I do my best to remember it – the powdery mix of her own scent, the rosy smell of her perfume. But nothing is as good as the real thing.
I put out my cigarette under my boot and slip closer, hidden in the shadows. I stop five feet away from her. Dangerously fucking close, but little bird is oblivious. She needs to be more careful. But I'm close enough to smell her now. Close enough to fill my nostrils with her unique blend of soft, velvety rose petals and baby powder. Goddamn, she's amazing. My obsession deepens.
She's close enough that I could reach her, grab her by the throat and drag her into the shadows I emerged from. I have to fight every instinct to stop myself from doing it, and when her Uber arrives and she steps inside, my hands form fists. I want her. I won't be able to hold back much longer.
I hitch my own ride and follow her Uber back to her place. It's almost six p.m. and she still hasn't eaten. My own stomach is grumbling as much as hers must be, but she doesn't make anything to eat at home. Instead, she tries on her outfit and fusses with her hair and makeup in front of a mirror.
She's going on a fucking date. She has to be.
My lip twitches as I think about her with another man. If he touches her, I'm taking her tonight. I have to. I can't let anyone else have her. My blood is pumping, adrenaline rushing through my veins. The desire to finally take what's mine is fucking overwhelming.
The car that pulls up on her street is flashy. A driver exits, opening the door for a dark, messy-haired tall guy wearing an all-black suit. His slightly shabby hair is slicked back. He's handsome. But not good enough for my little bird.
If there was any doubt about him being my girl's date, it disappears when he rings Dove's doorbell. I hiss out loud I'm so pissed off. I don't know if I can watch this happen. Maybe I should just get it over with and slit his throat right now.
"I know what you're doing."
I snap my head around to the sound of the voice. It's a shabbily dressed man with wise eyes and a scraggly, auburn beard. His complexion is ruddy, but his teeth are straight as he grins at me.
It's little bird's charity project.
"What am I doing?" I ask, raising my brows at the man.
"Watching her." He motions to Dove's house. "You're not as invisible as you think. What's your name?"
I hesitate. I've had two names, but my first belongs to the past.
"Nox," I mutter.
"Interesting." The guy's hazel eyes drink me in, from my all-black outfit to the hoodie obscuring my face. "Does Dove know you've been watching her? What are you, a disgruntled ex-boyfriend?"
I smirk. "Something like that."
"What you're doing isn't right," the guy grumbles. "But I'm sure you know that already."
"Are you going to tell her what you saw?" I ask, hoping he doesn't. If he does, I'll have to kill him, and I don't want little bird to wonder what happened to him. A part of me expects him to ask for money in exchange for his silence, but he doesn't. Instead, he laughs out loud.
"Not yet. But I'll keep an eye on you."
I glance back at her house just in time to see the flashy car pull away. I curse out loud, kicking at the wall when I realize it's too late for me to follow them. I turn back to face Dove's friend.
"Do you know where they're going?"
"To dinner," he replies.
"But Dove doesn't eat in front of other people."
He smiles. "You seem to know a lot about her. Does she care about you as much as you care about her?"
"Not anymore," I answer truthfully. "But she did. A lot. Before I hurt her."
"That's the way it always is," he sighs, offering me a grimy hand. "The name's Sam."
I regard his dirt-stained palm, then reach forward and give him a firm handshake. I can tell he likes the fact that I haven't recoiled in disgust. We exchange inquisitive looks. I want him to trust me. I could use him on my side.
"Will you help me get her back?" I ask him.
"Maybe." The man's eyes sparkle. "If you prove to be worthy of her."
"I'm more than worthy," I hiss.
"No need to get so defensive." He laughs again. "I'm guessing you have to go make sure that smug-looking guy doesn't hurt her."
"That's right." I smirk at him, pleased that he seems to understand. "Can I trust you not to tell Dove about this?"
Whatever his answer is, something tells me it won't be a lie. Finally, he nods. "I won't tell her."
"Thank you." The two words slip from my lips with effort. I haven't said them in a long time, not to anyone. "I'll see you around, old man."
