The way he looked at her. It was new.
He searched the lines of her shoulders, the shadows cast by the length of her hair against the span of her collarbone. He soaked in the rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathed. Entranced, enthralled. Lost.
Bloody hell, but this was rotten. He was supposed to be bad. The Big Bad with a capital bloody B. Instead he found his cold, empty chest expand with a strange, golden warmth when her eyes met his.
Cool blue, smooth green, and steady gray pulled him in, and although he knew he had recovered verbally, throwing some venom and derision in her direction, inside he was anything but recovered. He was sick. It didn't matter that the look her stormy sky eyes were giving him was her usual one of spite. It was the most beautiful look anyone had given him. It was new.
Well, damn. How was it after all these years of first being her adversary, and then a thorn in her side, and finally this strange sort of colleague – consulting vampire, or some such rot – that he had never seen the way the fire inside her seemed to fuel the gold of her hair and the soft light of her skin. Her strength was intoxicating.
Maybe it was this bloody chip in his head, but the last thing he wanted to do was slay her. He wanted to help her. He would slay anything that came near her.
She could handle herself, yeah. But he knew the dangers of her work. And he didn't want to be absent in that one moment. That one time when she might actually… need him. Well, that would be new…
He didn't have a chance in hell. Loving her was like loving the sunshine. It would burn him.
But a bloke had to try.