Page 13 of Edge of Darkness (Night Prowler 4)
She looked down at the copies of Casino Royale on the table, sitting as he’d left them, and had the sudden, uncomfortable realization she didn’t really care about the sale at all.
Even though she absolutely hated to admit it, what she cared about had just run out the door, and possibly out of her life forever.
“Faster, Corbin,” Christian barked from the back seat of the Audi. At his command, Corbin pressed his foot to the gas pedal and the car lurched forward. The powerful engine propelled them through the winding, cobblestoned streets of Barcelona so fast the scenery became a painted blur of color flashing through the windows.
His mind was a blur as well.
All animals are equal. People are easily led. General consensus doesn’t equal incontrovertible truth.
Ember might be surprised to discover exactly how much he agreed with each of those sentiments. She would definitely be surprised to discover the effect her words had had on him. And the effect her smile had on him.
Jesus, that smile.
He’d thought her plain, but now realized his mistake. She was plain in the same way the ocean was plain before dawn, before the sun illuminated the unembellished dark surface of the water, bringing all its color and motion and beauty into brilliant focus as the light reflected off the waves. When she smiled it was like watching sunlight play over water. Her entire face was illuminated. It was transformed.
It took his breath away.
In a quiet, natural, earthy way, Ember was lovely.
She was also human. And, therefore, as much of a danger to him as he was to her. He should stay away. He knew he should.
And yet…
All animals are equal.
If there ever was to be a chance for his kind, if there was to be a future for them, it would hinge on people like her. Like the modest and lovely September Jones, she of the piercing dark eyes and passionate convictions, of the wary glances and spectacular smiles. Of the slightly trembling left hand and arm filled with metal she tried to disguise with long sleeves.
What is your mystery, human girl? Christian mused, watching the sprawl and chaos of the city give way to the green expanse of the rolling foothills as they sped nearer to home. And why, why do I care?
He had no answer for either one. By the time the car pulled up to the scrolled iron gates that marked the beginning of his property, Christian had managed to convince himself it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t be seeing her again. The quest for an original copy of Casino Royale was a sentimental one, entirely ridiculous. It had no place in the stark reality of the reasons he’d come to Spain in the first place, and the phone call he’d received had only reinforced that.
He couldn’t afford to get distracted now. He couldn’t afford curiosity. Or flirtations, no matter how innocent they seemed.
As the gates swung slowly open, his cell phone chirped with an incoming text message. He lifted it from his shirt pocket, gazed down at it, and felt his heart twist in his chest.
Hope everything is OK. If I don’t see you again, it was…interesting…to meet you.
He muttered an oath and Corbin’s gaze flickered to his in the rearview mirror.
“Nothing,” he said to Corbin. “It’s nothing.”
Corbin nodded wordlessly and Christian turned his face to the window, wondering if he’d ever uttered such a colossal lie in his life.
Ember passed the rest of the day in a haze.
Asher left and she ate the lunch he’d brought her, standing behind the counter, leaning against the wall. She couldn’t concentrate and she couldn’t banish the thought of Christian and his strange visit from her memory, either. She’d re-wrapped both copies of Casino Royale in the tissue-thin sheets of black paper, carefully set them back into the transport box and put them on a shelf in the store room. She sent him the text, but her own phone remained silent; he hadn’t responded.
She didn’t try to fool herself that her reasons for wanting to hear from him were entirely financial.
By six o’clock, when she locked the front door and flipped the square white sign that hung in the window from abierto to cerrado, she was
exhausted.
Mentally exhausted, that is. Physically, she felt as if she might crawl right out of her skin.
In chilly twilight with her coat buttoned up and her scarf wrapped tight around her neck, she walked the few blocks from the bookstore to her apartment building in the Plaça Sant Jaume, blind for once to the lighted fountains, carved marble statues, and vendors with food carts hawking helado, chorizo, and chopitos, her least favorite: crispy fried baby squid. It was only a few days before Carnaval, and preparations were being made all over the city. Already the bars were full to bursting, breathing crowds of people in and out into the streets, laughing revelers dressed in bright colors who were determined to stuff themselves with food and alcohol before the fasting period of Lent began next week.
A block over on La Rambla, the main thoroughfare, the Carnaval King parade that signaled the kickoff of the weeklong festivities was already in full swing. Music and singing filled the air, drums beat, a rash of azure and crimson and gold fireworks flared in the dark sky then began a slow, dying float back to earth, teased apart by the salt-laden breeze from the Mediterranean. There would be floats and masked dancers and costumes aplenty, and though she couldn’t see it, she could imagine it well, as she’d attended every year since she’d moved here at eighteen.
