Free Demon Night by Meljean Brook Page B

work.”
    â€œI would, Charlie, but my automobile is in storage.”
    Startled, she blinked her eyes open. “Really? I thought I was the only one who didn’t drive much.” And she’d never heard “automobile” drawn out so long, like a word that sat foreign on his tongue. Had he exaggerated it, knowing that his drawl made her laugh and hoping to ease her anxiety a bit?
    It worked. She sank back down to her heels, waited for his reply.
    â€œI’ve got no need for one here. But I’ll be happy to walk with you.”
    The anxiety returned full-force, but underscored by giddy excitement instead of fear. “Okay. All right. I have to be there at eight, and I’m almost ready. Go and get dressed, Ethan, and I’ll be at your door in five minutes.”
    â€œGet dressed—?” His chuckle roughened the night air. “Am I to wear something special?”
    Her skin heated, but she wasn’t going to admit that she’d been babbling like a schoolgirl with a crush. “No, I just assume when people are alone in their apartments, they walk around naked. I know I do.”
    He was silent for a long second. “Well now, Miss Charlie, I wish you’d told me that two months ago. I might have come on over for a cup of sugar.”
    She grinned, but only said, “Five minutes,” as she backed into her apartment, her pulse racing. A check in the mirror. Jesus, the bruise made her look like a hooker who’d been slapped by her pimp. But slathering foundation on it would just make it worse, not to mention hurt like hell, so she left it alone. Her brows and lashes were naturally dark, but she touched up both. Her hair was good…great, actually, even with brown at the roots. She’d leave her hat off as long as possible.
    Her coat still smelled like burnt duck, but only when she sniffed it up close. Ethan wouldn’t be that near her.
    And she didn’t usually wear jewelry, but she selected a two-inch cross dangling at the end of a long black cord. It had been a part of a Halloween costume, and was supposed to hang between her breasts—but she wound it around her neck like a choker.
    A lot of women wore similar necklaces; Ethan probably wouldn’t think anything of it.
    The knock made her heart stop, and she forced herself to walk slowly to the door. He hadn’t waited, but maybe his apartment was a mess, just like most guys’, and—
    Tall.
    Charlie was used to being level with a man’s face, if not his eyes. She had a large frame, though she’d pared down and hardened her soft singing weight at the gym, and she was above average height.
    But Ethan was tall . And not at all as she’d imagined, when she had let her mind wander that way. She’d seen urban cowboy, blond, with a big hat and a bigger buckle, Wrangler jeans and pointy-toed boots.
    She hadn’t pictured short, melting-chocolate-brown hair—thick and uncovered—that just brushed his forehead. Eyes the color of fine whiskey, caught between amber and caramel. Shoulders broad enough to carry a woman easily, hips lean enough to wrap her legs around.
    He wore boots, but with a rounded toe and sturdy like a construction worker’s. The rough weave of his brown trousers caught at her memory, but Charlie couldn’t focus below his waist long enough to pin it down, not when his face had those roughly hewn planes and angles, like he’d been carved from oak, and his jaw looked strong and absolutely lickable.
    â€œHello, Miss Charlie,” he said with the voice that matched his eyes. A scar cut through the left side of his thin upper lip, and crooked his smile just a little.
    â€œHi,” she said, and for the first time was glad that the rasp in her throat hid her croak.
    His gaze fell to her cheek. His jaw clenched, and oak hardened to stone before he met her eyes again. “You all right?”
    â€œYes.” Beneath his tan corduroy