before him, she invited his hand to her hip and held it there with hers. He leaned in to smell her hair. Vanilla shampoo, combined with her spearmint body lotion, mixed a sensual combination. He stroked her hair and drew out his hand, trailing a red ribbon along his forefinger. A tilt of his head and a sweet smile displayed his wonder over the decoration.
Cassandra shrugged and winked. She wanted to nuzzle her nose against his neck, divine his scent and whisper an invitation, but she wasn’t pushy, and she wasn’t a tease.
All right, so maybe a bit of a tease. But she’d come here with another man; she would not ditch him. That was just plain rude.
Unless Marcus and the redhead developed plans of their own.
Suddenly itchy, Cassandra rubbed the heel of her palm over her wrist. This new dress was some kind of wool blend, though very thin. It exposed her back to midspine. The short skirt dropped mid-thigh, and her thigh-high boots were tied up the backs with red ribbons to match those in her hair.
She touched her sexy dancer’s forearm, clasping it. Too intimate, Cassandra. But she didn’t heed her intuition. The dancer’s arm was cool, and the difference in their temperatures increased his allure.
The music switched to a fast rocker beat, one of her favorite songs about dangerous beauty, snarled out by a sultry female singer. The guitar riff in this one was insane. Bouncing before him, she performed a sexy shimmy and hip shift while he observed. He’d catch the beat. He seemed to learn quickly.
“What’s your name?” she asked over the blast of music.
“Samandiriel.”
She hadn’t caught the last name—Darrel?—but the first had sounded like Sam. She loved that name. Had dreamed about it …
Shimmying close to him, she spread a palm up the front of his crisp shirt and leaned up on tiptoe so he could hear, “You in town for the convention across the street or sightseeing on the Spree?”
Please don’t be a mortician. There was a convention at the Radisson Blu across the street. She’d already talked to two body pokers since arriving at the Schwarz.
“I’m here for you, Cassandra.”
Her? Well. That was some kind of all right. It wasn’t every day a chick found her own personal—
Wait. She hadn’t given him her name.
“Rather a nice distraction,” he said over the din. “Hadn’t expected to meet you so quickly.”
Cassandra stopped dancing. She also stopped midscratch. She tugged up the dress sleeve, dreading what she would see. The sigil on her wrist, which was normally a reddish-brown color and shaped like a spiral, glowed blue.
It had never done that before—yet that didn’t mean she didn’t know exactly what it meant.
“Oh, hell, no.”
The sensual heat flushing Cassandra’s face chilled faster than it would’ve stepping outside into the freezing winter weather.
Shaking her head, she moved away but was rudely bumped by a dancer. The man’s eyes—Samandiriel, now she remembered his name from a dream—were bright and designed from many colors.
“Kaleidoscope,” she whispered, choking on her breath.
Years of preparation, of knowing what her destiny would bring, sent her into action.
The time had come. Here stood danger.
Fisting her hands, she assumed a defensive stance. “Come on, buddy, I am so ready for you.”
The man’s dark eyebrow quirked and his perfectly sculpted lips compressed.
Amidst the ruckus of dancers and ear-thrumming music, Cassandra realized she didn’t want this to go down in such a public place. Probably he didn’t care, and would use the crowd to his advantage.
Protect the innocents, Granny Stevens had always warned. At all costs.
Darting off the dance floor like a banshee called to the grave, she pushed through the crowd of dancers, lovers and chatterers. A swing of her elbow spilled a drink, and someone swore at her in hearty German. She couldn’t bother to apologize.
Without looking to see if the stranger would follow she headed down the dark hallway toward the back exit door. Pinpricks of light spattered the walls like a constellation, but did not serve illumination for any more than a careful stroll to find the restrooms.
She shoved a man out of the way. He called back, wondering if she was okay.
She’d worn her thigh-high boots today. The heels were only two inches, but slippery as hell on the tiled floor, which was wet from people entering with snow on their shoes. Grabbing the door, she swung it open and glanced back. The man followed.
It was him. Samandiriel. Her dream man. Her destiny.
Her danger.
Her wrist would not itch were it any other man in the universe. And the sigil glowed! Granny Stevens had said it would. She’d always wondered how that would work.
There was only one reason a muse’s sigil glowed: it was near another sigil that matched it. Playing angel-to-muse sigil matchy-matchy was not a game Cassandra had signed up for, but certainly, she was prepared.
“Right,” she muttered to herself. “You went all kick-ass on him for two idiot seconds!”
Wishing she’d had the time to swing by the bar where her now ex-date sat to put on her leather coat, Cassandra cursed the wicked cold air as she plunged into a wall of prickly snowflakes. A burgeoning storm swirled relentlessly. A drift consumed the bottom step and swallowed her boots ankle deep.
She kept another coat in the boot of her car, along with gloves, hat and other necessary items. No one drove around Berlin in December without the essentials.
The club door smashed outward, cracking the outer brick wall. The stranger marched down the steps, his pace determined. He wore no coat, and appeared unaffected as the bitter wind buffeted his chest and face.
Cassandra’s teeth had already begun to chatter. Slipping her hand inside her boot, she claimed her car keys from the inner pocket. She’d parked five rows back and in the corner.
Slipping on the icy surface, she slapped a palm on the closest car to steady herself. A hand grasped her by the shoulder and swung her against the hood of a vintage BMW.
“Where are you off to in such a hurry, Cassandra? I was having a fine time dancing with you. Were my moves not correct? I thought to follow your direction.”
Seriously? She kicked his knee, landing her toe hard, but he didn’t register pain with a wince. In fact, he instead winked at her.
“Let go of me! I’ll scream.”
He slapped a palm over her mouth. His square jaw pulsed and his eyes flashed a mad array of colors at her. “You are—” he trailed his gaze over her face and down her body “—mine.” The words came out in a wondrous gasp.
Oh,
