Page 10 of Kept in the Dark
And now that I have seen this woman, I find I want to. I like the look of her very much. As my father would have said, she would not blow away in a Moscow winter.
She turns with a curious expression when she hears my feet against the small stones, and our eyes meet. The world narrows, tunneling my focus for a breathtaking instant.
Her stare is pure amber—a honeyed color that makes the air between us taste sweeter.
Her dress leaves little of her shape to the imagination. It clings to wide hips, cups large breasts, and ripples against a thick waist. Her hair is tied up, long and wild, with golden-brown curls spiraling out around her head. As she tilts her head, I am drawn to the soft curve of her jaw that flows into a graceful line down her neck. The oval shape of her face is common in my country and considered desirable, though her darker coloring would be unique among people as pale as the snow they live in.
“May I join you?” I rasp.
I watch with fascination as the goosebumps rise on her upper arms and spread down the deep V pointing to her cleavage like an arrow. “If you’d like.” She shifts her body to the very edge of the bench to make room for me.
Unbuttoning the single hold of my suit jacket, I take the spot next to her. She is obviously very tall for a woman—the top of her head is level with my mouth—and I catch a whiff of something mouthwatering and feminine as the breeze drifts between us.
“Thank you,” I say, because I can think of nothing else.
“No problem.”
“What brings you out here?”
“I’m hiding from my date. You?”
Her voice wraps around me. It is deeper than most women’s and some men’s, and the low register is calm and soothing.
I angle myself closer, so our legs nearly touch, then let my eyes drop to her full lips. She tracks the movement, follows my lead, and shamelessly looks her fill. Her eyes on me feel like a gentle caress.
For the first time in a long time, I am unsettled as I wait for the judgment of another person. Will she see the darkness in me? Will the twisted scar repulse her? Why does the thought of her rejection make my chest burn with the echoes of years of ignored anger?
Her eyes flick across my face, spending no more time on the scar than any other feature, then travel the length of my torso and down my legs, quietly measuring, assessing, and—fuck me—liking what she sees. The pink tip of her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip before she takes that lip between her teeth, and I nearly groan aloud. Triumph and satisfaction swell in my veins at the tentative interest and curiosity.
“I came to admire the view,” I say, remaining focused on her.
Her eyes widen, and her chest expands at the lower edge of my vision. I have to fight not to watch it swell and contract.
“Was that a line?” she asks almost breathlessly, and her eyes are smiling.
I cock my head. “A line of what?”
She stares for a second, transparently deciding whether or not to believe my ignorance, and decides that my accent is thick enough to absolve me of suspicion. “Never mind. Itisa beautiful night.” She returns herattention to the overlook, allowing me the opportunity to take in her strong profile.
“What has your date done to deserve such scorn?” I ask.
She laughs once, almost a self-deprecating noise. “Does it matter?”
“Perhaps I would like to know so that I do not repeat the same mistake.”
“Wait, what’s… happening? Is Big D… flirting?”James’s half-formed questions ring in one ear.
“So much for being on the job,”Wesley quips.“I think he must have taken your advice about having a life to heart, Mac.”
They are buzzing in my ears so loud that I nearly miss her sharp intake of breath at my statement. It could mean many things. Is she nervous? Excited?
“Um… unless you plan on generally being an asshole, I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
The accusation from the woman at the bar the other night echoes in my memory. She called me an asshole, too. “I would never plan this—it happens naturally.”
She laughs. The husky sound punches me in the gut, then shoots down my spine and tingles at the base. I never expect anyone to laugh at the things I say. James and Wesley sometimes do, though it is more a shared, private amusement at my cost. This is nothing like that—this is her enjoyment of a clever turn of phrase, and it makes me feel… curiously warm.
I follow the movement of her fingers hungrily as she holds out her hand at chest height. “I’m Nicole.”
