An Excerpt from Dreamveil
a novel of the Kyndred
by Lynn Viehl
to be published June 2010
[Here's a little setup for the scene: After a motorcycle accident, Rowan Dietrich is temporarily stranded in New York City. Dansant, the executive chef of a French restaurant, hires her to work in his kitchen, and allows her to stay in one of the apartments above it while another tenant repairs her bike. Sharing a bathroom with her mechanic neighbor shouldn't have been a problem, but Sean Meriden seems to hate Rowan at first sight. She discovers that hasn't changed when she stops by his garage to check on repairs.]
“What do you want?” Meriden said, his baritone booming through the bay.
Rowan turned and nearly smacked her face into his chest. “Shit.” She took a step back. “Ah, hi. I thought I’d drop in and see how it’s going.”
“It’s going.” Meriden wiped his dirty hands on an equally grimy red shop rag before sticking it in the back pocket of his jeans. He’d unbuttoned his work shirt, and grease spots dotted the white wife beater he wore under it. “Don’t you have some overpriced carrots to peel?”
“Today’s my day off.” Rowan went around him to her bike, and crouched down to check the tires, which he hadn’t yet replaced. “Did you figure out what blew my tires?”
“Yeah. Stupidity.” He retreated back into his office.
Rowan didn’t run after him, but took a minute to inspect the work he’d already done and give herself time to cool down. That she wanted to knock him upside the head with an impact wrench didn’t bother her; she’d bet money Meriden had the same effect on everyone. It was the set of his jaw when he’d looked at her, the glitter in his black-hearted eyes, the way his mouth had flattened. He didn’t like her any more than she liked him, but obviously, there was something else going on under that thick skull. All that seething antagonism might have fooled someone else, but not Rowan. Meriden didn’t know that she had the equivalent of a PhD in pissing off people.
She rose and went around the pickup to the inside door leading to the office. At first glance it appeared as tidy as the garage, so she focused on the man standing behind the desk. He was shuffling invoices between two stacks while drinking from a coffee mug that had seen better days. He didn’t look at her, but Rowan saw the set of his shoulders shift and the muscles in his arms bunch.
No use dancing around it, not with Meriden. “Have you got some kind of problem with me?”
“I’m waiting on some parts.” He took one pile of invoices and carelessly stuffed them into an accordion file. “Your bike will ready in a week or two. Bye.”
“You didn’t answer me.” She went over to the desk. “What have I done to you that’s got your boxers in such a knot?”
He finally eyed her. “You’ll want to stay out of my pants, Cupcake.”
“See, that’s where you’re screwing up.” Rowan sat in the customer chair and folded her hands behind her head. “Always making it sexual. I haven’t come on to you. Most I’ve done is play the good neighbor. How you doing, nice day, that’s it. Not what you’d call a green light to test drive my box of condoms, is it?”
He dropped the rest of the paperwork and came around the desk to stand over her. “You’ve got a mouth on you.”
“Mouth, tits, ass. Brain.” Rowan gazed up at him. “Just because they’re female doesn’t mean they work any less than yours.” She cocked her head to one side. “Oh, wait. You do have a brain in there, right? Or is that space just packed with more brawn?”
He looked away from her. “You know where the door is.”
“You know something? I didn’t start this shit. You’re the one who’s been treating me like you wouldn’t wipe your feet on my face.” She was crazy for standing up and leaning into him, but if she backed down now he stomp right over her forever. “Well, here I am, Big Guy. You want to unload on me, be my guest. Just do it now and get it the fuck over with, because I am done tiptoeing around your hostile ass.”
He regarded her for a long moment. “You tiptoe?”
“Like I’ve been dropped in the middle of a fucking minefield,” she assured him. “Every time I have to pee, I feel like I should be calling SWAT for backup.”
His mouth tightened, and for a minute she thought he was going to let her have it. Then a rumbling sound came from his chest, and she realized he was laughing – or trying to. And she was laughing right along with him, laughing until tears sprang in her eyes and she had to fall back down on the chair and clutch her aching sides.
“It’s not funny,” he told her, still chuckling.
“Oh, yeah? You should try listening through a door with your legs and eyes crossed.” She covered her mouth to smother the last of the giggles, and then wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “God, I needed that.”
“Yeah,” he agreed softly. “So did I.”
She glanced up. He looked less menacing without the usual scowl; his eyes almost looked warm and friendly. “So are we Sean and Rowan now, or back to Farm boy and Cupcake?”
“Rowan.” He tested her name as if it belonged to a foreign language. “I’ve got a lot on my plate. Sorry for taking it out on you.”
“So buy me a beer sometime. Sean.” She cuffed his arm in a friendly gesture. “And thanks for working on my bike. I know it wasn’t your idea.”
His expression changed, became more reserved. “You doing all right, working at the restaurant?”
“It’s good. I’m learning a lot from Dansant.” She didn’t like the way he was looking at her now. “I probably should head back.”
He leaned over, grabbing the armrests and trapping her between him and the chair. “You said it’s your day off.”
“I’ve got things to do.”
“So?”
He straightened. “So come on.” He grabbed his jacket and shrugged into it. “I’ll buy you that beer.”
Maybe we should have stayed Farm boy and Cupcake. Rowan got up and followed him out.
