They let the valet take the car, but carried their own luggage since they didn’t have much anyway—not to mention a huge-ass sword that Dragan refused to relinquish. It had been necessary to use an old credit card to make this reservation, so Maeve had already checked in using her phone app and requesting a digital key, which meant they were able to go directly up to the room. A room with two beds again. She’d contemplated getting just one big bed, but had chickened out.
Dragan didn’t seem to notice the bed situation. Or maybe he assumed all hotel rooms had two beds. He placed his sword on the table, dropped her big suitcase on the bed nearest the window, and pulled back the drapes to look out.
“This is a big city,” he commented. “What’s it called?”
She walked over to stand next to him. “Orlando, Florida.”
“Orlando,” he repeated, as if committing it to memory. He put a relaxed arm around her shoulders and tugged her close.
She went willingly, amazed at how easy it felt. He was the most deadly person she’d ever met, and yet she was more comfortable with him than . . . anyone she knew. She didn’t believe in fate and all that love at first sight stuff, but after everything that had happened and everything she’d seen, she had to believe in magic. So maybe it wasn’t just coincidence that she’d been the one to free Dragan from his prison after so many centuries.
“Shall we walk the town a bit?” he asked, nodding at the pedestrian village visible from their hotel. “Will you walk with me, sweet Mae?” he asked, with a kiss on top of her head.
A spark of happiness warmed her from the inside, making her smile as she looked up at him. “Let’s. After all those hours in the car, we can both use it. I’ll arm up, just in case.”
He stood back to give her a puzzled look. “Is it permitted? I don’t see any weapons out there,” he said pointing to the people wandering the shopping area.
She opened her simple black gun case, and took out the paddle holster for her Glock. “That’s because most of them are tourists. But also, Florida’s a concealed carry state. You’re supposed to have a permit, which we don’t, but you can carry a weapon, just not in sight.”
“That seems a strange law.”
“I guess, but it works in our favor, so I’m not going to argue.” She zipped the case closed and hooked the holster to her belt. Dragan walked over to watch what she was doing, and the heat and scent of him was so strong that she had to fight the urge to lean in and soak him up.
“I doubt I can conceal my blade in these clothes. Is the knife acceptable?”
“Sure,” she said, not really knowing if it was legal or not. But if a gun was okay, why not a belt knife? Taking note of the minimal coverage his hoodie provided for the weapon, she decided they were going to buy him some new clothes at the first decent shop they encountered.
Once he seemed settled with the belt knife, and one more in his boot, she smiled up at him. “Ready?”
The grin he gave her in return was breathtaking. Literally. He’d always been beautiful, but now he looked . . . happy. It made her heart ache with fear for him. What if this Nick Katsaros they were hurrying to meet wasn’t his Nicodemus? Or what if the millennia they’d spent apart had turned him into an entirely different sort of man? Or, worst of all, what if his brothers were still lost or even dead? She swallowed her fears—which were her own, not his—and took the hand he held out to her.
IT WAS FULL DARK by the time they reached the area Maeve had called a “shopping village.” It didn’t look like any village Dragan had known, but it felt good to stroll down the crowded walks, with the shops and trees lit up like a festival. There’d been many festivals in his village, though he’d never been welcome at any of them. But here, with Maeve’s hand in his and the scents and sounds of happiness all around them, it was like nothing he’d ever dreamed of in his stone prison. He was . . . content. More than content, really, but he didn’t trust the fates enough to tempt them with any greater emotion.
“In here,” Maeve said abruptly and tugged him into a store. “You need more clothes.”
Dragan glanced down at the very comfortable jeans and boots he was wearing, felt the snug security of his knife beneath the soft jacket, a second one in his boot, and didn’t know why he needed more. But she was insistent, and he was predisposed to indulge her, so he followed.
They emerged from the store with more bags than he felt good about. It wasn’t the contents that bothered him. It was how the need to carry so many items occupied his hands. Hands he might very well need to protect Maeve. It was an awareness that in no way discounted her ability to defend herself when it came to rude boys or even rowdy men, but the moment they’d left the store, his instincts had begun screaming a warning. The crowds of happy people that had pleased him earlier were now a shield for his enemy. Somewhere nearby, hidden in those crowds, was a threat. Someone was watching and waiting for the perfect opportunity.
“We should return to our room,” he said, gathering the bags in one hand and putting the other around her back to steer her toward the hotel. When she gave him a surprised look, he added, “All these bags. I’ve no more room.”
She glanced down, as if counting the packages, then nodded. “Okay.”
MAEVE HELD THE hotel room door open as Dragan pushed the food cart out into the hallway and left it there, then waited, eyes downcast, until he’d walked back into the room so she could close and lock the door. The evening had started off easily enough. While they’d waited for dinner, she’d persuaded Dragan to try on his new clothes. He’d pointed out that he’d already tried everything on in the store, but had gone along since, in his words, she’d asked so sweetly. Maeve thought that might be the first time anyone had accused her of sweet persuasion, and found she didn’t mind it coming from him.
He tried on everything, but made his preferences very clear. He liked the jeans and t-shirts far more than the slacks and button-down shirts. Maeve couldn’t disagree with that. He looked quite fine in the jeans, but then he looked fine in everything. She’d only picked out the slightly less casual clothes, because she’d had a thought—perhaps misplaced—that he should wear something nicer when meeting Nico after so long. He hadn’t fought her on it, so maybe he agreed. Or maybe he’d gone along just to hasten their exit from the store.
The idea made her smile, but it was short-lived. Because now came the hard part. Bad choice of words, she thought, but all too apt, since they were getting ready for bed. Dragan was already brushing his teeth—an activity he seemed to enjoy—and then he’d undress and . . . Would he want to sleep together? She wanted to, but what if he didn’t? What if he had been put off by her inexperience, and longed instead for a real woman? Someone who knew what a man like Dragan needed after a very, very long dry spell? Maybe he’d want—?