"See you around, Mr. Night," he says, making me look over my shoulder and smirk. He knows what the name I gave him means. It's Latin. He must be educated. I wonder how he ended up on the streets.
Chapter 5
Dove
Raphael Santino is a gentleman.
He holds the car door open for me, pulls back my chair to help me sit down. He orders for me, but not before checking for my preferences. He even compliments my outfit, and I can tell he means it, because his eyes devour me. He wants me. A man hasn't wanted me in a long time.
Raphael orders our wine, an expensive red. I don't drink, but tonight, I need the extra courage, and I sip at the blood-red liquid throughout the evening.
"So," Raphael smiles after ordering our food. "Who is Dove Canterbury? Besides an enigma, of course."
"I'm just a regular girl," I mutter, sipping on the wine. The tart flavor is pleasing, and I try not to think about the calories in the glass. "Nothing fancy, really."
"I don't buy that for a single second," Raphael says, toasting me with his glass. "You're different. Definitely special. So, tell me everything about yourself."
"Everything?" I laugh, setting my glass down. "That's a tall order."
"I want to know." His dark eyes sparkle with amusement, boring into mine. "Everything about you, Dove. So tell me."
I shrug, unsure of where to start. "I'm the younger of two siblings. My brother, Robin, is a year older than me. He lives in LA, too. We're very close. We spend at least three evenings of the week together."
"That's wonderful. And your parents?"
"My parents... They're back in New York, where I was born." My teeth dig into my bottom lip. It's always painful explaining this to people. "My dad worked as a CEO at a Fortune 500 company. He died a couple years ago. My mom was a socialite and married for money." I shrug. "She has other people now. Lovers, boyfriends. She's still beautiful."
"Are you close with her?" I don't know if he's doing this on purpose, but he's striking exactly where it hurts, and I'm trying not to let it show.
"Not at all." I clear my throat, glancing around the restaurant so Raphael won't notice I'm getting emotional. "Since this happened..." I point to my scarred cheek. "I haven't been interesting to her."
His brows knit together in worry. "What do you mean?"
"I was like her before the... accident. A socialite."
"How old were you when the accident happened?"
"Nineteen," I mutter. I don't tell anyone what happened when Parker Miller scarred me. That's my own shame, my own fault, and I have to bear the consequences of my actions. The only people that know are Parker, his brother Kade and his wife June, and Robin. And I've sworn them all to secrecy – except for Parker. Parker's dead.
I feel a shiver go down my spine.
Isn't he?
"So, your mother judged you for having the scar?" Raphael goes on.
"She said I'd never amount to anything with it," I admit. "No man would look at me, and my career as a socialite was pretty much over."
"So you moved out here?"
I nod. "A few years later, for my twenty-first birthday. I bought a house with the money Dad left me. I have enough to cover me for the rest of my life."
"But what about having a life? A career? Don't you have dreams of your own?"
I shrug again. "It's not like it's an option for me. The scar makes people judge me. Makes them afraid of me. Not
a lot of people would risk hiring somebody like me."
"I think you're being too negative."
"Am I?" I smile, but there's a hint of sadness lingering on my face.
"Definitely." He grins. He is ridiculously handsome. Distractingly so. "What do you spend your days doing?"
"I volunteer a lot." I toy with the napkin in my lap. "I work at a soup kitchen downtown. I volunteer at an animal shelter. And I sometimes work at a plant nursery downtown too. They give me a symbolic payment. But it's fun. I don't have to interact with people a lot."
"You strike me as a very selfless person."
"I wasn't always. But this..." I point to the scar again. "This changed everything for me."
"I can imagine. You're living a very different life than you were in New York, aren't you?"
"Definitely."
"Do you miss it sometimes?"
I take a moment to think about his question. "I miss my best friend, June."
"You aren't in touch anymore?"
I shake my head. "It was... too painful. Difficult. She's married now, has kids. I'm happy for her. But I don't think there's room in her life for someone like me."
