldn’t welcome the desire slamming through him, he held his emotions in check, even as questions swirled through his mind. Lifting a hand, he gently tucked a tendril of hair back from her face, noting its soft texture against his fingertips.

Silk. I knew it. “I could use more trouble in my life.”

A laugh burst from her, warming his heart. He could use more of that, too. Laughter.

“Chasing down magic offenders and keeping track of triplets who go into the woods in a trance isn’t enough trouble for you?” she asked.

The question was teasing, but he didn’t miss how she scooted away from him, putting distance between them.

He wanted to pull her back but made himself chuckle lightly instead. “I guess not.”

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

An ice-cold mountain spring had nothing on the sound of Persephone’s voice intruding on the moment.

“Aw, hell and hexation.” Though he doubted his sister-in-law did, he caught Rowan’s whispered expletive as she stood, scooping up her wineglass. “Not at all. I was about to go to bed anyway.”

His wife’s sister regarded them with narrowed eyes. “Yes. It certainly looked like it.”

“Persephone.” He deliberately imbued the word with warning.

She blinked, and suddenly her expression shifted from poisonously suspicious to pleasant. He almost wondered if he’d been wrong about her attitude. Almost.

“I thought you might be lonely with the girls away and came over to keep you company.” She glanced at Rowan’s departing back as she scurried away to the kitchen. “I guess I should have come sooner.”

He made a show of glancing at his watch. “It’s a bit late. But we’ll see you tomorrow when you come for the girls.”

The soft click of a door in the kitchen told him Rowan had gone down to her rooms without saying good night. Damn.

Determination not to leave things where they were drove him off the couch. Only he had to get Persephone out of the house first.

And then what?

He had no idea. But he’d figure it out.