Black Wings, Gray Skies (Black Hat Bureau 4)

15

“Home again, home again,” I murmured under my breath. “Jiggety-jig.”

I pretended interest in the fridge, but I wasn’t hungry, and all the good stuff had expired anyway.

Mostly I stood in the open doorway, letting cool air escape around me, wishing it would douse my libido.

I was going to murder Clay for this.

“I’m going to shower,” Asa called from down the hall. “I’ll leave you some hot water.”

Getting him naked was part of the plan, but how did I volunteer to play loofah without making it weird?

“Okay,” I called back, snapping out of my trance. “I’ll, um, be…unpacking.”

Halfway to my room with my suitcase, I caught a whiff of smoke and picked up my pace.

Spread open on my pillow, soot smudging the comforter, sprawled the Proctor grimoire.

“Why am I not surprised?” I picked it up, checked the cover. “Not a charred page.”

The residue must have come from burned wood already in the fire pit when Aedan tossed it in.

Proof of incineration hadn’t arrived, but I could nudge Aedan for it tomorrow. I was betting he thought it was a done deal, but no. The tricksy grimoire had fooled him by popping into my bedroom to save itself.

A quick wipe down returned it to pristine condition, and I shoved it in its spot with unnecessary force.

“I don’t have the emotional bandwidth to deal with you right now.” I closed the safe. “Nighty-night.”

I ought to take a page out of Asa’s book and jump in the shower, but it felt a million miles from here.

Across the hall, water drummed in the basin as he cleaned up, giving me time to think and—ugh—feel.

“I’m pretty sure I love you too.”

Not the most impressive declaration. Not what a guy wants to hear after pouring out his heart.

As the product of an improbable romance myself, a somewhat legendary one, I could do better.

Before I could talk myself out of finishing what we started in that geriatric elevator, I shucked my clothes in a heap where I stood then sprinted across the hall into his bathroom like a gold medal was on the line.

“Rue?”

“Yes? I mean, yes. It’s me. Rue.”

“Is everything…” he drew the curtain back, and his eyes rounded to cartoon proportions, “…okay?”

A flicker of reality revealed his horns, curving back over his head, and his fangs grew longer in his mouth.

“I’m not great with words.” I scrunched my toes on the bath mat. “I’m better with show than tell.”

“Are you…?” His gaze latched onto my face and stuck. “You’re naked.”

Boobs out. Soul bared. Buns catching a draft.

I was as exposed as a person could get.

“This was a bad idea.” I flushed from head to toe. “I should have respected your privacy.”