for another argument. Lord knew if she demanded that he duck in order to protect himself from a bullet, he would only say, “A woman takes orders, katya, she doesn’t give them,” and then promptly be blown away by gunshot.
“The seat belt is there for your protection,” she explained. She fluttered her lashes the exact way that made her brothers crumble. Jorlan didn’t even blink. “If I come to an abrupt stop and you aren’t wearing it, you’ll fly into the windshield, crack your head and die.” A little extreme, she knew, but she could think of no other way to make him listen.
His frown deepened, but at least he rebuckled.
Once they were properly situated, she started the truck and eased onto the road. Warm gusts of wind whipped through the open window, laving her face, lifting her hair. A horn blasted. Startled, she scanned what little traffic occupied the highway and discovered the honk had not been for her, but for a male driver who was swerving from one side of the road to the other. Accelerating, she quickly passed him.
The faster she drove, the more Jorlan relaxed his stiff posture. “’Tis exhilarating, this speed.” His chuckle wafted to her ears, warm, husky and, oh, so inviting.
This man annoys me, she reminded herself.
They lapsed into silence. Unfortunately, that silence worked against her. Instead of concentrating on the oncoming traffic and construction cones that lined the median, her thoughts drifted to Jorlan’s circumstances. Her insatiable curiosity soon overrode her good intentions. “How long were you imprisoned in the stone?”
“Nine hundred spans, seventy-two days and twenty-four minutes.” He spoke so quickly, so assuredly, as if he’d never stopped counting.
“A span is a…”
“Year. A span is a year.”
“That means you’re over nine hundred years old.” The truck swerved as she jerked to face him. He’d mentioned that several centuries had passed, but she hadn’t given it any thought until now. “Surely you don’t expect me to believe that. Most people never reach the age of one hundred, and those who do absolutely do not look like you. A thousand-year-old man would be buying Depends, drinking Ensure and worrying about osteoporosis.”
He regarded her strangely. “Most of what you said escapes me, katya, yet will I strive to reply. Once the curse was spoken into existence, I stopped aging.”
“But you’ll age now, though. Right?”
“I will not age at the rate of your world, nay. I am part sorcerer, and sorcerers are eternal beings sustained by magic. Immortal. Aye, we can be killed with physical weapons as any flesh-and-blood creature, but if unharmed, our magic will keep us alive for eternity.”
“But that’s imposs—” She clamped her lips shut. On top of everything else she’d witnessed and heard tonight, what was so unfeasible about a thousand-yearold alien who resembled a Calvin Klein underwear model and would live forever?
“Oftentimes, the myths and legends of one world are the facts of another. Over the spans,” he said, “many people came into the garden at twilight, whispering of vampires and werewolves, creatures who do not age. Is it so unfathomable, then, that like these creatures, sorcerers can live forever?”
Unfathomable? No. Not anymore. Frightening? God, yes. “I believe you, Jorlan. I do. I was just taken by surprise, that’s all.” She paused as a thought occurred to her. “You said you’re only part sorcerer. How long will you live?”
The corner of his eye twitched. “That does not concern you.”
“I can easily drive you back to the garden, you know. In fact, I’m turning around right now.” She jerked the steering wheel to the left, just to make a point.
“Because you’re so obviously fascinated with the workings of my world,” he said, his tone stilted, “I will answer this one last question. I am the first and only halfling born between a mortal and a sorceress. My path is uncharted. Mayhap I will live half of forever. Mayhap not.” He paused. “Now you answer a question for me.”
“Okay.”
“What think you of love?”
She blinked at such an odd change of subject. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re asking. Do you want to know what I think about a man and woman falling in love with each other?”
“Aye.”
“Well, I think it’s great.” Her brows knit together. “Why?”
Instead of answering her, he turned and faced the window with a satisfied smile. Though slight, the movement caused his sheet to part, revealing a portion of his left thigh. Katie’s chin snapped forward. Watch the road, she commanded herself. But her gaze repeatedly returned to Jorlan, and every time she glimpsed him, her mouth watered for a nibble of that golden thigh. He’s not a bucket of chicken.
He shifted in his seat, exposing more…more…please God…oh yes! The sheet was completely split down the middle, revealing the entire length of his leg.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked suddenly. “Your face is flushed and your eyes look hungry. Starved, actually.”
Katie’s cheeks reddened, and she jerked her attention to where it belonged. “I’m not going to bed with you, okay?” Oh my Lord, she thought the second the words escaped her mouth. She might as well have asked him if he wanted to finger paint her naked body with caramel-and-chocolate ice cream and lick it off.
A knowing, masculine chuckle filled the small cab.
Thankfully, he didn’t reply and the rest of the ride passed in silence, a silence she was now grateful for.
At home, she found Jorlan a Dallas PD T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants Gray had left behind. While Gray had always looked relaxed and cozy in the clothing, like a man spending a lazy day at home on the couch, watching TV and eating Twinkies, Jorlan looked eatable. His rock-solid build stretched the material and showcased every inch of his brawn. Had any other man ever looked so indecent in sweatpants?
Note to self: Write Hanes a very stern letter about what’s appropriate in leisure wear.
P.S. Never invite Gray over again. His clothes are obscene.
Katie ambled into the living room, her newly clothed alien not far behind her. His gaze scalded her back, causing heat to percolate just underneath her skin. She stopped, whipped around, ready to demand he glance away. She froze instead. By the sparkle in his eyes, she knew he was planning something naughty—like removing her clothing piece by piece. Far from angering her, the thought made her heart leap with anticipation. Damn him! The man was too appealing for his own good, and at the moment he was standing way too close for her peace of mind.
She needed space and some sort of brain enema.
She stepped away.
He followed. Their gazes were locked and the space between them crackled with awareness. “If you ask, I will massage my hands in your hair, katya, and set each strand free from confinement.”
Unable to help herself, she gazed at the hands in question. They were blunt, hard hands, clean yet well-worked. The hands of a warrior. Yet, she thought, under the right circumstances,
