“Hey, Lola. How are you doing?”
“Good, thanks. Table for two, right?” She gives us a big smile and picks up two menus. “Follow me. I’ll give you one of our best.”
She leads us to a table in the corner, not far from the fire, but with a view across the river. Solar lights illuminate the path through the park. It’s warm and romantic.
“Perfect,” I say. “Thank you.” I take Persephone’s coat from her as she slips it from her shoulders and hang it on a coat stand. Then I stand behind her and pull out her chair, tucking it in as she sits.
“Goodness,” she murmurs as I take the chair opposite her. “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve such treatment.”
“Oh, Mac’s an old-fashioned kind of guy,” Lola informs her with a wink. “Hang onto him, darling, as long as you can.” She gives us both a menu. “Soup of the day is broccoli and Stilton, specials are on the board there. Can I get you a drink?”
Persephone orders a glass of Sauvignon. I’m driving, so I have half a pint of Bass. Lola goes away with our order.
Persephone gives me an amused look. “Did you two used to date or something?”
I chuckle. “No. Her home was burgled a couple of years ago, and I took her statement. She wasn’t sure if she’d locked the back door. I told her to say she had, and the insurance company paid out.”
She widens her eyes in fake shock. “D. S. Macbeth! You mean you’re not always squeaky clean?”
“Not at all.” My eyes meet hers, and our lips curve up.
“You were about to say something about being dirty, weren’t you?” she accuses, and we both start laughing. “You’re going to be trouble,” she says softly. “Aren’t you?”
“Moi? I’m the very definition of respectability.” I let my gaze linger on her. Behind her is a cream wall, and I can see her aura clearly. It’s violet and royal blue—a witch’s aura, signifying psychic ability and clairvoyance, telling me she has visions. Now, though, it’s changing to a deep orange with red flashes. She’s thinking about sex. With me. Hallelujah!
Her lips part and her cheeks flush a beautiful pink. She drops her gaze to her menu. I wonder if she can see my aura, too. Can she tell that I’m thinking about kissing her?
I’ve been with my share of women, especially when I was younger. I’ve had a couple of relationships that lasted six months or so. But I’ve never felt like this about a girl. I’ve never felt connected on any plane other than the physical. Is it because she’s a witch? I’m not sure, but I can see orange tendrils reaching out from our auras, entwining like silk ribbons. She shivers, and I know she’s feeling it, even if she’s not aware what’s happening.
I kissed her, breathed life into her lungs. I know it doesn’t make her mine. But it has created this connection. I want her, more than I’ve wanted any other girl.
I don’t like that there are secrets between us. I want to blurt out that I’m one of Herne’s Hunters, that I’m here to protect her from those who want to do her harm. But even as I open my mouth, I feel a searing pain across my jaw. I snap it shut, cursing under my breath. Dammit. Damien must have done a binding spell on me. He knew I’d be tempted to confess to her.
I’m going to have to hope that when—if—she eventually finds out who I am, she doesn’t take it badly that I kept it from her.
I look at my menu, full of conflicting emotions. For now, we’re just two people out on a date. Everything else will have to wait.
Chapter Eleven
Persephone
Mac’s reading his menu, so I lift my gaze and study him for a while. He’s taken off his jacket, and he’s wearing a navy V-necked sweater over a white T-shirt. He looks clean and well-groomed. He smells nice—an aftershave with a woody scent that reminds me of a pine forest, fresh and earthy. He’s shaved recently, and his long sideburns are well trimmed. His light-brown hair is short around the sides and back, a little longer on top. It has a very slight indentation around it where he’s been wearing his police officer’s cap. It reminds me of Charlie’s words to me: Ask him if he’ll keep his hat on in bed.
He looks up then, catching me smiling. He leans on the table and tips his head to the side. “You look beautiful tonight,” he states.
“Oh. Thank you. You too. I mean, you know, not beautiful, handsome. Gorgeous.” I blush.
He smiles a little, but his eyes are filled with admiration, wonder. I love how he looks at me like that. And I love how he’s so different to Jude. Jude is slender, muscular and strong, but in a lithe, sinewy way. Mac is tall, broad-shouldered; his biceps stretch the sleeves of his sweater.
“How old are you?” I ask him.
“Twenty-six.”
He’s the same age as Jude, but it’s only now that I realize how young Jude seems, how immature. He still carries the whiff of university about him, the pranks and hijinks of his student days. He can be so sulky and resentful, always wanting his own way. Mac is a man; there’s no doubt about that. I bet he works out; he’d have to stay fit for his job. His chest muscles will be all hard and defined. I wonder if he has a six-pack?
He looks at me as if he’s thinking about kissing me. Jude never did that. I always felt as if he had sex with me because he wanted sex and I happened to be his girlfriend. I never felt that he wanted me.
I want to stop thinking about my ex. I drop my gaze to the menu and study it, trying to put him out of my mind. “The lamb ragout sounds nice.”
“I’m trying to decide between that and the beef.”
“I could have the lamb and you have the beef, and then we can try each other’s?”
“Perfect. Do you want a starter?”
“I’d rather have a dessert, and I can’t manage both.”
He grins as I look at the dessert page. “What do you fancy?”
You, I want to say. Covered in whipped cream and chocolate. Then I’d spend an hour licking it off. Ooh. Mmm. I know what I’m going to be dreaming about tonight.
Not moving my head, I look up at him. He’s watching me, and his eyes are twinkling.
“Can you read my mind?” I ask suspiciously.
“No,” he says. “I have a good idea what’s going through your head, though.”
For a moment, I wonder whether he can read auras like Kimi. Goddess, I hope not. He’d know immediately that I’ve got sex on the brain tonight.
I’m sure he can’t. Most people think auras are a myth. He’s not as dismissive as Jude about these things, but I doubt he has any psychic ability.
Lola comes back with our drinks, we place our order, and she goes off. I sip my wine and let out a long, slow breath, trying to relax.
“Aw,” he says, “don’t be nervous.”
“Sorry. I haven’t been on a first date for ages.”
“Me neither. I’ve got butterflies.”
I laugh. “You have not.”
“Of course I have. You give me goosebumps, Persephone Hart.”
I don’t know what to say to that. My skin prickles with an odd mixture of longing and doubt. I want to believe he means what he says, but my experience has taught me that men are adept at saying what you want to hear. Most of them know what makes a girl weak at the knees, and they know how to talk her into bed, only to forget her name the next morning. I had a couple of those experiences at uni before I met Jude, guys who flattered me, implied they’d fallen in love with me, then disappeared quicker than morning mist. I like Mac, but I’m determined not to just roll over like a dog when its ears are scratched. I’m naïve, but I’m not that naïve.