Trail of the Tudor Blue

He half-grinned, cocky and endearing.

And between the charm of his grin, the shift of his muscle, and the blue of his eyes, all manner of improper things rolled through my imagination. I needed to get away before the temptation overwhelmed me.

I shifted my hand to his chest and pushed. “Let go of me,” I said. But he stood fast against me, and he didn’t miss a beat in the music.

“Quit it,” he said. “Try a little common sense for a minute, huh? If I had any ill feelings I would have left you to Ahnshen’s wicked ways. And if I wanted to hurt you, you never would have left the Babette. Relax. Dance with me.”

I couldn’t have relaxed if I tried. There were too many unknowns, too many questions knocking around my brain. “What do you want?”

He huffed. “Christ, you’re redundant.”

“Why are you following me?”

“I would have thought that was obvious.”

I became again aware of the heat of his body, of the enticing scent of him. The beat of the music coursed through my veins and set my body in motion in time with his. A thrill I hadn’t experienced in far too long filled me, but I was in the wrong time and place to lose myself in its rush.

Gathering my wits, I leaned back to look Tate in the eye. “Tell me,” I said.

He smiled, slow and soft, and his eyes, though warm, lacked mirth. “I’m looking for Marco.”

I raised one eyebrow at him—not on purpose. The one eyebrow action was a twitch, a failure to raise two rather than a skill. “Join the club.”