Alessandro opened his mouth, desperately trying to think of something to divert her thoughts from Holly. But Omara caught his chin in her fingers, and shut it. "I see the look in your eyes when you speak of your witch. You try to hide it, both for her sake and for mine. Your loyalty does you credit."
This was a softer side of Omara than he had ever seen. He didn't trust it.
She went on. "Your witch should be falling at your feet, and not those of another. You are my sword arm and defender of my honor. My champion should be adored."
Dangerous territory. "But the lady has some say, does she not?"
Omara rolled her eyes. "You're hopeless. Put some effort into winning her over. Try wearing something besides black. Women like a bit of color." She patted his cheek. "And see to it that you get her assistance. Soon. She should be raising the dead for me by now." She looked at her watch. "I have to go."
"Be careful of Pierce."
"He is the one who should have a care." She pursed her lips. "I'll call you later."
Alessandro bowed as she left. Get her assistance. If Alessandro's favors bought that aid, so be it. He was for sale, even at the cost of Omara's monumental jealousy.
Emptiness yawned inside him. One day his disappointment in Omara would swallow his loyalty. She was an excellent queen, but there was little in her that was human enough to love.
He had to check on Holly. He rang her home, then her cell, but got no answer. Not a big surprise. She often turned off the phones if she was working magic. But, just to be sure, he called her grandmother.
She gave Alessandro a full report. He was stunned.
Ben had left Holly? Idiot. Up until the business with the house, Alessandro had always tolerated Ben. On some basic level he just didn't present much of a challenge. But she was having dinner with Detective Macmillan. Why Macmillan? She'd met him only once. Why the sudden interest?
And why was Macmillan making advances now, when he should be paying attention to his job?
This new development was worrisome on many levels. The detective was different from Ben Elliot. Macmillan was a man of action and authority. He counted.
Alessandro started toward the door. He couldn't just let this slide. Rival, he thought, every instinct alert. Maybe he couldn't be with Holly the way he wanted to, but he was damned if he was giving her up to Macmillan. Not until he was convinced that Macmillan was the better man.
That would be never.
Holly is mine.
Halfway out the door, he paused to survey the spacious lobby and the upscale boutiques that lined its perimeter. He remembered the queen's words. Try wearing something besides black.
Alessandro strode to the adjoining mall with grim purpose.
Chapter 13
All too soon Holly faced the ultimate test of feminine protococlass="underline" what to wear when one was not sure whether business, pleasure, or both were on the dinner menu. As a rule, no lingerie decisions could be made until one decided how the evening should end. For instance, if one were reaching for the three-for-one panty hose in basic taupe, the night would be over before it began.
Better in that case to stay at home with the remote.
She'd barely met Macmillan but, cop mode aside, he seemed like a nice guy—maybe even worthy of fishnet stockings. But right now? There was a vampire she couldn't have and a demon mouse she wished would go away. Not to mention Ben. Maybe footed sleepers with a plunging neckline would send the right message.
Then again, it was just a dinner invitation. A business thing. Maybe she could save the angst until after he offered to coat her in chocolate sauce and lick it off to the strains of the 1812 Overture. That would give hosiery choices some meaning.
Ugh! She glowered at the closet. This is why I had a steady guy. After a while they don't notice what you 're wearing anyway.
Up till then it had been a good afternoon. Holly had spent time with O'Shaughnessy's Charms and Protections. Reinforcing the protection spell over every door, window, chimney, and light plug—basically wherever there was an opening in the wall—was tedious, but not difficult. Her powers grudgingly rose to the occasion with no more than a few sharp twinges. By late afternoon she was exhausted but thoroughly satisfied. She wanted to keep that glow.
Not so easy, once the wardrobing debate began. Why did Mac need her help with something personal! That one word held so many possible scenarios, some of them alarming. Better go with the little black dress.
But then she wore the metallic teal spike heels. They looked like castoffs from Hookers from Outer Space, but there was no need to strike all the fun off the menu.
Holly arrived a few minutes late. Macmillan lived in a nice but slightly older downtown condo block. As Fairview's housing prices caught up with the rest of the country, it was the kind of place working folk would soon find too expensive to afford. The woodwork in the lobby was faux mahogany; the fittings in the elevator were finger-smudged brass. Soft carpet in the hallway nearly mired her heels as she teetered her way to the corner suite, and her calves were aching by the time she knocked on Macmillan's door.
Alessandro answered. Holly frowned in confusion. Did I get the right address?
"Good evening," he said, just this side of Bela Lugosi. "Come in. May I take your wrap?"
"What are you doing here?" she asked, handing over her mohair stole and the bottle of merlot she had brought.
Fleeting irritation crossed Alessandro's face. "Detective Macmillan cannot abandon his culinary creation, so at the moment I am his butler."
"Well, the uniform looks good on you. Nice, um, shirt."
Alessandro shifted his weight to one hip, settling into his insouciant slouch. Hot-pink silk framed an expanse of pale, muscular chest. His long curls of pale blond hair slid with languid ease over the fabric, the sound a faint, suggestive whisper.
"I came looking for you," he said. "Your grandmother mentioned where you were going, and that you would be coming alone."
His eyes caught hers for a moment, but gave away nothing. She wondered how much exactly Grandma had said—but Holly couldn't reply, her mouth too dry for words. Her gaze lowered to the perfect pale chest in front of her. And the shirt. It was so… pink. Hot. Very hot.
Finally he shrugged. "The detective and I agreed that we three could discuss what we know about recent events. He has been interviewing me as he chopped parsley."
Holly felt a flicker of irritation. She felt confused, torn between Alessandro's bare chest and Macmillan's micro-grins. She hadn't wanted a steamy date with the detective, but now she felt unaccountably cheated that it wasn't even a possibility. Damn.
"Why do you care about sharing information with the police?" she asked.
Alessandro shrugged. "I need to know what he knows. He has forensics, databases, and all the rest of the modern world's monstrous wealth of information. I'm willing to dangle a few tidbits to get access to that."
"Did you learn anything?"
"Only that there was a fourth murder. Same as before. Apparently it was on the news tonight. The detective and I could make quite a team if he would simply get past the not commenting on an active investigation.
"Besides all that," he said, leaning closer, "aren't you glad I'm here? What do you really know of this man? Why did he suddenly call you?"
Holly raised an eyebrow. "I think I can look after myself."
"No doubt, but I prefer to examine him before abandoning you to his clutches. I always wonder when people do something unexpected."