Well, it was cold now. Adam must have noticed my glance toward the hearth as I set the pizza and plates down on the heavy coffee table, which was one large piece of polished juniper with glass on top. “Want a fire?” he asked.
“That would be great.”
He grinned. “Watch this — I’ve been practicing.” And he turned and focused his attention on the pile of logs, muttering something I couldn’t quite catch under his breath.
Almost at once, I saw a lick of flame start at the end of one log, and then quickly spread along its length. Soon the whole pile was crackling away happily, warming the room.
“Hey, Angela!” I heard Kirby’s voice echo down the hall. “The night crew is here.”
“We’re in the sitting room,” I called back.
A minute later, Kirby’s tousled brown head was peering around the doorframe. His eyebrows lifted a little when he saw me sitting there with Adam. “Oh, hey, didn’t know you had company.”
“Just grabbing some dinner,” I told him, although between the bottle of wine and the fire and the low light from the sconces on the walls, it probably looked like more than simply dinner.
“Got it,” he replied. “Well, we’ll be over in the living room if you need anything.”
“Okay,” I said, not sure whether I should be relieved or annoyed by my built-in chaperones.
During that exchange with Kirby, Adam had been busying himself with setting out the plates and napkins, and pouring a healthy measure of chianti into each glass. He’d kept the pizza box closed, though, probably to make sure it didn’t get cold before we even had a chance to eat it.
He handed a full wine glass to me. “Here’s to surviving an encounter with Damon Wilcox.”
I wouldn’t let myself shudder. No point in asking how he knew; news like that traveled fast in the McAllister clan. I just took the glass from him and said, “Cheers.”
We clanked glasses, and both drank. It hadn’t been that long since lunch, but even so I could feel the warmth of the wine as it traced its way down my throat, relieving some of the tension in my neck and back. In silence we helped ourselves to some pizza. Adam had eaten most of his piece before he asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“Why not?”
“Because….” I let the word trail off, then shook my head. “Nothing really happened. The de la Pazes made sure of that. And I just….” Another swallow of wine heartened me somewhat. “Because I’m home now. I’m safe here. And I don’t want to bring something that dark under this roof, I guess.”
Expression sober, Adam nodded. Energy was something we all understood, since magic was energy. Invoking the name of something was giving it a chance to worm its way into your life. I wanted the energy in this house to be pure and strong.
“Okay,” he said. He lifted his glass again. “Here’s to the de la Paz clan, then.”
I definitely could drink to that, and swallowed some more chianti. With each drink of wine and bite of pizza I was beginning to feel more relaxed. I was home, and the bodyguards were out in the living room, and the space where I sat now was warm and cozy, with the fire crackling away in its simple hearth of travertine and dark-stained oak, and the walls in a deep parchment shade reflecting the glow from the wrought iron and alabaster sconces.
In this light Adam’s mid-brown hair looked darker, and I couldn’t see his eye color at all. No, he wasn’t exactly a Chris Wilson, or even an Adam Trujillo, but he was nice-looking. I’d spent a lot of time trying to ignore that fact since he wasn’t my consort and therefore not someone I should be thinking of like that.
You’d better start thinking that way now, I thought with some resignation. Sure, maybe there’s the slightest chance of a Hail Mary pass this late in the game, but I wouldn’t put any money on it.
“You’re looking very serious,” Adam said, setting down his wine glass. After being raised by Aunt Rachel, I had the instinctive impulse to reach for a coaster, but then I realized that was silly. I’d put a glass-topped table in here precisely so I wouldn’t have to worry about that sort of thing while I was trying to relax.
“Am I? Long day.” That wasn’t even a lie. I just didn’t know if I was ready to admit to him what I’d really been thinking about.
Silently he reached in the pizza box and set another slice on my plate, then poured me some more wine. I wondered if he were trying to get me tipsy. Actually, that didn’t sound like a bad idea. I was safe here, after all, and I thought after the confrontation with Damon Wilcox and the disappointment at not getting to see Chris Wilson, a slight wine buzz might be just what I needed.