Tox returned his gaze to his Siren. “What brings you by?”
“I was passing the bakery on my corner and these had just come out of the oven.” She extended her hand and gave him the bag.
Tox pulled one of the treats out and ate it in two bites. “Wow.”
“I used to make something similar with my grandmother. She’s Greek. It was sort of her spin on baklava.”
Tox swallowed his second pastry, licked the corners of his lips, and smiled wickedly. “I’d like to try that.”
“Sure. It’s pretty easy to make.”
“Do you want to come up?”
“Can’t. I need to get to The Sentry. I’m on a deadline. I just wanted to stop by and thank you for the date.” She extended her hand like a dare.
Tox arched a brow. The pad of his thumb stilled in his mouth where he had been licking off the sugar. He silently removed it and proceeded to swallow Calliope’s hand with his own. This time he didn’t pump it like a prospective job applicant. This time he kneaded it gently, brushing the tender skin of her wrist with two fingers. Calliope bit her lip and stared at the hypnotic motion. Then she slowly extracted her hand from his grasp and met his heated gaze.
“Have a good day.”
“You too.”
Coco gave one more tug on the leash in the direction of the man asleep in the alcove, but Calliope quickly redirected her. Not so quickly that it escaped Tox’s notice, however. He stood on the street and watched until she rounded the corner. Then he followed her to the next block and watched her descend into the subway station. Bag of pastries still in his hand, Tox grabbed the last one, disposed of the bag, and headed back to his loft.
Something so delicious had never left him feeling so unsatisfied.
Back upstairs Tox stood in his empty home and strategized, tackling the problem as if it were a rescue or an assault. It was neither.
Calliope Garland. Calliope with her witchy eyes, jet black hair, and lithe body. Her spontaneous personality. Her lusty gaze. Garland was certainly an appropriate surname; she was a modern incarnation of a flower child.
Movement in the corner of the room caught his eye. Loco was doing some sort of dive and spin move over and over. Tox called it cat tai chi. Noticing the scrutiny, Loco stopped and looked up. Then, shockingly, the cat sauntered over to Tox, walked across the toes of his boots, then hopped up on a windowsill to rest in the sun. Pleased at what could only be interpreted as a gesture of trust, Tox left the cat to its lolling and moved to the kitchen.
He glanced down at the white tube, standing on its end under the sink. He grinned.