It's Raphael's turn to nod now, and just then, the waiter arrives with our appetizers. Raphael digs in with gusto while I pick at my food. He doesn't mention it, and it's a relief. Guys always wonder if I'm on some crazy diet that makes me unable to eat. But not him. He glances at me every so often, but he doesn't mention the fact that I've dissected the meal before him.
The waiter raises his brows at me when he picks up our plates. I'm not fooling him. Then again, this is LA. A lot of people pick at their food. He takes our plates away.
"What about you?" I finally ask Raphael. "I've been going on for ages. Why don't you tell me about yourself? How did you become a photographer?"
"My father was one," he explains. "I inherited all his equipment and started early. I always loved taking photos. I got the opportunity to work with the New York City Ballet for years. That got my work noticed. Then I started doing private exhibitions, getting hired to shoot for fashion magazines. I got to work with a lot of famous people. Word spread. Et voilà."
"That's the Cliff Notes version?" I grin at him.
"Pretty much." He smiles back.
"What about your family? Are you an only child?"
"Most likely not." He sighs. "My father was somewhat of a womanizer. He never married my mother, but I think he loved her, in his own way. They were happy together until he died, though my mother knew she wasn't his only one. We never knew about the others. Not the women, not the children I'm sure he had all over the globe."
"Was he a fashion photographer too?"
Raphael shakes his head. "He was... a different breed of creative. He worked for National Geographic for a number of years. His series on war crimes won several awards."
"That must've been difficult."
He smiles, but it's tinged with another emotion, a sadder one. "You wear your scar on your cheek, Dove Canterbury, but a lot of people wear theirs on their hearts."
His words strike me as true, and I take my time to ponder them while our mains arrive.
Raphael ordered some kind of pasta dish, which even I have to admit smells divine.
"What is this again?"
"Penne alla vodka," he says. "You like it?"
"It smells good," I admit reluctantly.
"Try it," he suggests, returning his eyes to his own dish. "I want to know if you like the taste."
His encouragement is soft, but kind, and it actually makes me want to eat. It's been a full day since I've had anything but water, and my stomach hurts. Tentatively, I spear a piece of the pasta with my fork and raise it to my lips.
I know people are watching, judging me. But as I glance at Raphael, I realize he isn't one of them. He seems fully engrossed in his own meal, not minding what I do one bit. I stick my tongue out and lick the smallest morsel of sauce off the pasta. It's good.
Raphael doesn't comment on the fact that I'm finally eating, but he does smile at me from across the table. I'm grateful he doesn't make a big deal out of it.
"It's good," I find myself saying. "I love the sauce."
"This place is great," the photographer nods. "Do you like Thai?"
"It used to be my favorite." Before... Before.
"I know a great Thai place too," he goes on. "Maybe we can go there next time."
The thought that he wants to see me again is exciting, and I find myself nodding along. I want to tell him I'm grateful for his kindness, but the words don't want to leave my lips. I keep eating though. I leave most of the pasta, but I scoop up the sauce with my fork, and by the time the waiter arrives to collect my dishes, I don't feel awkward telling him I enjoyed the meal.
"Did you have a nice time?" Raphael asks after we agree we're too full for dessert.
"I did," I nod, surprising myself. "Really nice."
"I'm not going to invite you back to my place tonight." He grins at my crestfallen expression. "I think it's too soon, and I want you to know I respect your limits. But I would love it if you came with me for a walk on the beach."
"I'd like that." I don't know how I'll handle the sand in my sky-high heels, but the idea is enticing and I don't want tonight to end just yet. He doesn't let me pay, covering the bill himself, and I don't fight him on it. When we walk out of the restaurant, I stumble on my heels, and Raphael grips me with a firm hand.
"Not used to heels?" he asks, looking amused. I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I'm really not. I must be so unlike the models he's used to dating. My confidence takes a huge dip then, and I shake my head wordlessly.
"I'm sorry, I'm such a mess."
