The Siren's Dance by Amber Belldene Page B

settled on her, a slight pressure. It was a touch heavier but not as effective as the way Yuchenko had grounded her just by walking in the room. Unlike in that field, she didn’t float away as soon as he could see her. Instead, she hovered a mere foot from his face, watching in fascination as a gorgeous grin took hold of his mouth.
    “Hi,” he said, his pleasure at seeing her evident at the corners of his eyes and the lift of his bronze-kissed cheeks.
    If she’d had a heart, it would have fluttered.
    “Hi.” She grinned back, even if her every instinct screamed pretend you couldn’t care less . “Thanks for saving me from Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum.”
    “My pleasure. I nearly had a heart attack when I saw them there. I worried someone had stolen your slipper. Lisko would kill me.”
    Right. Lisko. This puppy didn’t actually give a damn about her. He was in the old guy’s debt.
    She crossed her arms over her chest and whooshed backward, colliding with the wall and ghosting right through.
    Drat. Not the most graceful exit she’d ever managed.
     
     

Chapter 12
     
    She was gone. He’d said that thing about Lisko, and her lovely, unrestrained smile had fallen, and she’d flown backward right through the damn wall. If it had been someone else, he might have thought she’d taken offense, read into his words the implication that he’d only been concerned about her because of Gregor, when, in fact, after that strange phone call, he’d been scared to death for her.
    But this was tough little Anya, so of course he hadn’t said any of that. He didn’t want to frighten her off by hinting he’d taken a bit of a liking to her. Only a fool tried to pet a porcupine. And he didn’t even have a clue how to approach a soft little bunny, if said bunny wasn’t trying to drag him into a dark corner for fifteen minutes.
    “Anya, come back. Anya…” He picked up Gregor’s ring from where it had fallen and held it up. He waited, but nothing happened.
    Had he really hurt her feelings? That required she have some, other than anger. But of course she did, along with her sense of humor and her concern for her sister and that abject fear of being alone. Christ, he’d been smiling, and then she had too, and then he’d put his giant foot all the way into his mouth.
    “Anya. I’m sorry. Really.”
    Still nothing. Maybe she’d gone this time for real, and he would have to make nice with Gregor and find Demyan on his own.
    The prospect left him cold.
    Better to risk his pride, and her blustery temper. Still holding up the ring as he had before, he said, “When I saw those idiots standing in the doorway, my heart flew into my throat. I was so worried about you--that they might see you or hurt you, that I couldn’t protect you.”
    A gentle wind rippled through the room and his gut clenched in embarrassment over the confession. He was probably only inviting her mockery. But he persisted. Letting the necklace dangle from his thumb and little finger, he turned up his palm, an offering. When Dmitri had handed over Anya’s shoebox, he’d reported that a ghost’s touch felt like getting dry humped by a slug.
    Aside from the slime, slugs were pretty harmless. Sergey would risk it, if she would accept his hand in apology. “I’m sorry, Anya.”
    First, the necklace tugged like a minnow on a fishing line, then icy needles prickled his palm. Strange, but not as skin crawling as Dmitri had implied. Except then, something grasped his hand. Cool, hard, firm skin. Not just a ghost--flesh and blood--Anya’s.
    His heart jumped as if touched by a live wire, and his gaze flew past her small hand and up her lean arm to her beautiful wide-eyed face. Mouth agape, she was clearly as shocked as he was to be in her skin.
    “How?” Her features twisted in panic and she doubled over, coughing, gagging on the memory of the water that had choked out her life.
    Shit. The same thing had happened in the interrogation room.
    He held her hand