Page 34 of The Alpha Escort Agency
“Shall we feed them?” She points towards the quarrelling ducks.
“What with?”
Lifting her lunch, she says, “I’m willing to share a bit of my sandwich with them, even if it does taste divine.”
“You shouldn’t feed ducks bread.”
Her face falls. “You shouldn’t?”
“No, it’s not good for them, or the river.”
“Oh.”
“I wouldn’t worry.” He wraps his arm around her. “They look like pretty fat ducks to me.”
“You really like birds.” She leans into him.
“I suppose you think it’s geeky.”
“Actually, I quite like geeky!” The female duck swivels in the water, turning away from her mates, and one of the male ducks takes a swipe at the other one’s tail feathers. “Are they her babies or part of her harem?”
“I’d say they are rivals for her attention.”
“Lucky girl.” She peers up at him with a cheeky grin and he plants a wet kiss on her nose. “What’s your favourite bird?”
“The falcon. There're several types, but all of them are small, fast and agile. The way they move across the sky is magical.”
Twisting in his arms, she jabs him on the shoulder. “Is that what that is?”
“My tattoo? Yes, it’s a peregrine falcon.”
“Can I see?”
“It’s a bit chilly, Alice.”
She tugs at the collar of his jacket. “Please.”
Shrugging it down his arms, and then stretching the collar of his jumper and his t-shirt, he shows her the plane of his shoulder; the wind cold against his flesh. He hardly feels it though, not with her body so close to his.
With the tip of her forefinger she traces over the dark lines of the bird’s spread wings, moving along each dark line, and he grits his teeth, forcing himself not to shiver against the electricity of her touch.
“He’s hovering,” she says, her voice all breath.
“Yes, it’s from a photo I took. A moment later he dove into the hedgerow and caught himself a vole.”
“He looks too beautiful to be a killer.” She presses her cold lips against the picture and he gasps.
“Looks can be deceptive,” he says.
She meets his eye. “I know.”
On the drive home, she fiddles with the radio in his truck, trying to find a song she likes.
“This radio is ancient,” she says, as static rings out from the speakers yet again.
“So’s the truck.” He points towards the dashboard. “Look in the glove compartment. There’s a load of CDs.”
She snaps open the drawer and lifts out the stack, making her way through the pile. “You have quite an eclectic taste. I mean, there’s Fleetwood Mac in here,” she holds up one of the CDs, “and the Police. And loads of Elvis.”
