There was something slightly surreal about being here and realizing it was Margot Emory sitting opposite him, right in the middle of his hometown, smack in the center of Wilcox territory…and that she didn’t look out of place at all. He loved watching her, seeing the way her dark hair slipped over her shoulders, watching the way the little amulet at her throat — was that Angela’s work? — twinkled in the light.
She looked like she belonged here. And God, did he want her to belong here. Hadn’t Jerome had enough of her already?
“…around here?” she was saying, and Lucas blinked.
“Sorry, what?”
Her dark eyes narrowed slightly, and he wondered if she could guess what he had been thinking. He hoped not; he was trying the best he could to be casual and suave about all this, and let her form her
