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Authors: Regan Black
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back home to –"
"No." She just stopped herself from shaking her head. "I'm not done here."
She hadn't even made it to the beach yet. Sun and sand in January, even if the ocean was chilly, beat the cold snowy landscape of the Midwest. She could almost hear the sound of the surf already, though that might just be the blood pounding in her head. And she'd been saving her scheduled beach day to indulge in the latest book from her favorite historical romance author. She would enjoy that book, sand, and sunshine before she headed back to cold snow and ice. But her aunt's assistant didn't need to know all that. "I have to finish the class."
"Your friend, the other teacher, she'll take care of the class."
"We're a team on this."
He shrugged. "She can cover for you. No one will blame you for taking a couple days to recover from the attack. It will give us some time and space to get you out of here."
"I can't just leave. I made commitments."
"Now you have different commitments."
"What are you talking about?"
He pulled his chair closer. "As the Matchmaker, you cannot take chances. That man will not be the last to come sniffing around. You need to move quickly and – "
"What did you call me?"
"The Matchmaker. It's there in the letter from your aunt."
"Beg pardon?" Matchmaker? What did her aunt's myth letter have to do with this? She exchanged the ice pack for the letter and read through it again. "I'm not following. You run security for my aunt's consulting firm."
"I did. And as such I know you will take over for your aunt." He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, mumbling as he did.
"Repeat that."
"You'll take over."
"No. The part after that." She sat up a little straighter, aiming every ounce of the intimidation she'd learned as a professor, daring him to lie to her.
He swore, then smiled with a little too much charm. "I said you already have."
"Have what?"
"Taken over the position." He threw his hands in the air as if he wanted to pull out his hair. Grumbling, fists balled at his sides, he closed in on her, stopping just short of shaking her she was sure. "You have taken over the position. The consulting ." He actually used air quotes. "You are the Matchmaker."
What was in the water today? Between Maeve mooning over every scrap of testosterone and her getting attacked by a total stranger, she wasn't in the mood for delusions or fairy tales. "We must be reading different letters. Aunt Camille just wants me to research this myth and give her a story. We used to do it all the time."
"You must have a concussion." He crossed the room, waving her over to join him. "Come here."
She eyed him warily, then wondered why. She'd vetted him, as she failed to do with the Barclay man. Darian had been kind. Helpful and protective. Possibly delusional, but believing in fairy tales didn't automatically equal dangerous. Following him put her closer to the door and a potential escape. When she reached him, pleased that her legs felt sturdy, she let him turn her toward the mirror over the vanity.
"Look at your eyes."
She stared at her reflection. Those were her eyes, yet they weren't. Something was off. Different. She leaned closer to the mirror. Shots of dark blue radiated out from her pupils like a starburst. Trying to count the points only made her dizzy. She touched the mirror, backed up and looked at the lighting, but she couldn't see the trick. Blinking, unable to make the effect go away, she thought of Maeve.
"New contacts," she murmured.
"That won't lessen the Matchmaker's effect."
She glanced at him in the reflection, but his face was a stoic mask of determination.
"The letter says Camille sent something to you," he said, turning away. In a moment he'd returned with the letter. "You must go home and get it. There's no time to lose."
Amy couldn't look at her bizarre eyes any more. She faced him instead. "Darian, I'll admit this is… Wait." She stumbled back a step as information flooded her mind. It was as if a dam had
"No." She just stopped herself from shaking her head. "I'm not done here."
She hadn't even made it to the beach yet. Sun and sand in January, even if the ocean was chilly, beat the cold snowy landscape of the Midwest. She could almost hear the sound of the surf already, though that might just be the blood pounding in her head. And she'd been saving her scheduled beach day to indulge in the latest book from her favorite historical romance author. She would enjoy that book, sand, and sunshine before she headed back to cold snow and ice. But her aunt's assistant didn't need to know all that. "I have to finish the class."
"Your friend, the other teacher, she'll take care of the class."
"We're a team on this."
He shrugged. "She can cover for you. No one will blame you for taking a couple days to recover from the attack. It will give us some time and space to get you out of here."
"I can't just leave. I made commitments."
"Now you have different commitments."
"What are you talking about?"
He pulled his chair closer. "As the Matchmaker, you cannot take chances. That man will not be the last to come sniffing around. You need to move quickly and – "
"What did you call me?"
"The Matchmaker. It's there in the letter from your aunt."
"Beg pardon?" Matchmaker? What did her aunt's myth letter have to do with this? She exchanged the ice pack for the letter and read through it again. "I'm not following. You run security for my aunt's consulting firm."
"I did. And as such I know you will take over for your aunt." He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, mumbling as he did.
"Repeat that."
"You'll take over."
"No. The part after that." She sat up a little straighter, aiming every ounce of the intimidation she'd learned as a professor, daring him to lie to her.
He swore, then smiled with a little too much charm. "I said you already have."
"Have what?"
"Taken over the position." He threw his hands in the air as if he wanted to pull out his hair. Grumbling, fists balled at his sides, he closed in on her, stopping just short of shaking her she was sure. "You have taken over the position. The consulting ." He actually used air quotes. "You are the Matchmaker."
What was in the water today? Between Maeve mooning over every scrap of testosterone and her getting attacked by a total stranger, she wasn't in the mood for delusions or fairy tales. "We must be reading different letters. Aunt Camille just wants me to research this myth and give her a story. We used to do it all the time."
"You must have a concussion." He crossed the room, waving her over to join him. "Come here."
She eyed him warily, then wondered why. She'd vetted him, as she failed to do with the Barclay man. Darian had been kind. Helpful and protective. Possibly delusional, but believing in fairy tales didn't automatically equal dangerous. Following him put her closer to the door and a potential escape. When she reached him, pleased that her legs felt sturdy, she let him turn her toward the mirror over the vanity.
"Look at your eyes."
She stared at her reflection. Those were her eyes, yet they weren't. Something was off. Different. She leaned closer to the mirror. Shots of dark blue radiated out from her pupils like a starburst. Trying to count the points only made her dizzy. She touched the mirror, backed up and looked at the lighting, but she couldn't see the trick. Blinking, unable to make the effect go away, she thought of Maeve.
"New contacts," she murmured.
"That won't lessen the Matchmaker's effect."
She glanced at him in the reflection, but his face was a stoic mask of determination.
"The letter says Camille sent something to you," he said, turning away. In a moment he'd returned with the letter. "You must go home and get it. There's no time to lose."
Amy couldn't look at her bizarre eyes any more. She faced him instead. "Darian, I'll admit this is… Wait." She stumbled back a step as information flooded her mind. It was as if a dam had
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