Page 33 of A Touch of Dark
“You live alone.”
“Clever. As if you couldn’t tell that much when you broke into my apartment.”
“You enjoy living alone. At the same time, you hate it.” He pauses pointedly as if to say,Am I right?
He’s not. But I take another sip rather than humor him with a response.
“You’re not comfortable with sex. I’ll go so far as to presume that you don’t date often, certainly not recently. I’d assume you were a virgin, but most women with your upbringing feel the need to rebel at least once or twice sexually.”
Bastard.
“Ah, I guess you employ this party trick with all your guests?” I snap in between sips of wine. Sip. Sip. Sip. My hand shakes, sloshing some down the front of my blouse, but I can’t even muster up the energy to curse. He’s doing that thing again, talking to me in a way that no one else would dare.
“Your color of preference is black,” he continues.
“Strange assumption for a blind man to make.” I’m cringing at my rudeness. Whatever. The smug set to his jaw only reinforces my determination to hold my own. He’s asking for it. “Unless this is really an act you put on—”
“Black is neutral,” Damien says over me. “Imposing. People who wear black are less prone to being approached. Few people will inquire about a black dress versus one in a bright, intriguing shade of pink. In short, it’s safe.”
His tone implies just what he thinks of that: pathetic.
“So, I guess that makes you an expert on fashion?” I chase the question with another deep sip. My skin still feels hot. Odd. Wine never affects me like this. “What color am I wearing now then, Mr. Villa?”
He cocks his head as if listening for the answer. “Mostly black,” he says. “A hint of white.”
I cross my arms over my chest. Fucking liar. “So youaren’tblind—”
“As I said: It’s easy to tell when most people wear black,” he reiterates. “Think of it as a certain…way of walking. Of talking.”
“And the white?” I croak, fingering the collar of my blouse. It’s funny. I don’t even remember owning it, but sure enough, I found it in my closet, a shade purer than my dress. “I thought you said black was my only color?”
“Preference,” he corrects. “And my guess is that…you were distracted.”
“Distracted?” The memories of this morning are a blur, minus one inescapable truth. I was thinking of Simon. “What else?” I demand, taking a step toward him and the final sip of my wine. “Tell me, oh wise Mr. Villa.”
“You’re sheltered. Your father goes to great lengths to ensure that.” He laughs darkly, in a way that implies far too much familiarity with that subject. “I wonder if you even know half of the extent.”
“Sheltered.” The glass slips from my grip.Ping!A million shards of glass crunch underfoot. A bit like my pride. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.”
“Oh?” he murmurs, turning my own haughty phrase against me. “You’re sheltered but not innocent. You’ve suffered,” he adds before I can prove him wrong. “And yet you believe that pain gives you license to keep suffering.”
“Screw you!” My hand flies out, gathering speed, and the palm strikes his cheek.Thwack!I stagger back, clutching the stinging limb to my side. I shouldn’t feel the guilt slicing through my chest so keenly. The world shouldn’t be spinning…
“I let you do that once,” Damien murmurs. His face blurs in and out of focus, distorted by the blindfold. There’s only shadow where his eyes should be. “I won’t let it happen twice.”
It’s more than a warning. The weight of promised violence wraps around my neck like a noose, weighing me down until I hit the floor on my hands and knees.
My head throbs. The room splits in half, and suddenly, there are two of everything. Two tables. Two bottles of wine. Two mysterious, angry blind men sensing my motions through every sloppy sound I make.
“You’re drunk,” he declares on the cusp of a sigh.
“Liar,” I croak, watching the light play over the floor. “I don’t get drunk.”
“Get up.” He’s in front of me, standing with his hand outstretched. From this angle, he’s more imposing than he should be. A hulking monolith of a man.
I don’t know why I reach for him this time, interlacing my fingers with his. He yanks me upright, but the world pitches beneath me, impossible to balance upon. My legs fold, but something catches me by the waist before I can fall. Something strong. Firm. Warm.
“I’ve got you.” The voice sinks into my skin, resonating in my bones to spite me.
