“Think he’s dead?” The whispered question quieted his internal whining.
Nice voice. Soft and smooth, like velvet. Feminine. Clearly, he wasn’t alone.
“He sure looks dead.” A second woman replied, louder and with a chuckle.
He suppressed a scowl and kept his eyes closed. She thinks this is funny?
Bodies shifted behind whatever his head had cracked into, edging closer to either side of him.
“There’s no blood, though,” she of the velvet voice murmured. “Shouldn’t there be blood? […].”
Ah, their business neighbor. She came to a halt near his head, her body heat and peaches-and-honey scent saturating his senses. He should open his peepers and say something, see if the female looked as good as she sounded and smelled.
Shit. Where had that reaction come from? He had no room in his life for a woman, especially not a mortal woman.
“Maybe we should check for a pulse,” the one Peaches had called Maya suggested.
“I’m not touching his body.”
Fast reply from Peaches. Jesus, did he look so horrible? And double Jesus, why did her opinion matter? He must have hit his head harder than he imagined.
“C’mon, girlfriend. It’s a big, beautiful body. How can you not want to get your hands on it?”
Listen to your girlfriend, Peaches. No. Wait. Belay that order.
“Really, M? One-track mind much?”
He tensed to haul his ass upward, but a soft, gentle hand landed on his shoulder, feather light, then slid down his bare arm, kicking up a riot of electric sensation along his skin. He should move, but damn if he didn’t want to see what she would do next. Or touch next.
Warm fingers palpated his inner wrist, right over his madly beating pulse. Racing for her? A human female he hadn’t even laid eyes on? Shit. […]
Eyes shooting wide, he sat up.