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It was all a concert, a seamless masterpiece, and one she missed terribly but had been too overrun to get back to since she took over the place. The relief and joy at having found that flow again, especially with a new person, was the only silver lining to her black cloud of a day.
All those subtle things and behaviors gave Molly the impression that Brass wasn’t just working here out of pity or boredom, and perhaps there was more to his motivations than simply going through the motions of being charitable.
They worked well together, and that realization didn’t just come with warning bells but emergency sirens and doomsday broadcasts. Alerts she’d learned to pay extra close attention to.
Molly pried herself out of her blue velvet cocoon and drifted toward the dining room. At the very least, she needed to thank him and, she supposed, ascertain whether he planned on sticking around. Men like him, whose natural sex appeal and charming magnetism attracted no shortage of good fortune, didn’t need whatever sort of trouble she had brought into his orbit.
When she rounded the corner, she expected to see Brass standing in front of the door, shrugging on his trench coat before nodding toward his discarded apron on the table with an unspoken expression of I’m done blanketing his features. What she got, however, was a sensory assault of rich roasted coffee and—dear God, please let it be?—
“Is that cardamom?”
Brass, with his lean hips resting against a table, pushed away from it and extended the to-go cup out to her. It might as well have been manna from heaven. “Sure is. Mixed it into the grounds before I brewed the coffee.”
Molly ran to the proffered cup like it was the Holy Grail capable of healing everything wrong in her life and took the thing from him with no thought to the contrary. “You have no idea how badly I needed this.”
“I had some idea.”
The bracing brew hit her lips and, saucy minx that it was, managed to singe and still coax out a moan of pleasure so powerful, she’d have been embarrassed if she hadn’t also been completely depleted of any fucks to give. Molly licked her lips, then greedily took another pull of coffee. Damn, it was good. Hot, sweet, and invigorating in all the ways her soul needed. Did she burn her mouth again? Yes. Was it worth it? Also, yes. Once the steam cleared and she refocused on the man in front of her to thank him, however, she immediately wished she hadn’t.
The same honeyed amber eyes that had tracked her throughout the day now lingered on her mouth, which was still slick and plump from the hot coffee. Molly’s heart beat out a gallop, warming every inch of her. As much as she itched to look away, squirming under his scrutiny, she was also painfully aware that her perusal of him made her no better. Looking away from Brass, when the sun had nearly fallen and lazy golden rays poked through the windows and streaked across the exposed skin beneath his open collar, was like tearing your gaze from a shooting star. Impossible. The man belonged on a magazine cover, not in her New England shabby-chic tourist trap mopping up spilled apple juice, and yet here he was.
The part of her that had been honed into a chef, with skills forged in roaring fires and tenacity sculpted by brutal critics, wanted to question everything about him, demanding he declare his true motives so they could go their separate ways before her protective bubble burst so spectacularly. Another part of her, one that was growing increasingly louder by the hour, wanted to ask him a whole different set of questions, questions that had been plaguing her ever since he’d walked into her restaurant that first time.
Why me? Why have you stayed? Why?—
“Why are you holding my car keys?” Molly’s small sundial keychain winked at her as it dangled from Brass’s closed fist.
The corner of his lips lifted, and as fast as the electric moment between them took hold, it was ushered out just as quickly. All that remained was a cloud of confusion on her part that, judging by the soft chuckle lifting his chest, gave him more delight than delusion.
Well, didn’t that just freaking figure?
Brass lifted his arm, draped over which was her coat, and with his epic flair for short conversations and getting his point across in as few words as possible, he answered her question. “Because I’m driving you home tonight.”
Chapter 10
The sun made its final descent below the horizon, casting Aurora into an unseasonably cold twilight and dragging Brass’s thoughts down along with it. Maybe he should have been grateful that they caught the third damn traffic light in a row. It certainly gave him more time to think through the clusterfuck of events that had steamrolled over them the past several hours.
He stole a subtle glance at Molly over the high collar of his coat. Exhaustion had pushed her head against the passenger window. Hooded eyes, more distant than dazed, stared out at the passing cars. Her proud shoulders, which Brass hadn’t thought were capable of slouching, supported what remained of her usually strong frame.
His jaw ticked in frustration, and the leather steering wheel groaned beneath his tightening grip. Despite his best hopes, worried suspicions began laying their damn stones, crafting a framework for an uncertain reality that heightened Brass’s concerns. It was why, he told himself, he’d never strayed too far from her side all day. Why, even in the chaotic crowds, he’d watched her with the intent focus of a man eyeing a mirage.
Or a wolf eyeing another apex predator.
Magic.
Of course that had been the reason. The enigmatic pull that had constantly tugged him into her sphere had finally begun to make sense, if anything born of unknown powers could claim to do so. Though he was certain of Molly’s mortality, he’d been alive long enough to know that the allure of magic had no preference for a being’s longevity. Was that why, even among the throngs of people in the alley, she always searched for him?
And, mages damn him, she’d always found him, hadn’t she?
Why? Had she really had something to do with the fire? He’d tossed that grating thought around incessantly throughout the day, and every single time it boomeranged back to him, he’d stare at her with equal parts disbelief, skepticism, and mesmerism.
Red light shone through the windshield, casting a garish tint across Molly’s face, still tight with unease. Clouded puffs of breath fogged up the glass beneath where her open lips rested. Her bottom lip, only slightly fuller than the top and painted a sultry crimson beneath the light, hung slack against the glass.
Brass should have kept his eye on the road. Since they were at the mercy of the traffic light, however, he allowed himself one last look at her.
Big mistake.
Painful urges raked claws down his skin as images of that mouth flooded his mind, taking hold of his senses. Again, the voice of his curse pierced his temples, singing its tempting torment in trills of shrieks and sin. Blood coursed through him, flooding his muscles with the strength to act on heated hungers.
