Free Lord of Lightning by Suzanne Forster Page A

quite outrageously as they invited him to drop by the library and browse through their books on mineralogy.
    “I’d like that,” he said smiling.
    For the next few moments Lise scrutinized the man she’d just rescued, relieved to see that he was back to normal and doing his part in all of this—the Norse god thing—an effortless kind of noblesse oblige that was quite charismatic. He did steal one’s breath away, she thought, watching him charm all comers. She’d been right to interfere.
    There were several among the spectators who didn’t come up, and some who continued to grumble under their breath through the whole episode. Buck Thompson and the rest of Frank’s boys slunk away like jackals deprived of their prey. Still, Lise was reasonably satisfied. She’d set out to defuse the situation, and she’d managed that much.
    As the rest of the crowd began to disperse, Lise called after them, “Now, you’re all going to stay away from the Cooper cabin, aren’t you? It’s private property. Mr. Gage rented it, fair and square, and he deserves his privacy just as the rest of us do.”
    Lise had no idea how Stephen had come to be staying on the Cooper property, but she was determined to add an air of legitimacy to his being there.
    Finally there was no one left on the marble steps but Lise and Stephen. The few actual patrons of the museum who were drifting in and out did little more than eye them curiously.
    “Are you all right?” Lise asked, searching him with her eyes. His features revealed nothing, none of the trancelike confusion she’d seen earlier, none of the agony. She had so many questions to ask him, and all the answers seemed to be stored in the depths of his gaze. Deep space, his eyes. It was so easy to see why people were afraid of him. He wasn’t quite human somehow. He didn’t seem to have a normal man’s flaws, and yet she suspected he carried a flaw that ran far deeper than any normal man.
    “I’m fine,” he said at last, shrugging off her concern. “I get headaches now and then.” He seemed to be studying her features as a slow smile formed. “It’s just that I’ve never been rescued by a woman with paste on her face.”
    She touched her own cheek and felt a scaly patch. She’d never been overly concerned about her appearance, but the thought of making public speeches with white blotches all over her face was a little disconcerting. “I didn’t know. Nobody said anything.”
    “They were probably afraid to. You’re pretty ferocious when you’re angry.” He shook his head at her and laughed. “You lead a dangerous life, lady. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman get herself into as much trouble in as little time. And I always seem to be the cause.”
    It took her a moment, but she managed a smile. “Just so I know ... are you planning on getting me into any more trouble, Mr. Gage?”
    They both went silent, struck by what she’d just said.
    The flash of intrigue in Stephen’s eyes was breathtaking. “Maybe ... I hope so.”
    Warmth crept up Lise’s neck. The air was so thick with anticipation, she could breathe it. And him, she thought. She was breathing him. A low wave of sensation caught her, weakening her legs as if she were standing thigh-deep in water. Lilacs, fresh cut grass, and a ghosting of sandalwood drifted on the breezes.
    Stephen rallied first, saving the moment by rubbing at some paste on her chin with his thumb. “I’ve got to be honest though,” he said. “You look better in red flannel than you do in paste. Come on, let’s clean you up.”
    He caught hold of her hand and pulled her along with him to the gardens that were adjacent to the museum. A moss-drenched birdbath sat unused among rainbow garlands of spring flowers, and an ivy bower lent the area an air of seclusion.
    “Lovely,” Lise murmured as she glanced at herself in the mirror of clear water. “Not me, the flowers. I look as though I tangled with a cement truck.”
    “Let me,” he