Passionate Magic. Dawn Addonizio
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She jerked back to reality as the waitress brought Doyle’s beer, forcing herself to pull away as another server stepped up with their food. By the time they were alone again, she was flushed with embarrassed uncertainty. Had she made more out of his attentions than was really there?
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Doyle had only intended a bit of light teasing to make Violet feel more comfortable, but as soon as he looked into her eyes and his hand brushed against hers, he was ensnared. It was as if her touch held the power to bewitch him, stripping away all else and reducing him into a torrent of need.
Her skin had taken on a sun-kissed glow from her afternoon on the water, and he could just see a tantalizing edge of delicate lace peeking out from beneath the strap of her top. His fingers itched for the excuse to smooth across her shoulder and tuck it back into place. The thought of touching her bare, satiny flesh drove him wild.
But the bedeviled waitress had come back at the worst possible moment, and Violet had pulled away again. He could have shouted with the frustration of it. He took a bracing breath and reminded himself that he needed to go slow with her. She was still grieving for her parents. And he was supposed to be protecting her, not seducing her. She was an innocent young woman, a schoolteacher, for heaven’s sake!
She looked uncomfortable, and it was his fault. He racked his brain for a way to put her back at ease. He couldn’t pretend there hadn’t been a moment between them. That would only make things worse. He decided it would be best to try to pick up where they had left off in conversation, neither drawing attention to, nor denying, the episode.
He caught her eyes as she took a nervous sip from her straw, and he gave her a somewhat sheepish smile. “I’ll know better than to question your taste in beverages next time,” he told her softly.
He was rewarded with a shy grin.
“Now you have to try my wings, unless you don’t think you can handle the heat,” he goaded.
“Bring it on,” she taunted, dipping a french-fry in ketchup and popping it into her mouth.
Doyle studied her surreptitiously as he chose a drumette and rolled it in hot sauce before placing it on the edge of her plate. She was smiling again, and the tense set of her shoulders had relaxed. She was an intriguing blend of contrasts, seeming reserved one moment and turning playful the next. He found himself wanting to know more about her.
“So, do you like teaching? How long have you been at it?” he asked, just as she was taking a bite of her sandwich.
She gave him a derisive look as she chewed and he chuckled. “Sorry. Take your time.” He started on a wing so she wouldn’t feel like he was watching her eat.
She swallowed and sipped at the last of her mojito. “Three years. And I love it. I love working with the kids. My administration and my co-workers are great too…for the most part,” she added, shaking her head in amused acceptance. “There’re always a few aggravations to contend with. But overall I get along with everyone. And my school’s only about five minutes from my apartment.”
“How did you know that was what you wanted to do?” he prodded, enjoying the way her eyes sparkled when she talked about her job.
“I grew up around it,” she answered with a wistful smile, “both my parents were teachers.”
Doyle froze, and then covered the reaction by downing the rest of his beer. He wasn’t supposed to know about her parents’ deaths, and he didn’t want to influence her decision to talk about it.
“So it was in your blood from the start,” he commented.
“I suppose so,” she agreed, her expression turning remote. “I always admired the way they were able to inspire their students to learn. They had this knack for making knowledge seem exciting, and the most amazing way of turning the process of figuring things out into a game.
“When I was younger and I was stuck on a subject, usually math,” she said with a self-deprecating smirk, “they were always able to explain it in a way that made the light-bulb click on in my head. I wanted to be able to do that for kids.”
“They sound like really great people,” Doyle said gently.
Violet hesitated. She didn’t want to bring down the evening, but it seemed strange not to tell him about her parents’ deaths now that she’d gushed on about them.
“They were great people. They retired down here and bought a sweet little villa just up the street. But they were killed in a boating accident a couple of months ago. That’s why I’m here. I’m packing up their house.” She gave him a reassuring smile, hoping she hadn’t made him uncomfortable.
“I’m so sorry, Violet.” Relieved not to have to pretend he didn’t know, he reached out and briefly squeezed her hand where it rested on the table. His warm palm engulfed her fingers in a gesture of strength and comfort. He was reluctant to stop touching her, but quashed the unseemly urge.
“I’m around the docks most days, and I only live a couple of blocks from here. I’d be happy to help with anything you need.”
To his surprise, she reached for his hand as he started to pull away, clasping it tightly in her own. “Thanks, Doyle. That means a lot to me.”
She smiled into his eyes for a moment before releasing him, sparking a curiously warm sensation deep within his chest.
“So what about your family?” she asked, nibbling on the chicken wing he’d given her and nodding her acceptance to the waitress for another drink.
“Well, originally I hail from Ireland.”
“I guessed,” Violet admitted with a grin.
“From a small town in County Kerry, to be precise,” Doyle continued. “My family still lives there—my mum and pop, and my sister.”
He bit into a sauce-drenched wing and nodded gratefully when the waitress dropped off his beer.
“Why did you leave?” Violet studied his handsome face with curiosity as she sampled her new mojito. She was beginning to feel pleasantly giddy.
Doyle shrugged as he chewed. “Ever since I was a lad, I’ve felt the call to explore. I was always getting into trouble, wandering off across the countryside, trespassing where I shouldn’t, or getting myself lost. I think it was my small way of getting my parents used to the idea of me leaving.
“They were quite distressed when I told them I was going to university in Dublin.” He grinned and took another swig of cold beer. “You can imagine their reaction when I decided to leave the country. I had to move out in steps across Europe—England, then France, then Spain—before I dared drop the bomb that I was going across the ocean to America.”
Violet laughed. “It sounds like a well-thought-out escape plan. Do you go back to visit them often?”
“Honestly?” Doyle made a guilty face. “As little as I can. They’re always coming up with a new scheme to get me to move back home, usually involving some single village girl in whom I inevitably have no interest.”
“Ah, the age-old parental interference tactic: trying to tell you whom you should date.” Violet chuckled. Her cheeks felt flushed and she gulped down more of the icy mojito.
“More like trying to set up an arranged marriage,” Doyle grumbled. “Which is why having an ocean between us suits me just fine. Scarlett, my sister, comes to visit now and then. I love her, but she’s not much fun to take out. She doesn’t like hum… uh, people very much.”
Doyle stuffed a couple of fries in his mouth, appalled that he’d almost slipped up in front of Violet like that. He’d been about to say that his sister didn’t like humans, which was entirely true, but sounded rather odd considering he was supposed to be human. He’d never had a problem keeping his secret before. Apparently he needed to watch himself more carefully around Violet.
He glanced at