The corner of his lip twitched for a second but then his mask was back in place. “I really appreciate the effort you are going to on my part. I’ll eat and then you can get out of here. I’m sure you have plans.”
I hopped up on the counter and turned to face him cross-legged. He eyed me but said nothing.
“I don’t have anything planned. And Dorian, I didn’t say we couldn’t be friends. I just don’t think it’s a good idea to date.”
He hung his head for a second and then lifted it. “I’d like that.”
To be fair, as he sat there almost completely naked my feelings weren’t entirely platonic. Those V cuts at his hips I’d only gotten to hold onto the other night were really distracting.
“Um, since we are being friendly. Do you think you could put some pants on?”
He didn’t respond but got up and went into his bedroom. Part of me wanted to see it but I also knew there was a very real chance I wouldn’t want to leave once I got a good look. At him and the bed.
He returned a few minutes later and I put the noodles into the boiling pot.
“I’m surprised you didn’t have plans tonight,” he offered by way of awkward conversation. I’d figured we were way past weekend plans and the weather but I humored him.
“I’m more of a homebody. I’ll go for a beer every now and again but mostly I stay in waiting for my brother to call.”
Something passed across his features, shifting, and he truly met my eyes for the first time since I arrived. “You have a brother?”
“Yes, his name is Jake.”
He leaned across the counter and chuckled. “Do you believe in fate?”
“Not something I’d ever really thought about before, why?”
He instantly sobered. “Sibyl had a brother too. His name was James.”
That was a weird coincidence. I believed what he said, but I wasn’t sure I believed the whole past life thing.
“Is he older than you?”
“A little bit older.”
He nodded. The water was beginning to boil harder so I stirred the noodles and fished one out to taste. Perfect.
I drained them and mixed them with butter and the Parmesan he’d had in his refrigerator. When I put the plate on the bar for him he stared at it curiously.
“It’s not going to bite you. And I used your groceries, so if they aren’t good that’s on you, not me.”
“No, I’m sure they are fine.” He took a bite and then another. I watched a minute as he ate the pasta very fast, barely pausing to draw breath. Once he finished I was only halfway through my own and he looked up.
“There’s more if you’re still hungry.”
He let out a sigh. “No, that was delicious. Do you want some wine?”
“Sure, what do you have?”
He left the room and my curiosity outweighed the need to keep eating. I followed to a cedar-lined room with rows upon rows of wine bottles lying sideways in X shaped boxes. “Wow. That is a lot wine.”
“I do enjoy wine. Living in France affords me a unique opportunity to acquire amazing bottles.”
I ran my fingertips along the bottle tops. Not a speck of dust coated their surfaces.
He plucked a bottle and held it up. “Do you like red?”
I laughed. “I like wine.”
“Fair enough.” We went back to the kitchen and he opened the bottle to pour it into a glass pitcher. “Give it a second,” he said before spinning to locate a couple wine glasses.
I took my seat on the counter again and dove back into my food. At least he looked better, a little more himself, despite the mask still being very much in place.
I couldn’t decide why that was bothering me so much. That he felt he had to hide from me, especially since I knew his secrets, at least the one I hoped was his biggest.
He poured a glass and handed it to me.
“This is fancy,” I commented. “I usually drink my wine from the bottle.
His face. He clutched his metaphorical pearls and waited for me to take a sip. It was deep, dry, and coated my tongue in a beautiful array of dark chocolate and strawberry.
“Oh man, that is good. I took another small sip and sat it on the counter next to me. “Definitely not something I could drink from a bottle.”
He took his own stool again and sipped from his glass. “I’d hope not. We would have to discontinue this friendship if you tried.”
I chuckled and ate some more. “Well, now I know how to get rid of you.”
It had been a joke but it hit something in him, his smile drooped and he stared into his glass. Shit. Opening my mouth was becoming dangerous these days.
“I didn’t think about what I was saying. I’m sorry.”
He waved it away, mask firmly back in place. “Don’t worry about it. You shouldn’t feel you have to censor yourself.” He stood. “Thank you for the meal. I’m going to go start on that mess.”
I wanted to ask what had happened there but he probably would lie, make up something to maintain his ordered calm.
Damn it, why did I care so much? What was it about him that made me want to ruffle every part of his perfectly ordered life?”
I shoved a few more bites of noodles in my mouth and then slid off the counter.
He was sitting, cradling a stack of books in his hands when I went back into his living room.
When he looked up there was no mask.
His handsome features were empty, save his eyes, which begged for something I didn’t quite understand.
11
Dorian
She couldn’t see me like this. I turned away and took a long inhale to press all the crazy spiraling in my brain down into a manageable pocket. A rejection, so what? People dealt with it every day. I could too. Except my mind wouldn’t just let it go, inserting whispers like: do other people have so much sin to carry around? Do other people have death on their hands like you do?
I focused on quieting all thought and instead stacking books. They were mostly out of order, with a few exceptions of little groupings that had stuck together in the fall. The leather-bound covers protected most of the pages.
