why it looked unusual.
While the lashes of his right eye were dark brown, a shade or two darker than his hair, the lashes of his left eye were perfectly white. Devoid of all pigmentation.
She couldn’t help but stare for a moment. It was so dramatic. And fascinating to look at.
Finally, she remembered he’d asked her a question.
“No. Your eye doesn’t bother me. It’s actually rather interesting.”
He smiled slightly—not the same as the smiles she’d seen before, though. This one looked hard, somehow. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re not worried it could be an evil eye or something?
This is New Orleans. Voodoo and all that.”
There was a joking quality to his tone, yet like his smile, the amusement didn’t seem to reach his eyes.
“Well, I’m not sure about all the voodoo,” she said, offering him a small smile, “but I’m pretty sure your eye is fine.”
She smiled until she realized his gaze was locked on her lips. His eyes moved up to meet hers. A zing of awareness shot through her just as it had when their eyes met while he was onstage. The haunting strains of the song he’d been playing suddenly echoed in her mind.
“So is this just a vacation?” he asked, drawing her back to the moment, the music and the strange energy shattering and rippling away like the still waters of a pond when a rock is thrown into it.
“Yes.” She pulled in a breath, trying to gather herself. “For ten days. We’re staying right there,”
she pointed to the large, many-windowed hotel across the street.
His gaze followed her gesture and held there long enough that Maggie began to wonder what held his attention so. Then he turned back to her.
“You probably shouldn’t announce that. Unless you want strange men to follow you home.” He smiled, the curling at the edges returned, though something was different about his eyes. “Do you?”
Maggie blinked, still trying to understand the strange, almost haunted look in his eyes.
“Do I what?” She totally missed what he was asking.
“Do you want strange men to follow you home?”
Her body reacted to the question instantly. He was flirting with her. Unbelievably, he really was.
She had no idea how to deal with that.
“So do you live in the French Quarter?” she managed to ask, opting to ignore his question and get the conversation on some sort of normal ground.
He nodded, and again she noticed how silky his hair looked framing his face.
“I live on St. Ann,” he told her. “Why? Did you want to follow me home?”
She swallowed. Wow, she really was out of her element here. Guys did not flirt with her. They just didn’t. Except this one, and she had no idea how to respond. Her gaze dropped to the ground.
Gum, beer caps, crushed cigarettes—these things she could understand.
Then a hand touched her, strong fingers gentle as they nudged her face up so her gaze met his.
“I make you uncomfortable, don’t I?”
Maggie licked her lips, trying to breathe, trying to speak as more sizzling awareness zipped through her, stemming from the place where his fingers touched her chin, then radiating outward in whirling spirals throughout her body.
She managed to shake her head. He did make her uncomfortable but not in the way he thought.
He made her awkwardly aware of how attracted she was to him. And how little she knew how to handle something this intense, this strong. Peter had never made her feel so…
She let out a pent-up breath. So strange. She pulled in a slow breath to replace the one she’d released.
His gaze returned to her lips.
The one and only thought going through Ren’s mind was that he wanted to kiss this woman. She had a small mouth, bowlike, sweet, and he wanted desperately to taste it. But given the way she’d frozen when he’d touched her, he didn’t think she’d be very receptive to a kiss.
Man, he’d lived this life way too long. Only in New Orleans, only in the bar scene, was it even remotely
While the lashes of his right eye were dark brown, a shade or two darker than his hair, the lashes of his left eye were perfectly white. Devoid of all pigmentation.
She couldn’t help but stare for a moment. It was so dramatic. And fascinating to look at.
Finally, she remembered he’d asked her a question.
“No. Your eye doesn’t bother me. It’s actually rather interesting.”
He smiled slightly—not the same as the smiles she’d seen before, though. This one looked hard, somehow. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re not worried it could be an evil eye or something?
This is New Orleans. Voodoo and all that.”
There was a joking quality to his tone, yet like his smile, the amusement didn’t seem to reach his eyes.
“Well, I’m not sure about all the voodoo,” she said, offering him a small smile, “but I’m pretty sure your eye is fine.”
She smiled until she realized his gaze was locked on her lips. His eyes moved up to meet hers. A zing of awareness shot through her just as it had when their eyes met while he was onstage. The haunting strains of the song he’d been playing suddenly echoed in her mind.
“So is this just a vacation?” he asked, drawing her back to the moment, the music and the strange energy shattering and rippling away like the still waters of a pond when a rock is thrown into it.
“Yes.” She pulled in a breath, trying to gather herself. “For ten days. We’re staying right there,”
she pointed to the large, many-windowed hotel across the street.
His gaze followed her gesture and held there long enough that Maggie began to wonder what held his attention so. Then he turned back to her.
“You probably shouldn’t announce that. Unless you want strange men to follow you home.” He smiled, the curling at the edges returned, though something was different about his eyes. “Do you?”
Maggie blinked, still trying to understand the strange, almost haunted look in his eyes.
“Do I what?” She totally missed what he was asking.
“Do you want strange men to follow you home?”
Her body reacted to the question instantly. He was flirting with her. Unbelievably, he really was.
She had no idea how to deal with that.
“So do you live in the French Quarter?” she managed to ask, opting to ignore his question and get the conversation on some sort of normal ground.
He nodded, and again she noticed how silky his hair looked framing his face.
“I live on St. Ann,” he told her. “Why? Did you want to follow me home?”
She swallowed. Wow, she really was out of her element here. Guys did not flirt with her. They just didn’t. Except this one, and she had no idea how to respond. Her gaze dropped to the ground.
Gum, beer caps, crushed cigarettes—these things she could understand.
Then a hand touched her, strong fingers gentle as they nudged her face up so her gaze met his.
“I make you uncomfortable, don’t I?”
Maggie licked her lips, trying to breathe, trying to speak as more sizzling awareness zipped through her, stemming from the place where his fingers touched her chin, then radiating outward in whirling spirals throughout her body.
She managed to shake her head. He did make her uncomfortable but not in the way he thought.
He made her awkwardly aware of how attracted she was to him. And how little she knew how to handle something this intense, this strong. Peter had never made her feel so…
She let out a pent-up breath. So strange. She pulled in a slow breath to replace the one she’d released.
His gaze returned to her lips.
The one and only thought going through Ren’s mind was that he wanted to kiss this woman. She had a small mouth, bowlike, sweet, and he wanted desperately to taste it. But given the way she’d frozen when he’d touched her, he didn’t think she’d be very receptive to a kiss.
Man, he’d lived this life way too long. Only in New Orleans, only in the bar scene, was it even remotely
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