He leaned across the table to one of his male friends. After they exchanged words, the friend rose and approached me.
“His name is Marcus,” the friend of the woman-collector said, leaning in close and speaking over the music. He was shorter than me and smelled of beer and disinfectant. “He’s visiting from Damascus. Would you like to join him?”
No thanks. “I’m sorry, I was just—” I glanced around for an excuse, but found nothing. “You’ll have to excuse me.”
Dazed, I hurried back to my table, plopped into my seat, and scanned the crowd for Ivory.
But Ivory was not who caught my attention first.
A young man by the bar, clad in dark-washed jeans, took a final sip of his wine and slipped a tip under his glass for the bartender. His fitted black shirt showed the confident set of his shoulders, the contour of his chest, and his trim waist. The way he dressed, the way he carried himself … he looked both entirely in control and completely reckless at the same time, standing out in the sea of people as though the crowd had parted around him, though that wasn’t the case.
The case was, he was sexy as hell.
And I hated him for it.
His gaze captured mine, and he offered the briefest of smiles. A curious swooping pulled at my stomach, and I quickly glanced away. When I dared to peek again, he’d seated himself at a nearby table beneath the golden glow of one of the wall sconces. I dreaded the idea he might catch me staring, but I couldn’t stop myself. His toasted-almond hair fell forward to shroud his eyes, and flickers of blue—or was it green?—peeked through the disheveled strands.
The whole thing felt strange, as though I’d seen him before, seen him from this same distance.
It was then, with his body turned away from the table and one foot resting on the opposite knee, that I realized how I knew him. His shoes—dull, black shoes with a red outsole—gave him away. He was the mystery man who’d been outside my window the night of my positive energy ritual.
I should’ve marched over to him and told him off, but what was I supposed to say—’How dare you walk down a public street and look at a woman throwing flower petals out her window?’
His eyes flickered to mine as though my staring had drawn his attention. There was an intensity in his expression, something dark as his gaze slid over my body, assessing me, and I started surveying the room in hopes he’d think our eye contact had been accidental.
No one looked at me like that, let alone someone so absurdly handsome.
I wanted to stop thinking about him. I wanted to never look at him again. Most of all, I was afraid that if I so much as glanced his way, he’d know for sure I was staring.
I peered at him from under my eyelashes, testing the waters, but I couldn’t tell if he was looking at me until too late. Until I’d already been caught checking him out.
He turned away, but it wasn’t shyness that averted his gaze. The strong lines of his jaw were softened by his uplifted cheeks and the curl of lips. He smirked, shaking his head. Realization set in.
He was laughing at me.
Heat rushed to my face, leaving me thankful for the club’s dim lighting, dark enough to hide the blush that surely reddened my cheeks.
Staring at my drink would be a safe bet. Drinks don’t stare back. I plucked nervously at the hem of my dress, wondering what the hell had come over me. I didn’t have time for this. I needed to find Adrian.
“Dance with me,” came a husky but gentle voice.
I looked up, and my heartbeat stuttered. It was him. How long had I been staring at my drink that I hadn’t even noticed him take the seat across from me?
The way he stared—his crisp, teal eyes pinning me—sent a current of warmth through my body, pulling the fear under and away. Even in the low lighting of the club, the stark contrast of blue and green in his eyes was evident, like the oceans off the coast of Greece, though his gaze was stormy instead of tranquil.
My mouth went dry. Determined to appear unruffled, I tipped my drink against my lips and drew in a sip of my Bordeaux. The earthy wine provided a momentary relief to my rattled nerves.
“Do I know you?” I asked.
A half-smile rumpled the perfect symmetry of his face. He was even more gorgeous up close—fiercely beautiful, from chiseled cheekbones to strong, shaded jaw and attractive Roman nose. “Clearly you recognized me, no?”
“That doesn’t mean we’ve met,” I snapped, irritated by his air of cockiness.
