That she’s absolutely stunning is in no doubt. Her elfin features are highlighted by her pale hair that is pulled away fromher face for the first time since I’ve met her, wet and tousled in a knot on top of her head, secured with a pen she’s stolen from my kitchen.
Whatever her stalker’s reasons are for shooting at her tonight, I can see several before we start. And that’s without broaching the elephant that isn’t in the room with us. At least, not yet.
The slice of peace she’s garnered after trudging a mile and a half from the dirt road that her limo couldn’t make it into my place on its road tires and city-road worthy lowered chassis is the most valuable commodity we have right now.
That, along with sleep. But first…
“I promised I'd find out what your favorite foods are. And what you drink.” I used endearments with her back in the vehicle and when we were walking. That fact seems like insanity in retrospect, speaking to an asset that way, but she accepted my words without question. It’s that kind of night. But the sun will rise in a few hours, a factory reset on everything as we start fresh. For now, the terms dip alien on the edge of my tongue, raw and out of place.
Then, I was getting her to a destination. Achieving a goal. Here, in my house, if I speak to her that, I’ll cross a different sort of line.
Already, my barriers are shifting back into place, even as hers start to dissolve. I saw it in the way she communicated with me, how she let me touch her.When is the last time you let another human love you, Adora?But that’s not the kind of question I can ask an asset, even if I want to. Especially one walking around my house as I follow her, turning off lights as I go.
She’s still in my library, flicking through old versions of detective novels I devoured as a teen but have never been able to bring myself to throw out. That’s the definition of a collection,right? What grows over years of interests, even as they tweak and change.
“Do you read?” I ask, leaning against the doorframe as she turns pages with care. Her fingers brush each page, touching only the corners, and the spine is never cracked with her, even though I’m formidable with the things. She must hate the damage I've already done to each volume.
She hesitates, then nods, without closing the book.
“What do you like?” I don’t know why it matters. I won’t stock anything that she’s read. We’re from two different worlds. My shelves have some fiction, sure. But others—I’ve spent my life immersing myself in military history. She’s a classical instrumentalist. Two quotes from Asimov and Verne about independence and fate mangle in my head.
Adora puts the book back on the shelf, making certain that it goes back exactly where it came from. I appreciate that, having set up the entire library by author, then book series, each arranged by publication year.
Not that she’d have a clue. I’ve never shared this space with anyone else. No one in my world knows it exists, which is why we’re here. To keep her safe.
And tomorrow, her world will invade mine.
“Here.” The faintest whisper leaves her throat as she walks forward a few paces, then raises her hand to brush her fingers across the bottom of a shelf that she can’t reach.
My eyebrows rise. “You read science fiction?” Is she agreeing with me just to make me feel better.
The corner of her mouth flickers, or it could be a shadow. I’m sure she almost smiled and the need to have her do it again burns low in my gut. I stalk across the room, closing my hand on her wrist. A gasp leaves her, but no other sound.
“Show me.”Why does this matter?It shouldn't.
But it does.
Adora looks over her shoulder at me. Her hand is still raised, and the sleeve of my shirt falls back where it's far too big on her body, oversized, exposing her slim arm. The material hitches at her waist. She’s so damn close that I can feel the heat of her through the fabric of the thin borrowed shirt, and mine.
Touching her again is a terrible idea.
Hauling her from the car wasn’t my finest moment either, but she finally fell asleep ten minutes out, and I couldn't bring myself to wake her. So, carrying her until she did rouse was the only option I could come up with unless I wanted her to sleep in the car, and that was the more dangerous choice I could find.
She pulls her hand free of my grasp, ribbing her wrist as though my touch stings. I stare down at her, memorizing the way her midnight eyes are shot through with moonlight and silver. Just like in the car, she seems content with observing me back, and I wonder at the life she’s lived until now. A girl in a snow globe, ever looking out, and everyone looking in.
No one able to touch her.
I reach out, and grip her waist, squeezing her hip through my shirt. Letting the material gather and hitch in my hand, baring her thighs. Hell, she can slap me for it. But for a single moment, I want her tofeel.
Nails rake lightly across the back of my hand, but she doesn’t push me away. Her eyes flutter shut, then sprung back open, and her face sets, determined. Pushing me away, she steps back and turns in a tight pivot. Her eyes scan the room, as though she's cataloguing every title I own in the floor to ceiling shelves that are jam packed with a lifetime of collecting.
Who knows? Maybe she has a photographic memory.
“Pick what you like, Adora. I’ll get anything down for you.” I keep my voice low, so I don’t interrupt her trance. It doesn't take a genius to realize that she hasn’t pushed me away; she’s simply taking on the task I’ve given her.
Adora sends me a graceful look, then turns back to a corner that holds a stack of old conspiracy theory collection of dime store novels, all with a science fiction bent. I rub my hand over my mouth as she runs her fingers over the spines and selects a handful, then looks up.
I’m there in a second, pulling down the ones she picks out, along with several mediaeval and Tudor mysteries. “I wouldn't have guessed,” I murmur, placing the stack in her arms, and straightening the edges for her.
