Easy Magic (Boudreaux #5)

“You were saying something about not being innocent,” he prompts, listening avidly.

“Right,” I say and nod. “I’m not. Innocent, that is. But I also don’t date often, and I don’t know the rules of this game. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say, or when to say it.”

“This isn’t a game,” he says simply. “I didn’t invite you here tonight on a whim, Mallory. We’re here because I wanted to be here with you. I’m attracted to you, both physically and intellectually, and I want to spend time with you. I don’t want you to censor yourself. If you have something to say, say it.”

“Well, that’s easy.”

“Is it?” He cocks a brow. “Being honest isn’t easy for everyone.”

“I’m not a liar,” I reply without any anger. It’s a simple statement. “But there are some things that I’m just not ready to talk about.”

“As there should be,” he says. “You hardly know me.”

“Exactly.” I smile and glance down at my watch. “We’ve been here for three hours!”

“Time flies when you’re with a beautiful woman,” Beau replies and stands, holding his hand out for mine. “Shall we?”

“I suppose we shall.”

We walk out to his car silently, both of us lost in our own thoughts as he heads back toward the city.

But rather than take the exit to the French Quarter, he keeps going.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“I want to show you something, if you don’t mind.”

I glance over at him, his face cast in shadows, then in the full glow of the lights of the freeway. He’s simply stunning, and I don’t say that easily. His dark hair is a bit long, brushed back off of his face in a clean style. He’s also clean shaven, with a strong, angular jawline and the kind of lips that were made to be kissed.

“You’re awful quiet,” he murmurs. “I can take you back to the shop if you’d rather. But I’m not quite ready to say goodnight yet.”

Be honest. This isn’t a game.

“I’d like to see whatever you want to show me,” I reply softly and sit back, enjoying the sparkle of the city as we drive through it.

Finally, he exits the freeway, driving through a beautiful, older neighborhood with grand homes. “Is this near Audubon Park?”

“It is,” he says with a smile, and I turn my head to look out the window, suddenly very nervous. This is an old neighborhood in New Orleans, which means there will be many energies here.

I take a deep breath and pull all of my defenses around me, mentally preparing for what is surely going to be an onslaught of energy.

Beau glances my way, frowning, but doesn’t say anything as he pulls into a driveway, punches a code into the gate, and drives through.

“What is this place?” I ask.

“My house,” he says with a smile. “It’s currently under construction, but I wanted to show it to you.”

“You’re renovating?”

Fuck. Renovating old places makes them more active paranormally, which means I don’t want to go in there. Not tonight.

“No, I’m building it from scratch.” He parks in front of a beautiful home with scaffolding around it. “I bought the property with an old house on it, but it was in such disrepair it made more sense to tear it down and start over.”

Okay, this might not be so bad. Ridding the area of the old building and starting new is different than renovating. It’s usually like starting with a clean slate.

I can do this. I take a deep breath in relief.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Great,” I reply with what I hope is a sincere smile.

“We’re going to have to talk about those more personal things sooner rather than later,” he says, reminding me of our conversation in the restaurant. “Come on. There’s electricity in there, so we won’t be fumbling around in the dark.”

“Well, that’s a relief because I’m not terribly fond of fumbling,” I reply, making him laugh as he leads me to the front door. “When will it be finished?”

“It was supposed to be done three months ago,” he replies. “So, your guess is as good as mine. But I’m okay at the flat in the Quarter until it’s done. I want it to be just right.”

I walk inside, still prepared to protect myself from anything, or anyone, who might still be here, as I reach out with my mind, probing the darkness, but I’m pleasantly surprised to feel…nothing. Just cool calm, just like when Beau touches me.

I’m safe here.

Beau turns on the lights in each room as we wander through. The walls have drywall already, so it has the shape of a house. There’s no paint or flooring, but the kitchen cabinets are in.

“There are four bedroom suites,” he says as he leads me further into the kitchen, still turning on all the lights. “The master bedroom suite is on the main floor, and all of the other bedrooms are upstairs. Compared to the rest of the neighborhood, it’s not very big at only four thousand square feet.”

“That’s a lot of square feet for one person,” I comment and rub my hand over the smooth quartz countertop. My tiny fifteen hundred square feet would feel microscopic to him. “This feels nice.”

He’s studying me.

“What?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. What I love about this room is that it’s open to the living space and the dining room.”

“It’s going to be lovely,” I reply, glancing about.

“Just through here is an office, so I can work from home on occasion.”

“Is this a wine cellar?” I ask, stunned as we walk out of the kitchen and past a glass door, with floor to ceiling shelves for wine bottles.

“It is,” he says with a grin. He’s almost boyish in his excitement for this house, and for the first time, I wish I could read him, just for a moment.

“You love it here,” I say instead, and watch his face as he seems to look a bit embarrassed. He simply nods.

“I do.” He takes my hand and squeezes it tightly. “I’ve always lived in homes that have been owned by my family for generations, or that our company has bought. But this one is mine. Not a Boudreaux palace. Not owned by the company. Mine.”

“Good for you,” I say with a big smile. “That’s wonderful.”

We pass by a smaller room on our way to the grand staircase, and I pause.

“What’s in there?”

“Nothing right now,” he says and obliges me as I wander inside, turning on the light for me. It’s an oddly shaped room, like a triangle, with a small window.

And the energy in it is amazing.

“Oh, this is great.” I turn to him. “What are you going to use this for?”

“Well, it’s such an odd shape, I was just going to use it for storage.”

“That’s a shame,” I reply, and let his hand fall as I pace the room. “The energy in here is just wonderful.”

He cocks a brow, and I continue.

“It’s a happy place. It should be a small library or just a reading nook. Or maybe a place to paint.”

“Are you an artist?” he asks.