? ? ?
I woke at eleven a.m. when a knock sounded on the front door, and I threw on a robe. When the guys moved in, I’d discovered that I needed a better robe, so I bought three, all matching, blocky-shaped, black terry-cloth robes, and gave them out at a Sunday breakfast. The guys had rolled their eyes, but they wore them when they came downstairs in the mornings. Most of the time. I tossed my hair over my shoulder and peeked out the window in the door, then looked back over my shoulder at Eli, poised on the top landing, a handgun in each hand. His robe hung unbelted, revealing the sculpted body of a warrior, and the pale scars that had nearly killed him. He had new scars on his throat and chest caused by a vamp eating on him. He didn’t remember much about the event but I did. He said it didn’t bother him, but it bothered me. A lot. I’d nearly gotten my partner killed.
Keeping the remembered horror of that night out of my voice, I said, “It’s Bruiser.”
Eli safetied both weapons, lifted one in acknowledgment, and trudged back to bed. Keeping vamp hours was hard on us all. I remembered the expression in Bruiser’s eyes from the night before and my shoulders drew up. Feeling stupid, or maybe uncertain, which was stupid come to think of it, I pulled my robe together, tightened the belt, and tossed my hip-length black braid out of the way before opening the door.
A peculiar mix of scents met my nose: cooked grease, sugar, tea, green things, citrusy something, and gun oil. Less intense was the smell of New Orleans: water, exhaust, food, coffee, old liquor, spices, and urine. I blinked at the combo, trying to take it all in. Bruiser was dressed in dark brown khakis and a light brown shirt, the sleeves rolled up, his muscled arms showing beneath the cuffs. He was holding the handle of a basket in one hand and flowers in the other. Flowers. Stems wrapped in lavender paper. Like . . . flowers. Like from a fancy florist. White calla lilies framing three bright red calla lilies with yellow stamens, all nonaromatic. And a wide frill of catnip in bloom, tiny white flowers with a scent so delectable Beast rolled over on her back and purred.
I just stared at the flowers. Feeling weird.
Bruiser had brought me flowers.
CHAPTER 4
An Offer to Dish
“Jane?”
I started, realizing I had been standing, without greeting him, my eyes on the flowers. “Ummm.” Moving woodenly, I opened the door and stood aside to let him in.
Wearing a faint, quizzical smile that would have done my Ranger partner proud, he said, “You act like no one ever brought you flowers before.”
“Yeah. Once.” Rick. Rick had brought me daisies and sunflowers. But I didn’t say that. “What do I do with them?”
Bruiser’s face changed, and I had no idea what the new expression meant. I didn’t take my eyes from the flowers to get a better look. His voice soft, he said, “They go in a vase. On the nightstand by your bed. Or on the kitchen table. Or on the coffee table in the living room. They go where you can see them most often, and, seeing them, remember that you deserve flowers.” When I still just stood there, he said, “I’ll get a vase from the kitchen. I’m sure Katie left some here. Why don’t you get dressed. And then we can have breakfast. I brought beignets from Café du Monde, and tea.”
“Yeah. I’ll go get dressed.” I could tell my voice sounded weird, but I turned and went to my room, shutting myself in. I stood there, my back to the paneled door, staring stupidly. Flowers? I pulled on jeans and a T-shirt and braided my hair, debating on makeup. I finally put a touch of lipstick on my bottom lip and smeared my lips together to mush the color around until there was just a tint left. And found myself staring at my reflection in the mirror, my amber eyes catching the light. Rick had brought me flowers. Rick had deserted me. Now Bruiser had brought me flowers.
Flowers. With catnip.
My Beast was silent but excited, alert, and curious, ears flicking, eyes intent.
I walked back into the living room and followed the smells of beignets and flowers to the kitchen. Bruiser was facing the window, drying his hands, backlit by the window light, so I could see only a profile, his brown hair darkened by glare, his nose a tad too strong for classical beauty, yet well formed. It was a totally sexy nose. He was tall, strong-looking, capable. His stance said he could handle anything, protect anyone, or die trying. Something tightened in my middle.