He knew he looked good, he knew I thought so, and now he was mocking me. I despised his type.
“You’re funny when you’re angry,” he said.
“Glad you’re amused. Keep it up on your end, and I should be able to keep you laughing through the rest of the night.”
“The rest of the night?” The tumble of his hair obscured the sudden arch of his eyebrow.
I wanted to stay mad, but I wasn’t doing so hot. I pretty much banked on using annoyance as a defense against attraction, but his looks and candor were crippling. “You haven’t answered my question.”
He tilted his head to one side and scratched the nape of his neck. A grayish-pink scar lined the inside of his forearm, and I dropped my gaze, as though I’d somehow intruded into his life, though it was more like the other way around.
“Well?” I asked.
“I thought you wanted something. You were staring.”
“No I wasn’t,” I replied too quickly.
He crossed his arms, slouching back, and challenged me with a grin. “No?”
My pulse quickened and my breathing went shallow and I wished I would just disappear. This time, I wasn’t going to respond. He kept his gaze steady against mine, his dark, tangled lashes framing his eyes. Lauren would’ve recommend some special eyelash comb. Thinking of Lauren might help distract me from this gorgeous but irritating specimen sitting before me.
The roof of my mouth felt like the shell of a walnut. I wanted to swallow and lick my lips to relieve the dryness, but his staring made me hyper-conscious. His gaze dipped, and I felt a rush in my chest.
Was he checking me out? Was he aware of my erratic breathing or the rapidly beating pulse in my neck?
His gaze continued down.
To his watch.
Not checking me out.
When he lifted his eyes to mine again, my insides filled with a chaotic energy. Attraction or warning, I didn’t know, but I couldn’t break away. The men in Belle Meadow had no interest in me, but this guy—he didn’t know me. He hadn’t heard the rumors, hadn’t heard about my mastery of the dark arts or how I sometimes painted demonic symbols on abandoned grain elevators.
The longer I went without speaking, the more uncertain I became that I’d find my voice again. I pushed the attraction aside, determined not to let him affect me.
I crossed my arms. “So you’re stalking me, or what?”
He chuckled and leveled his gaze at me, one eyebrow mockingly arched. “Pretty full of yourself, are you? Do all pretty girls think every man in a public place must be stalking them?”
What? “I’m not—” Grrr. I refused to defend myself to his moronic accusations. Even if he had called me pretty. “It’s one thing you saw me through my bedroom window, but are you telling me you just so happened to show up here, too?”
“I must be pretty special to have followed you here but arrived first.” He reached in to his pocket and slid a wrist bracelet across the table. The fine marker-script on the side of the band displayed today’s date beneath the club’s logo. “Happy hour discount—starts at eight here. You’d have gotten one if you’d arrived before nine. Now, then, perhaps I might inquire if you are stalking me?”
“Well—”
“Well what?” he asked smugly. “Believe me, darlin’, I’d prefer to not run into you quite so much. It doesn’t bode well of your sensibilities.”
Run into me ‘so much’? When else had we run into each other? “What would you know about my sensibilities?”
He smir
ked. “You don’t know anything about this place, do you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. This place is perfectly acceptable. But perhaps not the best hang out for you. You might want to find another place for next time.”
“That won’t be necessary. I don’t go out much.”
“I can tell.” He flashed me an easy smile full of perfectly straight white teeth that matched his perfectly straight posture.
Okay, so maybe I was being a little edgy. Ivory shouldn’t have let the hermit out to play. “Point taken.”
He rested his forearms on the table and leaned forward. “Was that a yes or a no to dancing?”
I shook my head, but my smile said ‘yes’. Not to mention Marcus was still staring—and in the least intriguing way. He gave me the creeps. If I was dancing with someone else, that might get the weirdo’s attention off me. I spotted Ivory dancing with another girl, perhaps a friend she’d met here before, and figured one dance without her wouldn’t hurt.
