Vicious Seduction

9

One perfectly sculpted brow arched high on his forehead. “This dress and nothing special could never exist in the same world, let alone the same sentence.” I shrugged. “It is what it is.” “Well, maybe I should get his number because if he didn’t instantly try to put a ring on it in this dress, he must be gay.” A laugh burst past my lips at the absurdity that a simple dress could motivate a man to marry. As I laughed, however, I remembered the way Oran had touched me and how his stare had burrowed into mine—and I started to reconsider. He’d acted like he was seconds away from claiming me for himself. Then there was the way he’d looked at me in my wet silk blouse. Like I was Little Red, and he was the ravenous Wolf. I had to clear my suddenly parched throat. “Life is a little more complicated than that, but I appreciate your endorsement.” Cosmo huffed. “I suppose if he doesn’t make the effort and appreciate all this”—he motioned up and down my body with fluttering fingers—“then he doesn’t deserve it.” “Absolutely,” I agreed. “Good. Now that that’s decided. I’ll take this beauty and the two black ones to Faith at Chiara. They’ll make a perfect addition to the pitch for next fall’s collection.” “Sounds good to me! I’m going to head home. I have a few more hours, and the navy silk blend will be done.” “The one with the halter neckline?” “Yes. That fabric you sourced was perfect, almost black with a touch of navy sheen. It’s gorgeous.” “This time, if you get a chance to wear it out, I better see a pic,” he chided me playfully. That wasn’t happening because I had no reason to wear such a statement dress, but I saluted anyway. “Understood.” I gave Cosmo a quick hug. “I’ll be in touch.” “Counting on it.” I’d been incredibly lucky when I met Cosmo in design school. We were an excellent complement to one another, making for a remarkably functional business model. We designed together in late-night binge-eating sessions that left me exhausted yet immensely fulfilled. I did most of the actual sewing while he schmoozed and sold our designs to labels. After five years of busting our asses, we’d finally made a name for ourselves and even contemplated hiring an assistant. The pride bubbling with warmth in my chest fizzled out as I thought about who I’d wanted to hire for the job. It would have been the perfect setup for my sister, but I never got the opportunity to tell her. She’d been gone for three months now. I’d spent every single minute of that time fighting to get her back, but the more time that drew on, the more I worried I’d lost her forever. I descended the stairs to the subway, shivering as the suffocating helplessness that had been my constant companion for months wrapped me in its arctic embrace. Remorse and despair had loomed over me daily, making their presence known the most when I went home for the night because I should have moved out of the apartment with Jessa months ago. I tried not to show it, but seeing my roommate was a stark reminder of how horribly things had gone wrong. And once Jessa went to bed, the solitude of my quiet apartment, while providing the perfect sewing atmosphere, also denied me an escape from myself and the incessant thoughts that assaulted me day and night. Was I doing enough? Why hadn’t I made any progress? What else could I possibly do? I felt so f*****g helpless, and I hated it. I slumped in my seat on the subway train home. My vision blurred with watery regrets as I stared at the dirt-speckled floor. I’d tried so hard to make good choices and be a decent human being, yet I’d fallen damn short of the mark. Maybe it was defective genetics. An insidious selfishness that manifested itself no matter how hard a person fought to overcome. I had to wipe my eyes when the tears broke free. What I wouldn’t have given to go back to the beginning of summer and do it all again. Life wasn’t like the movies, however. There were no doovers. I could only move forward and try not to make another mistake— especially not an enigmatic, disarming mistake with eyes so piercing they thwarted all my defenses. Oran was the worst sort of mistake and a distraction I couldn’t afford. One missed opportunity could be the difference between life and death. I had to stay focused on my mission or risk hating myself forever. I almost dropped my phone when it vibrated in my hand, startling me from my thoughts. Unknown: It sure is a waste, Lina What? I didn’t give my number out often, so a text from an unknown number was unusual. And it had come from someone who knew my nickname. The only new person I’d met recently … it couldn’t be. How would he have my number? If not him, then who? Not one person came to mind. Getting the text when I’d already been thinking about him was too fitting. He felt omnipresent like that—saturating my thoughts and senses. I was just telling myself how important it was to steer clear of him, and there he was, luring me back in. The curiosity. The intrigue. I wasn’t sure what the text meant, but it sounded like something he’d say. Something to keep me off-balance and guessing. Telling myself it was just a text, I typed out a response. Me: Who is this? Unknown: Wrong question. The authoritative response sent a thrill of awareness down my spine and out to my fingertips. I was right. Oran was texting me. I wanted to ask how he’d gotten my number, but I knew his answer already. Still the wrong question. I could have blocked him. I should have. It was the logical thing to do, but responding to him wasn’t so much a decision as a compulsion. I needed to know what he’d reached out to say. Needed to feel the heady rush I got from his attention. I’d been in such a dark place for so long that I craved his spotlight. Me: What’s a waste? Unknown: Every minute you spend with him. There it was. Warmth spread from my chest down to my belly and onward. He was wrong about my time being wasted, but I liked knowing it bothered him. Me: Jealous much? A tiny smile perched at the corners of my lips. Unknown: It’s hard to be jealous of something that’s already mine. That got an audible laugh. Me: I was wrong. Me: You’re not jealous. You’re arrogant. I practically salivated for his response like a junkie anticipating her next hit. This man was so damn dangerous for me, but I couldn’t stop myself. Truth be told, I didn’t want to. I waited a solid minute, staring at my phone screen for his reply. Unknown: I’m right. I started to text a response, then deleted it, a hollow void expanding in my chest. What the hell was I doing? Engaging him was pointless. If anything was a waste of my time, it was texting Oran Byrne. I needed to get my head out of the clouds and stop letting myself get distracted. Me: As if you’d be any different. I wasn’t sure I believed it, but the despondency I felt was seeping through. Unknown: Let me show you. Exactly. It was pointless. I shook my head slowly and started to shut down the conversation when he sent another quick message. Unknown: Look in your purse. My heart teased its way up my chest and into my throat.