Edge Of Darkness

22

In a barely audible voice, Ember said, “Thank you for saying that. You’re not being rude, though, I am. It’s just…It’s just that I can’t talk about it. It only makes it worse.”

He nodded, still gazing into the mug. “I know exactly what you mean. Consider the subject closed.” He downed the scalding tea in one long swallow and set the mug back on the countertop. “So,” he said brusquely, shoving away from the counter and looking at her with a pleasant smile, “I’m still interested in that copy of Casino Royale. You never did quote me a price.”

Equal parts relieved and grateful he hadn’t pressed her and had made an elegant segue into another topic, Ember made an attempt at lighthearted normalcy. “Well, a certain someone ran out on another certain someone before a price could be negotiated, but I’ll let that go. On second thought,” she c****d her head, eyeing his shiny platinum watch, encrusted with tiny diamonds. “Maybe I’ll add a nuisance fee into the price. Say…twenty percent?”

“Twenty percent?” he echoed, smiling widely now. “That’s highway robbery! I should report you to the authorities! Do they have a Trading Standards Institute or a Better Business Bureau in this country?” “If they do, Antiquarian Books isn’t a member of either,” she scoffed. “With me running it, there’s definitely nothing ‘Better’ about it. It’s practically bankrupt.” The minute the words left her mouth, she regretted them, but too late—Christian had already latched onto them like a dog on a bone.

“The store isn’t doing well? What’s wrong? How bad is it?” He straightened, suddenly imposing with his height, breadth of shoulders, and the electric intensity that came and went with dizzying speed, like a light switch being flipped. At the moment, the switch had been turned to on.

“Oh, please,” she said, trying to laugh it off, “forget it. I’m just joking.” Avoiding his intent gaze, she brushed passed him and went into the living room. She looked around the darkened room a moment, unsure whether to stand or sit…Was he staying? What exactly was he doing here?

But Christian decided for her when he said, “A joke. Of course. I understand.”

She turned and watched him walk closer, searching his expression suspiciously, on the lookout for any hint of emotion to indicate what he was thinking. But his face was smooth and composed, entirely unreadable.

Damn. She didn’t want him thinking she was desperate for money. The two most unattractive things to men were women who were one: desperate for money, or two: desperate for love. She was neither. Or if she was, she definitely didn’t want to seem like she was. For the money, that is. Love was the last thing her mangled heart would ever be able to feel.

“Well,” he said, pausing a few feet away, “it’s late. I’ve imposed on you long enough. Thank you for the tea.”

“Sure. Anytime.”

He smiled at that—anytime—and something in her chest softened, a peculiar sort of melting. The man was so handsome it made her head hurt. That face. That body. Those eyes. Jesus. She had to get him out before she lost her mind and threw herself on him.

She ground her teeth together. Not desperate. NOT desperate. And, she reminded herself, I hate him. He’s too pretty for his own good.

“What is that look you’re giving me? Are you by chance plotting my death?” Christian asked, bemused. Her cheeks flamed—caught again.

“I’ve just really got to get out of this costume,” she said, careful to keep her face blank. She crossed the small living room quickly, put her hand on the doorknob. “I think I’m suffocating my poor skin, latex doesn’t exactly breathe. Plus, I’m beat.”

She turned the knob and cracked the door open, as clear a signal as she could give that she agreed with him—it was time for him to go.

He watched her with those preternatural eyes, his gaze taking in her bare feet, the cat’s costume, the tail dangling behind her like a dare. Her expression, so carefully neutral. A slight upward lift curled his lips as if he found something amusing. Leisurely, with his hands in his pockets and his gaze never leaving hers, he crossed to the door and stood looking down at her, mere inches away.

“I’ll see you at the store tomorrow.”

It sounded like a threat. She peered up at him, lips pursed, hating the way his proximity sent her blood into a frenzy. Her heart pounded so hard in her chest she wondered if he could hear it. “Okay.” She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Whatever.”

His smile deepened. “Doesn’t really matter either way, hmm?”

She moistened her lips and shrugged again, looking away.

Then he did the most astonishing thing, something that turned her to stone and stole all the breath from her lungs.

He reached out, touched two fingers to the pulse throbbing wildly in her neck and held them there with the softest pressure, subtly dominant. She glanced back at his face, speechless, and he was looking down at her as if he knew all about her, as if he could read every single thought that crossed her mind.

He murmured, “Secrets are okay. Secrets I understand. But don’t lie to me, Ember. You want to see me tomorrow as much as I want to see you.”

She was pinned in the raw force of his eyes, magnetic, overpowering. Very slowly, oh-so-lightly, he slid his fingers down the length of her throat, skimming the surface of her skin, dipping his thumb into the hollow at the base of her neck, until his hand came to rest in the center of her chest, directly over her heart. He opened his palm over the rings on her necklace and pressed against her breastbone.

Boom, boom, boom, throbbed her heart. Her traitorous, telltale heart.

“Admit it.”