The Angel Wore Fangs(15)
Speaking of tea, rather thinking of tea, she reached for the cup in front of her and sipped at the now lukewarm beverage. At the same time, Cnut reached for one of the scalloped shell cookies, popped it in his mouth, and chewed, his eyes widening in appreciation at the delicious flavor.
“Help yourself,” she started to say, belatedly, but he’d already grabbed the last two madeleines and consumed them with eyes closed in delight. She did make superior madeleines, the touch of hazelnut butter and orange substitution for lemon making all the difference.
“Are you hungry?” she asked.
“I am always hungry,” he replied.
Is there a double entendre there? Is he implying that . . . no, this guy is just too sizzling hot. His hotness is giving me wrong ideas. Very wrong. Look at him, licking the chocolate off his fingers. Be still my heart . . . and other places. Yikes! “I have some restaurant leftovers I can warm up,” she offered, not at all surprised that her voice sounded so husky.
He shook his head.
“You don’t know what you’re missing. Today’s special was Peking duck.”
He blinked at her several times, then burst out with laughter.
“What? What’s so funny?”
“I can’t stop thinking about ducks, lately, and you just mentioned ducks.” He shrugged.
“Well, then, you should like my leftovers. It’s made with plum truffle sauce. Our sous chef’s specialty.”
He waved a hand dismissively. “I meant that I’ve been absorbed with ducks, in general. It’s an inside jest with me and my brothers.”
“You have brothers?” Good Lord! What has that to do with anything? My brain is melting here. With lust overload.
“Six of them.”
“Wow!” They must rock a room when they’re all together. If they look like him.
“That about sums them up, in their own inflated opinions.”
“Do they work with you?”
“Sometimes. Uh, are you sick?”
“Huh?”
“You were fanning your face. Do you have a fever or something?”
Oh yeah, I got fever all right. No, no, no! I do not behave like this. It’s demeaning. Next I’ll be wolf-whistling at construction workers. Time to put the brakes on this runaway train of steaming hormones. “If you don’t know if Celie is at the ranch, what’s the news you referred to when I first asked?”
“Well, I can trace her exact whereabouts for the weeks leading up to May 15 when she first entered the compound with Kahlil Ajam. In fact, I can tell you a lot about Ajam, and none of it’s good. I can tell you about young people, mostly American teens, who entered Circle of Light and never went home again. I can tell you that most of them are now either dead or fighting for ISIS on the other side of the world. Worse yet, maybe being planted in sites around the United States for potential missions.”
“But how can they get away with this? To be so subversive in an open way in the middle of ‘enemy’ territory?”
“This is the land of the free. Terrorists love your country’s political correctness.”
“Isn’t this your country, too?”
She could tell that she’d caught him in a slip of tongue. “It is now,” he said.
“Where are you from?”
“Many places,” he said.
Talk about evasive! She exhaled whooshily with exasperation. “Where is your home? Where did you grow up?”
“You could say my home is Transylvania,” he answered hesitantly.
She tossed her hands in the air in a so-there! fashion. “You’re from Romania? Holy cannoli!”
“Not that Romania. Transylvania, Pennsylvania. Can we get back to the subject of your sister and the ranch?”
She could tell he didn’t like talking about himself. Big fat hairy deal! “I’ve heard of that town. The Inquirer did a Sunday feature on the loony-tunes vampire activities up there. There’s even a Dracula-type castle there that . . .” At the expression of horror on his face, she realized that she’d inadvertently hit on something important. “Oh my God! Your home is that castle.”
“Well . . .” His face couldn’t get any redder. With nervousness, he reached for one of the Hershey’s Kisses sitting in a small, cut-glass bowl, unwrapped it, and popped it in his mouth, and was already reaching for another before he’d even started chewing. The foil-wrapped chocolates were made in a factory less than two hours from here. She used lots of them in her cooking, or for just plain melt-in-your-mouth deliciousness.
“Are you royalty, or something?”
He choked on his chocolate. “What in bloody hell would give you that idea?”