"You're not a mess." He tips my chin back. When his fingers touch my skin, I feel an electric charge moving through my body, filling my veins with excitement. I haven't felt this way since...
I shake my head to get the thought out.
"Don't apologize," he goes on. "Take those shoes off. We're almost here anyway." He points ahead to where the sand is starting. I lean on his arm for support and undo the straps, then hold the shoes in one of my hands and run toward the sand. The gritty grains feel good. I curl my toes in it, grinning as I turn to face Raphael.
"Join me."
He does, and together, we make our way to the water's edge. There's no need for words, and for a few minutes, neither of us speaks. The silence is welcome and companionable.
While we're walking, Raphael's hand somehow slips into mine. This has happened on dates before, and I was always incredibly uncomfortable, but not this time. I let his fingers intertwine with mine, my heart skipping a beat as he pulls me to him to avoid the wave crashing on the shore where I stood moments later. I giggle.
There's a bonfire party on the beach and when we pass the crowd that's gathered, someone calls out Raphael's name. Instantly, I remember why I don't leave the house, why I never go anywhere, why I don't trust people.
A gorgeous brunette with a wide smile approaches us. She does a double take when she sees me, her eyes drinking in my scarred face. I can see her judging me silently, but before she has a chance to react, Raphael distracts her.
"Hey, Selma. I totally forgot you invited me to hang out tonight."
"I see," she purrs, toying with his shirt collar, letting her fingers linger on it. I find myself gritting my teeth together. I'm... jealous. What a weird feeling. "Found better company for tonight, did you? Where are you off to?"
"Just taking a walk."
"Moonlit night, a walk on the beach... Sounds romantic enough to me," the girl laughs, throwing me a look. "You're more than welcome to join us, if you'd like. We have marshmallows. And plenty of booze."
Raphael glances at me, but I can't quite meet his eyes. My shoulders sag with relief when he speaks up again. "Nah, I think we're good. I'll see you soon, Selma."
"Sure." She looks pissed as she glances at me. "You know where to find me. I'll be around... even when your latest co
nquest isn't."
I don't think Raphael notices, but when she leaves, she kicks sand right at me. I pretend not to notice either.
"I'm sorry about that," he mutters once we're out of earshot. "Here. Let's sit down."
He takes off his blazer and places it on the sand. I'm about to object – I'm sure it cost a lot of money – but I have a feeling he wouldn't listen. Instead, I sit next to him, and he puts his arm around my shoulders, cradling me against him. The moment is peaceful, serene. I'm relishing in the thought that he doesn't push me to kiss him, though the promise of it hangs in the air, sparkling and magical.
His fingers gently travel down my back. I want him to kiss me. I haven't wanted anyone to kiss me in years.
"Dove." I look up into Raphael's eyes. "I'm really glad we went out tonight. You made my week. My month. My year, even."
I laugh, shaking my head. "Don't exaggerate."
"I mean it."
Our eyes meet. There's something special in the air tonight. But then the spell breaks when Raphael is suddenly kicked aside. Sands flies everywhere and I feel someone snatching my purse away from me. I scream, but the attacker is already running off, blending into the night in his dark clothes.
What the hell just happened?
Chapter 6
Nox
I take off sprinting, holding onto Dove's handbag. I can hear someone shouting, coming after me, but I'm faster. Until I trip on something in the sand and come crashing down. That smug bastard Dove was on a date with reaches me, grabbing me by the lapels of my leather jacket, but I'm too fast for him. Before he can see my face, I smash my fist into his, and he stumbles back, clutching his nose which is already bleeding profusely.
I disappear into the shadows, blending in with the night. I know they won't find me now. I watch them from under the nearby pier. Dove is consoling that photographer prick, and someone from that bonfire party runs over, calling the cops.
I need to get the fuck out of here before anyone gets the bright idea to check under the pier. I open Dove's bag and dig through her shit, smirking when I see her phone in there. Fucking jackpot.
Tyrant Stalker: A Dark Forbidden Romance (Tyrant Dynasty Book 2) Page 4
