They were close enough to the cabin that Dahlia could hear the sounds of the men’s voices as they good-naturedly ribbed one another back and forth. She stopped on the worn trail to look up at Nicolas. The sun cast streaks of light through the midnight black hair and kissed his skin with bronze so that he seemed almost glowing to her. “I can picture you working in your garden. Funny that I never even considered it before. You told me about both of your grandfathers, but I think I was only seeing parts of you, not putting you together as a whole.” She slipped her arms around his waist and tilted her head up to his. “I want you to kiss me again so I’m thinking about that when we see the others instead of the humiliation of setting Gator’s house on fire.”
Nicolas didn’t hesitate. He caught the back of her head in the palm of his hand and lowered his mouth to hers. Each time he kissed her the way she tasted, the melting of their bodies, always moved him so unexpectedly. He doubted if he would ever get used to the feel and taste of her. She had crawled inside of him and there was no way to get her out. He started out kissing her gently, tenderly, but in the end he was a starving man, craving more, kissing her over and over.
“Hey!” Gator’s voice drew them apart. “Nico, you get your hands off cha d’bebe and mind your manners.”
Dahlia drew away, her face coloring in spite of her resolve not to let them embarrass her further. She was definitely not Gator’s sweet baby. The man could curl a woman’s toes just with his smooth voice. And he knew it too.
“I think your bebe made the first move,” Sam called from the corner of the house. He had a saw in his hands and was grinning at them.
Gator’s hand went to his heart. “Say it’s not true, ma cher cherie. You have not allowed this corrupter of women to tempt you, have you?”
Dahlia raised her eyebrow and looked up at Nicolas. Nothing seemed to affect him, not being caught kissing her and certainly not their teasing. He looked as inscrutable and as composed as ever. “Do you corrupt women?”
“That’s Gator’s department. The ladies always go for him. He has that bad boy look and the Cajun accent, and he speaks French and they all go wild.”
Dahlia leaned back against Nicolas, accepting the protection his body offered, not because she needed it, but because she sensed he did. Nicolas had no more experience in relationships than she did, and he was uncomfortable with the easy camaraderie the other GhostWalkers were attempting to establish with her. She realized he wasn’t nearly as sure of himself and of her as he let on. “I can see that about Gator. He’s smooth when he dishes out the bull, you know what I mean?” She winked up at Nicolas.
Nicolas felt his heart do a curious somersault. Dahlia created an intimacy with him, a bond, and he knew she did it for him, not for her. He thought there was something remarkable about small, unexpected things when someone did them for him. He had been young when he lost his Lakota grandfather, and his Japanese grandfather had rarely been demonstrative, but Nicolas remembered the impact when he would do some small thing to show affection.
He cleared his throat. “I know exactly what you mean.”
Gator threw back his head and laughed. “She’s a good one, that woman. You hang onto her, Nico.”
“I intend to,” Nicolas answered.
“Gator,” Dahlia gestured toward the cabin. “I’m sorry I set your house on fire. Things like that happen a lot around me.”
“A little fire is nothing to worry about, ‘tite soeur. We fixed it right up.” His grin turned mischievous. “I saw sparks in the air over by the old pond. I was most worried the two of you were having a bit of fight, but now I think it was something altogether different.”
Dahlia couldn’t help but laugh. It wasn’t just his outrageous behavior, but his easygoing attitude and charming accent. And he had referred to her as little sister. Part of her wanted to bask in that.