8. Rowan

8

ROWAN

R owan rolled her eyes as her grandmother's bellow rolled through the store and found her in the back office, reviewing the books. But she'd take the excuse to put off decoding Granny's chicken scratch handwriting and wonky bookkeeping. Tucking everything away in a battered roll-top desk, she patted her hair to make sure it was still stacked in its messy bun, ran a hand over her paint-stained overalls, and wound her way through the aisles towards the sound of voices.

Her footsteps slowed as she drew close, and she cocked her head, listening. That was Leith's voice. Her heart skipped a beat. What the hell was he doing here? And why was he talking to her grandmother?

Ooh, he'd better not be , she thought, picking up her pace, a task made more challenging by the stacks of new items they hadn't yet found proper places for. They needed to do that before Granny got a visit from the fire marshall or code enforcement. They'd cite her for being a hazard, making it even easier for DownHome to pry her out of her home. With growl, she mentally added, making sure they were up to code to the ever-growing to-do list.

Rounding the corner, she spotted Leith seated at their Parisian window display. Granny hovered nearby at the wide wooden counter that served as their cash wrap. She tried not to notice how good he looked sitting there, bathed in a stream of sunshine, the light blue sleeves of his crisp cotton shirt rolled up to bare his forearms. Heat coiled in her belly, and she had to duck behind an antique breakfront filled with porcelain doll heads and mismatched tea cups to catch her breath.

Shit. Eloise was right. I am hot for the demon lawyer . Her friend was going to have a grand old time roasting Rowan about this. But, at the same time, Rowan found she didn't mind. Leith was incredibly handsome, both with and without the glamour. It had been too long since she'd truly lusted after someone.

Come on. Nothing earth-shaking is going to happen between us , she assured herself.

She'd never been much of a settle down, long-term relationship woman. Truthfully, she enjoyed her role as the mercurial artist, flitting from flower to flower as it suited her and avoiding the garden when it didn't.

But as she crept deeper into her 30s, the idea of a long-term partner, someone to cuddle up on the couch with to watch a show or to go on a rock-collecting hike with sounded more and more appealing.

Not that she was thinking about that with Leith. No sirree. That was not going to happen. Well, maybe some kissing. It would be a shame to waste the opportunity to kiss him.

Dammit. Why is he occupying so much of my brain space? Irritation flared. Squaring her shoulders, she marched over to him. "Well?" she said, her hands on her hips.

He raised his eyebrows at her combative tone and glanced at Granny, who was leaning on the counter, watching the scene with wide eyes, absorbing every detail of their interaction. "Perhaps we might go somewhere to talk?" he said, getting to his feet and running a hand through that luscious black hair of his.

His arm muscles strained against the tight weave of his cotton button-down. Black linework tattoos of flowers and vines wound their way around a forearm. Hadn't those been flames last night? Her knees didn't care either way and went weak. It took her a second to regain her footing. "Fine. This way," she huffed, turning around to wind her way towards the cramped office.

He followed close behind, his presence warm at her back. "Rowan," he said.

Skirting around a display of wax figures that needed dusting, she ignored him. It was a challenge, especially when her entire body was alert and aware of the man following her.

"Rowan, stop." His large hand closed around her upper arm, pulling her to a halt. "Are you mad at me?"

She allowed him to spin her around before stopping herself, her hands flat against his chest, the heat of him seeping into her skin. Contracting her hands into fists, she blew out a breath, the half-hearted defenses she'd constructed crumbling at the confusion in his tone. "No, Leith. Not mad. I am wondering why you're here, though." She glanced around and lowered her voice. "What did you tell her?"

"Nothing," he said with the barest shake of his head. "I merely introduced myself." He reached out and tucked a curl behind her ear.

Her nails dug into her palms as she fought the shiver that raced up her spine at his light touch. "I guess I should thank you for that." It would be easier if he'd gone against her wishes. Then she could be mad at him and keep him at a distance. Him being considerate was unexpected.

He stepped close enough that the scent of him wrapped around her like the snuggliest blanket in her collection. "No need." His low voice rumbled through her. "But you do need to tell her, Rowan. If I'm to proceed with this case, there are things I need to discuss with my client."

