Trent ducked his head, hiding a smile. I jerked the shawl higher, and making sure I kept my line energy where it was supposed to be, I took Trent’s arm so he could help me up the icy ramp. He stiffened to pull away, and I grabbed his arm with my free hand, pinching my purse between us. It was cold, and I wanted to get inside. “I’m wearing heels for you,” I muttered. “The least you can do is make sure I don’t fall on my can. Or are you afraid of me?”

Trent said nothing, his posture shifting into an uneasy acceptance as we went, step for step, across the parking lot. He turned to look over his shoulder at Jonathan, indicating that he should stay with the car, and I simpered at the tall unhappy man, giving him Erica’s crooked-bunny-ear kiss good-bye. It was fully dark now, and the wind blew bits of snow against my legs, bare but for my nylons. Why hadn’t I insisted on borrowing a coat? I wondered. This shawl was worthless. And it stank like lilac. I hated lilac.

“Aren’t you cold?” I questioned, seeing Trent seemingly as warm as if it was July.

“No,” he said, and I remembered Ceri walking in the snow with a similar tolerance.

“Must be an elf thing,” I muttered, and he chuckled.

“Yup,” he said, my eyes jerking to his at the casual word. They were bright with amusement, and I glanced at the beckoning ramp.

“Well, I’m frozen through,” I grumbled. “Can we move a little faster?”

He quickened his pace, but I was still shivering by the time we got to the entry door. Trent solicitously held it for me, ushering me in ahead of him. Letting go of his arm, I went inside, my hands clasping my upper arms to try to warm myself. I gave the doorman a brief smile, and got a stoic, blank look. Taking my shawl off, I held it between two fingers to the coat attendant, wondering if I could conveniently leave it here—by accident, of course.

“Mr. Kalamack and Ms. Morgan,” Trent said, ignoring the guestbook. “We’re expected.”

“Yes, sir.” The doorman gestured for someone to take his place. “Right this way.”

Trent offered me his arm. I hesitated, trying to read his quiet face and failing. Taking a breath, I linked my arm in his. As my fingers brushed the top of his hand, I made a conscious effort to maintain my level of line energy when I felt a slight pull from my chi. “Better,” he said, his eyes searching the busy game room as we followed the doorman. “You’re improving by leaps and bounds, Ms. Morgan.”

“Shove it, Trent,” I said, smiling at the people who looked up when we entered. His hand was warm under my fingers, and I felt like a princess. There was a lull in the noise, and when the conversations rose again, they had an excitement that couldn’t be laid entirely at the feet of gambling.