Poor sad Hemingway lay open with bent pages at the corner of the rug. I shifted across the pile to grab the book but Sibyl beat me to it.
No. Not Sibyl. Izzy.
She handed it over, twisted her legs underneath her to sit, and began to stack books. I was thankful for the silence; not so much the long lingering concerned looks. We worked quietly and I avoided glancing her way. The memories of that long lithe body in my arms were too fresh, not to mention the red stain coating my hands every time I glanced down at them for longer than a minute.
Holy hell, it was happening. The doctors told me I wouldn’t be able to last two hundred years. That my mental stamina would deteriorate. Maybe Izzy had been the trigger, releasing the guilt I felt about Sibyl, and now it became an avalanche soon to take out everything in its path.
I looked up at Izzy who froze in the act of stacking two corresponding volumes together. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
I usually had more control over my emotions and whatever the rest of the world got to see of them. I closed my eyes and forced the thoughts away, somewhere, anywhere, so Izzy couldn’t read them in my eyes.
I shuffled the piles I’d stacked forward, putting them back onto the shelf, and then surged to my feet and went to the bedroom. The slammed door behind me should keep her out, I hoped. I could hide like a coward until she left, right?
“Dorian?” She called through the door and her voice was enough to have me reaching for the handle. I stopped. No. She had to stay out, get away, before I became unsafe, unstable, unhinged.
“Dorian? You can talk to me. What happened out here?”
I grasped for any excuse I could think of before pushing myself to the corner and shouting across the room. “Nothing, I’m fine. I think maybe that butter went bad.”
The soft scrape of her fingers sliding down the
door echoed into the quiet. I prayed she’d leave, go back to her apartment, and forget about me. She’d made it clear she didn’t want me, so it should be easy for her to walk away.
Dr. Robertson was the only person who could help me now. The last time I’d been at the science center they’d told me when the end came they could put me to sleep and stop my vital organs; very much like a prison execution but without the pain. Was that my only choice? Death by lethal injection, after 150 years on this planet? After everything I’d seen and done and been through? It almost seemed like cowardice, cheating the punishment and karma I deserved for the atrocities I’d committed in my younger years. For the people I’d hurt. I couldn’t bear it if Izzy became one of them.
There was silence at the door and for a moment I thought she’d left. Then I caught a thump against the bottom of the frame. Her shadow stretched underneath and I could see the edge of her T-shirt under the door. She was sitting in front of it now. I cleared my throat quietly. “You should go home. I’ll be alright.”
Another thump and then a curse. “No, I’ll wait, make sure you’re ok. You might need something.”
I lay my head down on my arms as they crossed over my knees. Was this woman’s will forged in iron? I racked my brain for another way to get rid of her. Only one came to mind and it would hurt us both. Could I cause her even a little pain to protect her from the looming avalanche that could engulf her?
Yes.
I let out a long sigh and climbed to my feet. It took five minutes to dress, my best suit and tie. Then I shaved and combed my hair. When I’d finished and looked in the mirror I appeared the same perfect specimen I always presented. Nothing of the fracture in my mind was visible, at least to me. I even bolstered myself with a smile, one I’d known to be cold and unyielding. The hard part would be getting out the door without looking at her too long. If I stayed and met her eyes, then I might very well break.
Was I strong enough for this? Not at all. I could already feel the micro-fissures under the mask beginning to spread. I didn’t have very long to escape.
I sat on the edge of my bed, slipped on my shoes, and set my cufflinks. Then I shook my shoulders and stepped to the door. I opened it carefully at first so she didn’t fall over, but then fast, as if I were jerking it once I could see she sat up straight on the floor.
She looked up the long line of my body from her cross-legged position on the hardwood. “Going somewhere?”
I didn’t meet her eyes but stalked around for my phone, which I found on the shelf by the door. I texted Michael for the car and stayed turned away from her before I answered. “Yes, I’m feeling much better and I think it’s a good night to hit the town. I have a friend who is meeting me.”
“A friend?” she asked. I locked onto how I’d felt when she told me she didn’t want me, let it sink in and strengthen my spine before I turned back.
She stood with her arms crossed under her breasts, head tilted to the side, nothing but questions in her eyes.
I threw her that cold, calculating smile I’d perfected for business meetings and people I wanted out of my presence. “Well, she’s a little more than a friend.”
Izzy flinched like I’d struck her. I tightened my hand on the doorknob, using it as a grounding point. “Thank you for coming over. I’ll get the help to put the books back. It was merely an accident. Do you want me to walk you out? I’d invite you to stay but I’ll likely be coming back here with company.”
Her mouth dropped open before she shook herself and stalked forward. All five-foot-eight inches of her drawn up in anger stirred me in a way it shouldn’t have. She was marvelous to behold. I knew she held back a biting tirade and I wanted it. I deserved it. I needed it to keep pushing her away.
She put her finger inches from my face, her lips twisted in fury. Then she stopped and dropped her hand. I fell with it. I needed that anger to get her out of here. When I opened my mouth to try another verbal disassociation tactic, she slapped me across the face, hard and fast. My head snapped to the side and when I looked back at her she held her hand in the other.