Irritation was a useful emotion, though, too. "No shit, I need to tell her," she said, poking him. "I'm doing it after the town meeting tonight. Someone from DownHome is supposed to come speak about all their obviously fake plans for the future of the town. So guaranteed, Granny'll be all worked up and more open to having a lawyer on her side."

His fingers curled around hers, trapping her hand against his body. "Good. Because you wouldn't want to break our deal, would you?"

A little growl escaped her, but she didn't struggle against his grip. The slow stroke of his thumb along the length of her finger was like wood shavings to a fire, stoking the flame. She squeezed her thighs together. "You plan to hold that over my head forever?"

"Maybe." Then, ever so slowly, he bent his head towards her, watching her every micro-expression.

Is this a good idea, Ro? she asked herself. Come on. What harm can one kiss do ? Her lips parted incrementally.

Taking the slight gesture for the consent it was, Leith lowered his mouth to hers in a soft caress. His tongue slid over her bottom lip, and she opened to him, welcoming the hot glide of his tongue. He walked her back two steps until her thighs met wood and without breaking contact, he swept the display of Beanie Babies to the ground before wrapping an arm around her waist and lifting her onto the dresser.

"You'd better put those back exactly like you found them or Granny's going to be pissed," she said, parting her legs as he stepped between them.

"Later," he said, his voice low and rough with desire. He cupped her face in his large hands, a thumb sliding over her bottom lip. "First, I must feast."

She snickered. "Feast? I mean, if that's what you want to do, I'm not going to say no." She placed a finger against his lips, stilling his movements. "Kissing only. My grandmother might walk around the corner at any moment, and I'm not about to have her catch us with your hands down my pants."

His throat bobbed. "As much as I would like to slide my hands into your panties and stroke your clit, I agree. Kissing only." He paused, looking into her eyes. "For now."

The promise of more to come sent an inferno of sparks along her nerve endings, making her squirm.

He captured her mouth once again, his tongue twining with hers. He slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him, his hard cock rubbing against the juncture of her thighs with his every movement. Clever fingers found the strip of bare skin between the bottom of her crop top and the edge of her panties, tracing over the sensitive skin along her midriff but never going lower. Damn him for respecting her boundaries while still finding a loophole. Tricksy demon.

Two could play that game , she thought. She wound her arms around his neck, burying her hands in his thick hair. Gathering what concentration she could — a challenge, considering his talented fingers and tongue were working their magic and hogging her focus — she cracked his glamour to see his true self. Suddenly, she wasn't kissing a lawyer in a nice button-down, she was entwined in the arms of a demon with deep red skin and black, curling horns. And if her time in college taught her anything, it was how sensitive horns could be.

She rasped her fingers over his scalp and wrapped her hands around his horns.

A deep groaning growl rolled up out of him, and he lifted his head to frown at her. "And just what do you think you're doing with my horns, woman?"

Pasting an innocent look on her face, she shrugged. "I mean, they were there. Was I not supposed to touch them?" Her actions echoed her words.

His fingers tightened on her waist. "Why do I get the feeling you know exactly how sensitive they can be?"

She traced the hard ridges, following the swirling pattern all the way to their curling tips. "You never said I couldn't."

"True," he rasped. "But unless you wish for me to strip you bare on this antique dresser and stroke you until you come around my fingers, perhaps no horn play right now would be for the best."

Her breath caught as his fingers made small circles across her midriff, each teasing shape stoking her desire. He shifted, his hard length pressing the inseam of her overalls against her sensitive clit. She bit back a groan, clenching against the urge to rub against him for some relief.

A chime sounded at the front of the store, penetrating the haze of desire fogging her senses.

She seized upon the distraction. This couldn't go any farther. Not here. Not now. "Stop," she said, breathless. She pulled back.

"Rowan," he groaned as he gave her the space she asked for. She nudged him aside and slid to the floor.

Her pulse pounded in her throat as she straightened her clothing. "I'll see you at the town meeting tonight, okay?"

And with that, she darted around the corner, and locked herself in the office, her chest heaving as she tried to parse how in the hottest hell a single, albeit spine-tingling, kiss changed everything.