Sebastian

bordello had been another way of trolling or were part of the seduction. He'd done plenty of trolling at Philo's, too, but he'd also sat at one of those tables just to while away some time talking to people, so he felt more comfortable being there with Lynnea.
    "It's a delicious night, isn't it?" Lynnea said, smiling.
    He wished she wouldn't use words like "delicious." A quick glance at her was enough to make him want to lick his chops and start nibbling. "You're bright and cheerful."
    "I had a dream last night that… Well. Hmm."
    I know . That dream had churned him up so much he'd gotten up to take a cold bath to cool the fever in his blood. Daylight! Why couldn't he just give in? Resisting his own libido was hard enough—especially when he'd never felt the need to resist it before—but resisting hers was going to kill him. He'd never had this problem with any other woman.
    She's not just another woman.
    Lynnea stopped and looked up at the sky. "There's no moon."
    "It will rise later."
    "Will it?" She cocked her head. "I wonder if that means it's day in the other landscapes."
    He shrugged. "It's always night here, so it makes no difference." But it did. The endless night had delighted the youth he had been—and wearied the man he now was.
    "It might make a difference," Lynnea said. "If the moon rises and sets, that means it follows the same rhythm as it does in the rest of the landscapes. So when it's not in the sky, most likely it's daytime in other places."
    "You mean it's morning outside the Den?"
    Lynnea breathed in slowly, then shook her head. "The air doesn't have that early-morning quality of being fresh and cool before the sun bakes the land."
    Sebastian released Lynnea's hand, then draped an arm around her shoulders to nudge her into walking again. "You should explain this moon rising and setting to Philo."
    "Why?"
    "Might give him a reason to serve different dishes at different times. Just for variety. Not that he doesn't have variety, but—"
     
    "Is that your way of saying you want bacon and eggs?"
    "And biscuits." Nadia hadn't made biscuits when he and Lynnea had shown up unexpectedly, but he relished the treat whenever Glorianna or Lee left a few of them at the cottage for him. Fresh, sometimes still a little warm, slathered with butter or fruit jam…
    "Why are you licking your lips like that?" Lynnea asked.
    "What? I'm not." At least, he hoped he hadn't been.
    "If you want bacon and eggs, I'll make them for you. If Philo has bacon and eggs."
    Sebastian snorted. "Philo doesn't let anyone else in his kitchen."
    "Want to bet on it?"
    There was a sparkle in her eyes and a hint of a smug female smile curving her lips. "Have you already talked Philo into using the kitchen?"
    "I have not. It wouldn't be proper to wager if I already knew the outcome."
    "That's usually called having an ace up your sleeve," he muttered.
    "So you're not going to bet?"
    "Not in this lifetime."
    She pouted a little. "Don't you gamble? I thought that's one of the things people were supposed to do in the Den."
    "I gamble enough to know when to fold. And you, joy of my heart, already know you've got the winning hand."
    Joy of my heart . He felt the jolt go through her as the words sank in, felt that same jolt go through him.
    The words said too much, gave away too much. She didn't belong here. Even though she'd returned to the Den by her own choice, she didn't belong here. If he wasn't careful, words could chain her to this place.
    "So," he said, desperate to turn the mood back to light and friendly, "what were you going to wager?"
    She sniffed. "Since you didn't take the bet, I don't see why I should tell you."
    "Ah, Lynnea—"
    The sound of wheels rattling toward them caught his attention. People came to the Den by horse and buggy or by bicycle, but most left the animals and conveyances at one of the liveries at the edge of the Den so the animals wouldn't be leaving piles in the street. Having a big farm wagon clomping up the Den's main street wasn't usual—and anything that wasn't usual was suspect.
    Apparently he wasn't the only one who felt suspicious. By the time the wagon pulled up close to Philo's, the male residents of the Den had formed a circle around the wagon—and none of them looked willing to give the newcomers a friendly welcome.
    As he hurried toward the wagon, he heard the driver say in a loud voice , "Hoo-whee! Looks like we took a wrong turn, boys. Yes, sirree, looks like I got misdirected and took a wrong