Free Devil at Midnight by Emma Holly Page A

part of him regretted this—a part he squashed as ruthlessly as he could.
    “I’m sorry,” she said, her arms unfolding. “Please trust me when I say you’d like the truth even less.”
    “You should trust me ,” he countered. “I could have tried to have you exorcized.”
    Her face grew sad then, which caused an unpleasant tightening in his chest. She thought he was her friend. Even if she was deluded, even if a sane man would keep his distance from her, it was unmanly to kick at her.
    “I suppose you could have.” She gazed up at him, then squared her shoulders. “I keep forgetting to look at this from your perspective. Even someone from my ... town wouldn’t relish being trotted after by a ghost.”
    “Was your town known for specters?”
    She grinned at his wide-eyed response. His question must have been as dull-witted as not recognizing the name of her region’s mayor. Seeing she had pricked his pride, she reached out to pat his forearm, where his sleeves were pushed up. Christian did not have time to gird himself. The weight of her hand was no more than a feather against his skin, despite which it sent a strong rush of feeling straight to his groin. If she did not release him, he was going to harden, maybe worse than he had that morn.
    “It was just a town,” she said softly. “Chances are its people weren’t so different from the people here.”
    She was coddling him as if he were a child and evading a straight answer. Though he did not wish to as much as he ought, he shook free of her humoring hand.
    “Grace,” he said, a warning growl in it.
    “Christian?” The voice was male and unwelcome. William had come up the stairwell. No doubt he, like Michael before him, thought Christian was talking to himself. On the battlefield William was a lion, with a natural genius for strategy. In other arenas, he was not the sharpest of knives. The expression on his big bluff face at that moment was confused. “Your father wants to see you in his office.”
    Christian tensed but tried to hide it. A summons from his father was never good.
    “You stay here,” he hissed to Grace beneath his breath—alas, not quietly enough.
    “As you like,” William said, sounding surprised. “Might as well take a piss.”
    Grace’s green eyes went big, her suddenly intrigued gaze following William’s strides to the garderobe.
    “No,” Christian growled, easily guessing where her thoughts had traveled.
    “But I’ve never seen one,” she pleaded, laughingly.
    “No?” William said, his hand already on the privy door handle. “You have some reason why I should not empty my bladder?”
    “Talking to myself again,” Christian huffed, narrowing his eyes at Grace. “Reminding myself how much I dislike spies.”
    “Assuredly,” William said, not sounding sure at all. “Not too fond of them, either.”
    “If you took me with you,” Grace suggested, her smile truly wicked now, “I’d have no chance to spy on your large friend—or his, ahem, presumably gargantuan equipment.”
    Christian blew out an outraged breath. Did Grace honestly believe he would fall for this flimsy ploy? Her baiting manner and bold claims aside, she was blushing as bright as a rose.
    “You would not dare,” he declared.
    “You’ll never know,” Grace teased back with a toss of her dark red hair.
    He could not credit her behavior. She was enjoying crossing swords with him! Worse, some small part of him enjoyed it, too. She did trust him if she could show this much spirit. She was not frightened by his anger.
    “What would I not dare?” William asked, perplexed.
    “Nothing,” Christian snapped as Grace bent double with amusement.
    He reached for her wrist without thinking, meaning to tug her away from temptation. They both gasped when his fingers wrapped solid flesh. Her wrist was delicate, her skin as smooth as silk from the Orient. It was warm, as well, though not as warm as his abruptly sweating palm. He was touching her. Christian