Chapter 12 #2
Harrison gasps and yanks his hand back, cradling it to his chest.
“What was that?” I whisper.
“What?” He smooths his wrinkle-free sweater and drops his hands to his sides. He may be trying to act nonchalant, but I can see he’s shaken.
“I saw something. I never get images from people though, only from objects.” I study him closely.
“It’s not a big deal,” he snaps defensively. “It’s probably just because I’m magically inclined.”
“Maybe,” I mutter. “What was the mirror I saw?”
“Mirror?” His gaze sharpens.
“It was mounted on a wall, with an ornate black frame.”
He shrugs and looks away, “I’ve got something like that in the flat. Maybe that’s it.”
I’m pretty sure he’s lying, but before I can question him further, he begins tidying the items on the desk. “Why are you here, Sam?”
I see, it’s like that, is it? I muse silently. Since I’ve touched on something he obviously doesn’t want to talk about and have got all his prickles up in the process, I answer his question cautiously.
“I just thought I’d keep you in the loop. You’ve been curiously radio silent.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harrison scowls.
“Nothing, Prickles.” I grin, enjoying the colour flushing his neck. “After the other day in Tristan’s kitchen, you agreed to help but then you haven’t been in touch.”
“Or maybe I’m just a very private person,” he counters, and there’s a glimmer of defiance in his posture.
“Besides, I agreed to help Chan find somewhere suitable for Tristan and Danny to live, which I have done. I’ve been searching the listings and have forwarded them to Chan.
You and Danny have your own tasks, which play to your strengths in law enforcement and private investigation.
I can’t imagine what you could possibly want from me. ”
Oh, so many things, Prickles, I think to myself but wisely choose not to voice. Slow and steady is going to be the way with this gorgeous and prickly man.
“It’s always good to have an extra pair of eyes.”
“I’m sure the ones you have will work just fine,” he says snippily.
“Be that as it may, I have a copy of Bruce Reyes’ missing person’s report. I thought you might want a copy,” I offer.
“Why would I want that?”
I almost chuckle but hold it in. “Because we’re kinda all in this together.”
He raises one brow. “Team Tris?”
“Something like that.” I smile. “But honestly, I think there’s something odd going on in Madame Viv’s shop.”
“So why come to me?” he asks carefully.
“Because she runs an occult shop like you. Because, thanks to Tristan and Dusty, we know already that there’s some kind of portal inside that shop, one that leads to the spirit world, apparently, and god knows where else.
It’s all tied up in magic and you’re the only real-life witch I know who has honest-to-god superpowers. ”
He scowls at me. “Firstly, the kind of shop she runs I’m absolutely certain is nothing like mine. Secondly, the spirit world and or portals leading to and from it is not my area, and third, they are not superpowers. It’s magic.”
“Isn’t it essentially the same thing?” I ask, just to rile him up. I’m beginning to love that flush that begins at his delectable neck and rises to his sharp cheekbones.
“One requires that I wear underpants over a unitard and a cape, while the other would have got me hanged only a century ago.”
“Come on, Prickles.” I lean forward on the desk, propping myself on my elbows as I give him a slow smile. “Help us out. Maybe you can figure out how he ended up haunting a bookshop when Danny and I are pretty certain he wasn’t killed there.”
He stares at me for several long seconds and then rolls his eyes and huffs out a breath. “Fine, hand it over.”
I reach into the inside pocket of my wet coat and pull out a soggy, folded piece of paper.
Harrison stares at the piece of paper and then lifts his gaze to me, his expression dry. “You couldn’t have just emailed it to me?”
I fully grin this time. “That would involve you giving me your email address.”
“You mean you don’t already have it? What sort of private investigator are you?”
“I do have it actually, along with your phone number, but it seemed rude to use it as you hadn’t exactly given it to me,” I point out.
He rolls his eyes again and lets out an exasperated and protracted sigh. “Fine, you may use my email address, and I don’t think I want to know how you got hold of it.”
“Chan,” I reply easily. “You emailed him the flat listings and your phone number was on it.”
I tuck the mangled paper back into my pocket and don’t miss the way his eyes linger on my shirt, which is still extremely transparent.
“Can I use your phone number too?”
“Whatever for?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I say slowly. “I thought maybe we could try dinner again, maybe this time without Tristan and Danny, and hopefully without a blackout and you almost getting run over by a car.”
“No,” he says flatly. “I’m going to be far too busy doing your job for you.”
God, he’s so fucking tempting. All uptight and flushed. I just want to slip my arms around him and pull him against me so I can taste that stroppy pout of his.
“As you like.” I throw him a lazy grin, my gaze trailing over his body. “Prickles,” I say by way of farewell, “always a pleasure.”
He watches me with those vivid blue eyes, his mouth tight and his shoulders stiff. But I don’t miss the way his gaze runs over me one last time or how it fills with heat.
Oh yeah, he’s definitely interested. He just doesn’t want to be.
Giving him one last cheeky wink, I open the door and head out of the shop, back into the pouring rain, which hasn’t let up at all.
I don’t bother running for the car since I’m already wet.
Instead, I pause and glance up at the sky as the rain slaps against my face.
The clouds swirl and pulse with light. This really is like no storm I’ve ever heard of.
Something’s coming, I can feel it deep down in my gut.
I don’t know if it’s intuition or my newfound ability of just knowing things with a bone-deep certainty, but one thing I’m absolutely sure of is that my life is about to change, and something tells me that a gorgeous, grumpy man who dresses like he’s eighty has something to do with it.
I laugh in delight when I think of the object of my fascination, and with a little skip in my step, I stroll over to my car like I’m Gene Kelly, although I resist the urge to do a little tap dance along the way.
When I finally slide into the driver’s seat and close the door, I pull out my phone while I’m waiting for the fog on the inside of the windows to clear. Pulling up Harrison’s number, which I’ve already saved in my contacts under Prickles, I shoot him a message.
If not dinner, how about a drink?
Not two seconds later, my phone pings with a response.
I’m blocking your number.
I laugh again as I flip the wipers on.
What a beautiful day.