Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 145721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
She wanted to ask him why he was so rash with Graves. She had so many questions. Things that Graves had merely scooted around nimbly, like a too-clever fox. And here was Lorcan, willing to feed her information. But at what price? She needed to tread carefully. Lorcan may seem like an easy mark, but anyone who went head-to-head with Graves must be able to play the game.
“If you say so,” she said instead, leaning over and taking a bite of the salad.
Her necklace hung forward over her meal. Lorcan made a small noise in the back of his throat. “What bird is that on your necklace?”
She glanced up at him and was certain he already knew the answer. “A wren.”
His answering smile was all teeth. “Really? Wrens are such beautiful birds.”
She shot him an exasperated look. “Are you going to tell me about how they’re all killed the day after Christmas, too?”
“I see Graves has been feeding you information,” he said with a knowing look in his eye. “Wrens are a sign that spring is near. The end of winter. The seasons are turning and all that.”
“And then they kill them for sport.”
“Well, not anymore. It’s mostly just a party now,” he said, taking another sip of his wine. “But I bet Graves found that necklace very interesting. As do I, little songbird.”
She kept her hands carefully at her sides, when all she wanted to do was tuck the necklace away.
“Now, eat. You look like you haven’t had a meal in weeks.”
Which was absurd because, before the wish-powder hangover from hell, she’d been eating better than she ever had in her life. She chalked it up to the sickness and decided to eat. She took a bite and then another and another. What was with the food with these men? How did they make a salad taste this good?
“It’s goat cheese from my home farm and fresh raspberries.”
“How did you get raspberries in the dead of winter?” she asked, plucking another one from the salad and indulging. Both he and Graves had them. Money was the answer.
“We all have our secrets,” he said with a gleam in his eyes.
When they finished their salads and Kierse had gorged herself on the warmest, crustiest bread in existence, the main course arrived. As promised, it was a lamb shank in a fragrant sauce with brown-butter mashed potatoes on the side.
“Tell me about yourself,” Lorcan went on. “What do you like to do for fun? Your hobbies? Your taste in music?”
She considered his play. She’d thought he’d be gruff and arrogant. That he’d dismiss her, attempt to recruit her, and then try to kill her if it didn’t work. Or at the very least warn her that Graves was a bad, bad man, wagging a finger and all. Except . . . he wasn’t doing that.
“Why do you want to know about me?”
“I can’t find a beautiful woman interesting?” Lorcan asked.
She leaned forward and fluttered her eyelashes. “You think I’m beautiful?”
“You know you’re beautiful. And beyond interesting to have survived this long on the streets with your level of skill.”
“You’re a charmer,” she teased.
He laughed again. He made it look so easy. “If you find me charming now, wait until dessert. I won’t ruin the surprise, but it’s my favorite.” Lorcan took another bite of his lamb and finished chewing before speaking again. “Well? Your interests?”
“You first,” she said, taking a bite of the most succulent meat she’d ever tried.
“I enjoy long hikes through the woods and across the moors. I love sailing and fishing on clear days and, when it rains, huddling in a gazebo with nothing but my guitar. I enjoy festival days and rituals and farmers markets. I confess that I’m easy to please,” he said, setting his fork down. Those blue eyes looked straight through her. “What about you? Are you easy to please?”
The question was loaded. He wanted to know about her. Yes. But he wanted more. He wanted to know if she was poachable. If he could convert her to his side with kind eyes and warm smiles and delicious food. She decided to go along with it and see where it landed her.
“I like . . . training,” she said with a shrug.
“That’s work,” he said, waving her off. “What do you do for fun?”
“For fun,” she said softly. “I admit there hasn’t been much fun to be had.”
“Surely you enjoy something other than thieving and training.”
She looked down, playing up the role of the innocent victim. “I guess I like babka from a Jewish bakery across from the Met.”
“Babka?” he asked excitedly.
A small smile came to her face. “Cinnamon babka. It’s the best I’ve ever tasted.”
“You must give me the name. I will become a patron of their establishment.” He leaned in. “What else?”
“Well, I like spending time with my friends.” She frowned as if just remembering where she sat. “The ones you tried to kill.”