Move Me Read Online Free Page B

bad for him Belle Hobart had the demeanor
of one of his world’s queens.
    Immediately, he abandoned his plan to get
close to her by playing on her sympathy. This gorgeous woman in her
insanely sexy frock wasn’t anyone’s hand patter. He wished he
hadn’t borrowed John Feeney’s worn work costume. Being underdressed
compared to his quarry put him at the sort of disadvantage he’d
rarely experienced.
    The skin along his back felt unnaturally hot
as she followed him up the stairs.
    “It’s the windows in my uncle’s room that are
stuck,” she said as they reached the second floor landing. “I’d
like to air it out in there.”
    Since her uncle’s room was among the areas he
wished to see, Dubhghall nodded. Apparently nervous, Belle smoothed
the tail of chestnut hair that spilled in front of her left
shoulder. The sheaf was thick and shiny, as straight as if it were
spelled. Its ends hung lower than her slight breasts, drawing
attention to the press of her sharpened nipples on the skimpy black
bodice.
    Dubhghall’s temperature rose a few more
degrees.
    Possibly, Belle noticed him staring.
Releasing her hair, she hitched her thumb toward the room behind
her. When she spoke, her voice was thready from lack of air. “I’ll
just change into something more practical.”
    If he hadn’t been pretending to be irascible
John Feeney, he’d have told her not to bother on his account. But
she was blushing sufficiently without him turning on the charm.
Unnerved by his continued silence, she spun jerkily around, stalked
into the room she’d indicated, and shut the door crisply behind
her.
    Dubhghall smiled to himself. No man could
mind flustering a woman that lovely.
    Freed from her observation, he stepped into
the largest of the three bedrooms, presuming this to be the dead
uncle’s. Silently and swiftly, he opened and closed bureau drawers,
knowing he might not have long to search until Belle returned. To
his dismay, the drawers were empty. Finally, at the back of the
highest shelf in the closet, he found a lidded box. Inside was a
pale blue baby book belonging to the recently almost-departed
Isaiah Bennington-Luckes.
    Dubhghall turned the pages quickly, taking
mental snapshots of the photos and captions as he went. Isaiah
hadn’t had as many nicknames as were ideal - perhaps he hadn’t been
an endearing child? - but he’d had enough to serve. The extra last
name was a windfall, as was his middle name of Lewis. Best of all,
in a special pocket at the end of the padded book, Dubhghall found
a little envelope containing one curled lock of Isaiah’s baby
hair.
    In a twinkling, the envelope and the lock
disappeared into Dubhghall’s breast pocket. Baby hair was golden
for doing spells. No faerie mother would dream of leaving it
around. Faerie mothers kept what keepsakes they wished from their
children hidden in containers like magic walnut shells. Humans
guarded nothing, for which Dubhghall was thankful. His future
escape had just gotten easier.
    All this he accomplished in under five
minutes. By the time Belle returned, wearing what he’d learned were
“sweats” in Resurrection, he was separating the stuck paint on
Isaiah’s windows with a box cutter. Firmly banging the frame with
the side of his fists resulted in a pair of sashes that slid
smoothly up and down.
    Dubhghall enjoyed a flush of satisfaction.
He’d solved Belle’s first challenge without magic. Hercules himself
could not have claimed more.
    “Well,” she said. “That was quick. Want to
take a look at the shower?”
    A manly grunt seemed the best response.
    She preceded him to the bathroom, where a
white plastic shower curtain surrounded a claw foot tub. Belle
spared him some confusion by turning the taps herself, to
demonstrate the shower’s faulty functioning.
    “The holes might be blocked by mineral
salts,” she said. “I have something I think will clean it, but I
don’t know how to take the showerhead off.”
    “Ayuh,” Dubhghall said,