Page 5 of Taste of Blood
“It suits you, though I liked your old one, too.”
“It got wrecked.”
The door slides open, ending that line of questioning. I step out and precede him down the short hallway to the living area, where a wall of windows opens out onto the city. I never tire of my first glimpse of this view when I enter the apartment. I head for the sleek kitchen that takes up the back wall.
“Can I get you anything to drink?”
I reach for the Belvedere and two glasses, remembering it was his favorite, and look at him. He nods and walks over to the windows, his hands shoved in his pockets in what I recognizeis a sign of nervousness. Cord can face down any physical threat without batting an eye, but social situations always cause him uncharacteristic anxiety, though why he would feel nervous around me is anyone’s guess. Maybe it’s the situation.
I hand him the glass and give him space to do the talking.
“I like this better than your last place,” he comments after taking a sip.
“People were starting to get too familiar,” I reply, remembering the tenants I’d meet in the lobby who always wanted to know my business. The Clan teaches us not to overly interact in our living environments. People notice when you don’t change over the years. “What about you? Where are you living now?”
“I’ve got a place down in Hell’s Kitchen. It’s got a parking garage.”
I smirk. “Very important for someone who loves cars.”
He turns away from the windows and makes his way over to one of the low-slung gray leather couches, draping his tall frame over one end while looking around the space. I follow his eyes, seeing the room as he does. All sleek angles and modern furnishings. A lot of blacks and grays and stainless steel. I suppose it appears cold and impersonal to most people, but I’m not one to fuss over my environment. It’s well-designed and serves my purpose; that’s all that matters to me.
Oddly enough, it was always Cord who opted for comfort over function in his tastes. I remember his old apartment was full of eclectic, mismatched pieces and odd color choices. He was ruled by whatever struck his fancy at the moment and whether or not he could comfortably slouch on it. I guess when you’re a muscular six foot four and work as hard as he does, you need something sturdy to stand up to your abuse.
“I’ve only got the one now,” he says, then adds at my look of confusion, “cars, that is.”
“Ah.” I join him on the facing couch, setting my glass on the coffee table and unbuttoning my jacket so I can lean back and drape my arm over the back.
“Look, don’t let me keep you if you’ve got somewhere to be,” he says as he drains the glass and sets it on the coffee table.
“Actually, I was just getting home. Business meeting.”
“Yeah, I guess you have a lot of those.”
“They’re tedious but necessary.” I lean forward, catching his eye. Those cobalt blue eyes I love getting lost in. “I’d much rather spend my evening here with you.”
We stare at each other without speaking for several minutes, and I realize how much I’ve missed this. We always had the ability to spend time together without the need to fill the space with aimless chatter. Cord is a man of few words anyway, so when he speaks, it’s usually something worth listening to. And I never tire of that deep gravelly voice, especially when it rumbles against my ear in the throes of passion. Just thinking about it causes my dick to stir.
His lip curls up in a smirk as if he knows what I’m thinking. “You never were good at hiding it.”
“I never wanted to with you.”
His eyes narrow, as though he’s weighing something carefully. “This is a bad idea.”
It’s my turn to smile. “Wouldn’t be the first one we’ve had.”
We stare at each other for another beat before he moves, rising up and crossing to the couch where I sit. He looks down at me and something passes behind his eyes; regret? Sorrow? Whatever it is deepens the blue to almost black. I’m so entranced I don’t notice he leans down, our mouths so close I can taste his breath.
“I want you,” I whisper.
“Fuck. Why did you have to be on that street?”
I close my eyes, drinking in his scent. Leather and sandalwood. A rush of memory flows over me–the two of us tangled together in the sheets, his long silky hair draped across my chest, his breath slow and even in sleep. I miss it, and I want nothing more than to fall into his arms and let the world disappear.
I wait, then I hear the soft hush of the elevator door. When I open my eyes, I’m alone.
“Damn.”
3: Cord