The man across from me stood and offered his hand. My palm warmed as I accepted, and, as I rose to join him, my balance shifted. I wobbled, nearly falling right back into my seat.
He hooked his arm around my waist, supporting me against his body, his breath soft on my ear. “Careful there.”
At his sudden embrace, a small shock flashed through my body. After a moment, my vision steadied. With his biceps behind my back and his forearm against my side, I felt somehow smaller and safer at the same time. I tilted my face up, catching his gaze. The candlelight from the table danced inside his irises and illuminated flecks of amber in his eyes. He cocked one eyebrow slightly, his amused expression also somehow gentle. Perhaps I’d misjudged him.
The moment rapidly becoming too intimate, I tensed. I needed to put some distance between us, to ignore the unwanted fluttering in my stomach. I stepped back. The air in the room lacked the warmth and comfort of his body.
“I’m okay,” I said, which was true depending on what one’s definition of ‘okay’ was.
We wedged into a small opening in the crowd near the speakers. The burning scent of hot electrical wires replaced the fruity aroma of liquored drinks. He tilted his head down toward me as he stepped tentatively closer, then he rested his firm but gentle hands on my hips, his arms bent at the elbow, relaxed.
I was decidedly not so relaxed.
I peered up at him, unsure what he expected. I’d never danced with a guy, not unless relatives at weddings counted.
Awkwardly, I placed my hands on the front of his shoulders, steadying myself as I swayed with him. A shiver flashed down my spine at the firmness of his body. How could he be so solid and still so graceful? His hands easily covered my hipbones, his fingertips pressing just behind my sides, into the muscles of my back. In that moment, I felt another kind of vulnerability.
He leaned forward and pressed his lips to my ear. “You okay?”
I nodded, stepping closer and sliding my hands around to the back of his shoulders. I buried my face against his chest, safe from his imploring gaze. He smelled like vanilla and musk and sandalwood, and I tried to commit the intoxicating scent to memory.
What the hell was I doing? I hesitated backward, away from him, but he easily guided me right back, and I had to bite my lip not to gasp as an unexpected shudder ran through my body. The heat radiating from his flesh burned through my dress, the warmth igniting in my stomach and snaking outward in an involuntary arousal. An arousal I needed to dismiss, even if only out of the irrational fear I’d become the kind of woman Mother would damn to Hell. Of course, Mother already thought that’s where I was going.
Ivory would be wondering where I’d run off to, anyway.
“My friend—”
“She’ll wait,” he said.
I knew she would wait. There went my iron-clad excuse for getting away from the moment without revealing what an idiot I was.
The seduction of the music wound around us, sinking into my skin and pressing us closer. Each bass note reverberated along my spine, playing over every nerve in my body, and every time his hand grazed a new place on my skin, my want for control melted away, replaced by my desire to return his touch. He trailed his finger across my collarbone, over my shoulder, down my arm.
Soon, the music muffled beneath a cottony sensation in my head. His hands slid up my waist, over my ribs, his thumbs barely grazing the sides of my breasts. My breath caught in my throat, and I smiled nervously.
His jeans rubbed against the bottom of my dress and my bare legs, and the heat there spread over my thighs. All I could hear was Mother’s voice, telling me that this type of dancing was a sin. An invitation to Satan himself.
“My name’s Sophia,” I said. It was a little late for introductions, but I wanted to shift the conversation and move as far away from the arousal as possible. “Yours?”
“Charles,” he whispered. His voice sounded clear, as though the music in the room had faded to make room for him to speak. “My name’s Charles.”
He cleared his throat and dipped his gaze to mine. “I saw you in the woods the other night.”
I swallowed around the lump in my throat. “And through my bedroom window.”
“Yes,” he replied.
Why was he telling me this? “So you were stalking me.”
“I was unaware the woods belonged to you alone,” he said against my ear, his hands moving to the small of my back. “Is there anywhere else I shouldn’t already be when you get there, in case you might continue with your accusations?”
