The blonde glanced over her shoulder as she shrugged out of a jacket with silver angel wings, but not at me. At Emmy. I frowned. After almost a minute, her gaze slid back to me, and a small groove formed between her brows. What in Abaddon was wrong with me? Why was I staring? She wasn’t particularly pretty or anything. I mean, her hair . . . Did she not own a brush? Color crawled up her throat and spread into her cheeks from my enduring scrutiny. Then suddenly, she said, “Emmy Rogers?” Damn, that voice . . . pure, effing velvet. Emmy tapped one of her white sneakers impatiently. “Yeah?” “I
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