The Demon King Davian

He nodded, but told her, “Unfortunately, the Delfinos now favor it and they want me to track down a case for them.”

Jade grinned. “You’re in luck. I happen to be married to a man who can get his hands on even more than one case for you. Imported direct from vineyards in France via ship. ”

“This doesn’t mean I approve of your choice for a husband,” he all but harrumphed.

She laughed. “I would never expect you to give up your convictions so quickly. However,” she warned him, “the king does possess redeeming qualities. If you were to get to know him, you just might like him.”

Michael scowled, despite the previous teasing. Yet instead of calling her crazy, he confessed, “I actually thought your vampire friend was interesting.”

“Sheena?” Jade’s brow shot up.

“She gave me some ideas for—as you said—jazzing the place up. And…” He shrugged as he continued to shock Jade, adding, “She’s damn hot.”

Ignoring the fact that Davian had once said Sheena kept to her kind, Jade made a bold and daring suggestion: “Perhaps you should ask her out on a date. I haven’t noticed any sparks flying with your other candidates. Well,” she amended, “I’ve seen their interest…but not so much on your end.”

“Turns out I prefer the untamable.”

Jade’s teeth clamped down on her lip. Michael and Sheena…? What a wild combination that would be!

Forcing a nonchalant tone, she said, “I happen to know she likes moonlit strolls through the forest…and math.”

“Math?” he asked in a droll tone.

“Yeah. Let her teach you Algebra. That could be sexy.”

He shook his head. “You have a very strange sense of…everything.”

“I’m not strange,” she corrected as she sipped her wine. “I’m progressive.”

She decided she liked the term and the concept and would spend more time with Lisette and her books, further defining herself—and her place in this new meshing of humans and demons. She also wanted to continue writing her saga about the intricate coalescing of species and cultures.

After finishing her glass of wine, she left the tavern, made a few more stops and then headed back to the cottage. She’d been attempting more king-worthy meals and had brought with her a rack of lamb Max Kincaid had Frenched for her in his butcher’s shop.

From one of the cookbooks at the library, she’d come up with three different sauces—one with spiced mustard, one with mint and the other with orange marmalade she’d picked up at the bakery. She paired the meat with broccolini a fellow villager had begun to grow and now offered at the farmer’s market, and potatoes au gratin.

Davian arrived as she was setting the table. He sniffed the air and asked, “Did Rafe come down from the castle?”

Whipping off her apron and tossing it at him, she said, “No, Rafe did not come from the castle. I cooked.”

He sniffed again and said, “But nothing’s burning.”

The wood-fire oven Davian’s head chef, Rafe, had provided her sat in her kitchen and had a stone surface where she could also heat dinner accompaniments on the stovetop. The trick, however, was to master the size of the fire beneath the oven in order to keep from torching the contents inside.

“You know,” she said, “not everyone is naturally good the first time around at everything they attempt. Some of us need a learning curve.”

With a wicked grin, he said, “I can name several things you were good at the first time around.”

Her toes curled at his seductive look, but she refused to be sidetracked. “I have our entire meal timed out perfectly this evening, so if you’ll pour the wine, I can stick to my schedule.”

He reached for her hand as she walked by him and he hauled her up against him. “Not so fast.” His head dipped and he kissed her, long and deep. When it ended, she sighed contentedly.

“Maybe, in the future,” she said, “I should wait to prepare dinner until after you’ve arrived. That would give us time for other things…”

“Good thinking.” He kissed her again, but she kept it short and sweet by pushing him away.

“If I burn the rack of lamb because of you,” she said in a feisty tone, “you will never hear the end of it.”

“Ah, married life,” he joked.