I wanted to comfort her, get ice for her, do anything to get that look of betrayal off her face. Instead, I touched my lip where it stung the most. No blood. Then I crooked my chin. “You should put some ice on that.”
She narrowed her eyes and slapped me again. “Stop it.” She growled. “I’m not a damn idiot. I know what you’re trying to do and if I have to, I’m going to keep slapping you until I knock some sense into that ancient brain of yours.”
I grabbed the door handle once more. If I left she’d have no reason to stay. I could hide in the car and come back after she went home. She clutched my forearm hard and raised a questioning brow. “I’m not playing games with you, Gray. You seem to be good at them, but I will tip the board over every single time.”
I swallowed, using everything I had left to maintain a neutral expression. Using the sting in my cheeks to lock eyes with her. “You’re welcome to join us. Me and Yvette. She doesn’t mind company.”
Another slap. I took in a shuddering breath. “Do not hit me again.”
“What are you going to do? Hit me back? I’d like to see you try it.”
I released the door and stepped forward, real anger started to merge with the fake until I couldn’t find the line between. “I would never hit a woman.”
“Oh yeah, did you hit any in the past? Should I go check that book so I can find out?”
The mention of the book pushed it too far; I think we both realized it at the same time. I surged forward to trap her body between mine and the wall beside the door. Inches away from her face I spit out. “You will not hit me again.”
We both stayed caught-in-the-act still, breathing heavily. My hands clasped her waist, hers in fists pressed against my chest. It was a classic angry couple movie scene, except in my living room. How did I let it get this far? Sense began to filter in and I started to pull my hands from her waist.
She must have felt the shift in pressure because her fists uncurled to lock around my jacket lapels and keep me there. “We aren’t through here.”
“No, I’m entirely sure we are through. You’ve made it clear on multiple occasions you don’t want me. And yet when I ask you to leave, you resist and find excuses. So who is playing games here, Izzy?”
Her eyes widened a little and some of the anger left them. She swallowed heavily, still clutching my jacket.
What did I do now? Wait until it fizzled and she let me go? I didn’t think that was possible as the solid warm press of her body, along with the sparks zipping through me from my residual fury, stirred something else in me.
Her eyes widened further as her realization of the source of my own expression sunk in. She’d understand fully in a few seconds. I gripped her small hands in mine, still locked in my jacket.
“Isobel.”
She sagged and fluttered her eyes closed as I said her full name.
“If you do not release me at once, this is going to go very badly. Probably for both of us.”
“Wh-what are you going to do?” Her voice was soft, fluttering, oh so sweet. It wasn’t a question she really wanted an answer to.
I drew in a long breath, intending to let her go and walk out. Gray…just let her go and walk out.
Let her go and walk out.
I released her fingers slowly and she sagged back against the wall. The second I took my eyes off hers she lunged forward and slapped me again. Harder than before.
There was no anger in her eyes now. All I saw was invitation.
12
Izzy
My heart beat so loudly in my chest I was sure he could hear the echoing thump thump thump against my ribcage.
Did he know what I was asking? Did I know what I was asking? Before I could let the potential fear kick in, I gave my mind over to my body, and lifted my arm to slap him one more time.
He grabbed my wrist in a crushing grip, stalling its progress before I could strike him.<
br />
There was no give in that look. Not one. Single. Inch. For the first time, I met his eyes and saw something to fear, but I didn’t fear for myself. That look said he’d been to the brink of insanity and stood just on the good side. One push might send him over. So I swallowed my hurt pride, let him squeeze my wrist a little too tight, and popped up onto my tiptoes to finally taste sin.
But he wouldn’t let me reach his lips. His other hand closed around my throat, not squeezing, but cradling it. I knew he understood exactly what I wanted right now, what I needed right now, and I let him take control.
He spun me to face the wall. His body aligned behind mine and he released me to rip open the bottom of my shirt. I mourned Cap for a brief second. The rough handling and the loose hold sent the fabric scraps to my ankles. I swallowed the knifepoint of fear threatening to slice open the moment and bleed it dead. No. He wanted me and I wanted him. I didn’t expect it like this but I was in no way unwilling. My pants were next as he roughly shoved them to my feet along with my panties.
“Put your hands on the wall and don’t move,” he said in my ear. More growl than an actual directive.
I spread my arms out and anchored my fingertips in the brick, the scratchy grooves between the rectangles giving me something to anchor to. It should have felt like a police frisking. Cold and unmovable, with my bare ass out and him completely clothed behind me.
The heat of his body through his clothes warmed me, excited me, aroused me in a way I didn’t know was possible.
I cleared my throat to speak, but he clamped a hand over my mouth.
“Don’t. If you want to stop, you have to explicitly say stop. No matter what happens or how many rounds you think we’ve gone. Do you understand? When you say stop I will let you go completely.” He released his hold over my mouth and buried his face into the back of my hair. “Tell me to stop. Tell me to stop now,” he begged.
One Shade of Gray Page 7
