Free Shadowdance by Kristen Callihan Page A

gave a pointed look at her simple housedress. Mary kept her focus on his chin, now covered in a fine stubble of evening growth. It made his mouth appear softer, defining the bow of his upper lip. She flicked her gaze back up to his eyes.
    “I didn’t fancy going out to a party.” Or seeing him there, if she were honest. Mingling with Jack Talent in a social setting was more than she could tolerate at the moment. Yet here he was, at her home. Her skin prickled.
    His voice grew flinty. “I didn’t fancy staying.”
    Before she could ask why he was here, or how he’d even found her home, he brushed past, his upper arm grazing the tips of her breasts as he went. Mary crossed her arms over them as she pivoted to face him. “Oh, do come in.”
    “Thank you.” He made himself at home on the parlor chair, which, unfortunately, was big enough to accommodate his large frame. The sight made her want to stamp her foot, or bolt. This was her refuge, and he was filling it up with his scent, his energy. She’d be surrounded by it for days now, unable to scrub it from her furniture.
    Lamplight shone over his blunt profile as he glanced about her room, taking it all in. “Cozy flat.” The high bridge of his nose wrinkled. “Small, though.”
    Resigned to the fact that he wasn’t leaving, Mary closed the door and set her gun upon the hall table. “Yes, well, I had a larger place but I kept getting lost.” Actually, she owned the building, but he needn’t know that.
    His quick grin returned before he took it upon himself to pick up the book she’d discarded and leaf through it. “I always thought Mr. Rochester was a melodramatic prat.” He tossed the book back down.
    “I like Jane.”
    “Everyone likes Jane.” He picked up an apple from theglass bowl she had placed in the center of her tea table. Mary loved apples, and every fortnight she found a basketful of them sitting on her doorstep. A gift from Lucien that she’d always appreciated. Talent stared down at the green-and-red-marbled fruit engulfed by his big hand. He contemplated it for a moment, a strange look ghosting over his features before he appeared to pull himself free from whatever thought haunted him and took a hearty bite. Mouth full of crisp apple, he munched away, a bit of juice making his firm lips wet. And all the while, he watched her.
    Mary gave herself a mental shake and focused on the situation at hand. “How did you find my home?”
    The flat was located on the top floor of the building. Only three persons knew of its location: Lucien, Poppy, and Daisy. And she doubted any of them would tell Talent. Or that he would ask them.
    Talent’s gaze grew hooded. “Followed your scent.”
    “What?” Gods, but she did not want to know what her scent entailed. Nor did she like the idea of Talent knowing it so well that he could track her down by it.
    That grin of his flashed bright. “Don’t fancy that either, do you?”
    “Do you mean to tell me, Mr. Talent, that through the whole miasma of London, you were able to track me down based on scent alone?”
    Talent’s hard mouth slanted as he looked her over in a way that she felt to her bones. “We’re in each other’s pocket now, Chase. Most hours, you’re all I smell.”
    Gracious. Heat flooded in unfortunate places, and to her horror, Talent’s gaze narrowed, his nostrils flaring as if he scented that reaction too.
    An uncomfortable, stifling silence fell over the room. Mary swallowed down the urge to twitch.
    “What are you doing here—”
    “Do you want to work—”
    They paused, their clashing questions falling into an awkward silence. Then Talent set down his half-eaten apple and sprang to his feet, a graceful move so fast she almost missed it. Her heart jumped but he merely regarded her with his usual scowl.
    “Well? Shall we go out?” His hard features were once again implacable.
    Mary cleared her throat. “Let me get my cloak.”
    They did not speak as they headed into the frigid