“Jack’s Diner,” I said, fighting to hold onto the conversation instead of the arousal. “I work there, so you might want to stay away unless I invite you.”
“Then invite me.”
I bit my lip. Of course I wouldn’t have shared that gem of information with him if I didn’t want to see him again, but I hated that he realized this.
“Sure,” I said quietly, hoping he wouldn’t hear me over the music as easily as I could hear him.
He grinned broadly. “You get to me, too.”
Was I that obvious? “Is that why you asked me to dance?”
“That night in the window … you looked so … strange. Strange and beautiful. I couldn’t let you slip away again.”
Was that supposed to be a compliment?
I started to pull back, but it only brought our faces closer together—so close our lips nearly touched—and I buried my face into his shoulder, not trusting myself to fight my desires.
“And in the woods?” I asked carefully. “Did I look strange there, too?”
“No,” he said, his voice cold now. “I hadn’t expected to see anyone else out there, and I planned to leave when I saw you, but I stayed long enough to make sure you were all right.”
“Why?” I asked, like it was a bad thing.
“Why not?” He closed his eyes, tensing his jaw. “Do you always assume the worst of people? Or is it yourself you think so poorly of? Perhaps you might consider life is complicated enough without your helping things along.”
I peeked at him again, and his eyes flashed on mine. For a moment, I thought he was going to kiss me. I raised my chin a fraction, tilted my head until my nose was inches from his. His eyes lingered on mine before dipping to my lips, and his minty breath caressed my face.
He’d drawn me in closer without my realizing, and we stood there for what felt like an eternity, sharing the same inch of the club’s oxygen, his mouth so close to mine that our lips brushed momentarily. My mouth fell slightly open, and I thought maybe I could kiss him. Maybe I wasn’t too afraid.
But he stepped away, his expression shifting from interest to something apologetic and regretful. “You should go, Sophia.”
{chapter six}
“GO?” I asked.
“That’s what I said,” Charles replied.
His sudden mood swing left me bewildered. I searched his eyes for answers, but there were none. He’d completely shut down.
&
nbsp; “If you don’t want to dance anymore—”
“I didn’t say that,” he snapped. “I just said you need to go. Now, please, get out of here.”
“I don’t under—”
His eyes flashed with the anger of a storm rushing through the valleys. “Leave!” he shouted. “Go. Home.”
He started off, but then stopped. He backed up two steps, turned around, and grabbed my arm.
The silence in my head fled with my romantic notions. The cursed whispers invaded my thoughts all at once, scattering like marbles down a staircase, making it impossible to think … impossible to make out what they were saying. Just the shhhing and the fragments again—a word here and there … dangerous … too late. The rest of the words overlapped and tripped up my own thoughts. I couldn’t push the voices away—only press them into the background.
A pulsing sensation tapped against my mind, followed by a compelling voice: Come here, little mouse.
I stepped back, the club pulling me deeper into its throng, but Charles slipped his hand to my elbow and shouldered his way through the crowd, ushering me past my table. He snatched my purse and thrust it toward my chest, the room spinning as I staggered beside him.
“What going on?”
He didn’t answer me, and I didn’t get a chance to tug my arm free until after we were already outside, standing beside the forest with the club’s storm doors clanging shut behind us.
I glared at him. “What the hell are you doing? I’m not leaving without my friend. You can’t just tell me when to leave.”
He spun toward me and placed his hands on my shoulders. “Sophia, listen. Whatever brought you here, I don’t blame you, but now—”
The club doors flew open and his grip tightened. A couple rushed out, stumbling for the parking lot in a cloud of drunken laughter. Lipstick smeared the woman’s flashing white teeth.
“Sophia,” Charles said, his voice gentle now.
“What?” I asked. “What is it?”
His expression slackened, and his eyes steadied on mine with concern. “You’ve associated yourself with the wrong people.”
“Obviously,” I said, thinking mostly of him.
The Forever Girl Page 5
