Drinks and dessert then? I know just the place
Looking forward to it, Bluebell
The address he sent her was on the same street where they’d be having dinner, and she’d meet him once the girls split up.Now all you have to do is work yourself into a hysteria for the next eight hours over what to wear, she thought, settling back on her sun chair. The dimple on his chin was adorable. She wondered if his earlobes were sensitive, wondered how different he would look fully dressed. It made her flush to think she hadn’t yet seen him with clothes on, such a backward situation.Stop getting your hopes up, dummy!Lurielle tried to control her breathing, knowing her internal voice was right. The bloom of warmth in her chest was absolutely from the champagne, had nothing to do with Khash, nothing to do with her excitement over seeing him again, hearing his slow drawl, feeling the weight of his deep chocolate eyes moving over her.
Nothing at all to do with Khash. It was just the champagne, she told herself, unable to keep the small smile from her face.
♥♥♥
She recognized his impossibly broad shoulders almost immediately.
Khash was sitting at the bar, scrutinizing the menu, giving her a chance to look him over before he noticed her. A dark blue blazer stretched across his wide back, the structural integrity of the sleeves were threatened by his well-defined arms. The bright white of his shirt collar made his deep green skin glow; his thick, black hair plaited into an intricate braid that started at his crown, the kind she’d never once successfully managed to do to her own hair.
He was gorgeous.
Lurielle held her breath for a moment, steeling her nerves before moving around the reception podium to approach him from behind.You can do this. “You look like you’re reading something in a foreign language,” she murmured into his ear. “If it’s in Elvish, I can help. I know it’s probably a mouthful for you.”
She had given herself a stern talking-to on the short walk from the restaurant where the girls had gone their separate ways.You’re not going to get your hopes up. You’re not going to act like a smitten idiot. He probably does this with a new girl every time he’s here. You’re not going to get your hopes up.Words she’d repeated over and over as she moved up the cobbled sidewalk, but as Khash turned his hooded, chocolate-brown eyes crinkled with his smile she knew she was lost.
“Well now, if it was in Elvish, Bluebell, I’d imagine the whole menu would just be pictures of flowers and fancy lil’ cupcakes.”
She didn’t know how he managed to makecupcakessound like something obscene, but the syrupy pull of his voice tugged and lengthened every vowel into something seductive and warm, bringing heat to her cheeks as she leaned into him, as far as she could in her dress.
The structured dress was the nicest thing she’d packed: princess-seamed in a heavy, stiff cotton that kept her stomach sucked in and forced her to stand up straighter, with a full skirt that concealed her more-than-generous curves. The wide-set straps highlighted the teensy hint of clavicle she actually possessed, and the sweetheart neckline made her heavy breasts somehow look as perky as she wished they’d been when she was seventeen. The whole thing was an optical illusion, but, Lurielle reasoned, he’d already eyed her in a two-piece and still wanted to see her again. She was glad she’d packed it, as he turned on the stool, obliging her to take a step back as he took her in.
“You look exceptionally beautiful tonight, Lurielle,” he purred, his thick drawl making her name sound like something decadent.
Her breath caught as she was reminded again of how tall he was, how wide and muscular, and how small she felt in comparison. It was nice, she decided, having spent too many years feeling like a lumbering lummox next to all of the slender, svelte elves she knew, which was all of them. Khash made her feel dainty, which wasnota familiar feeling, but still one she liked. His collar was open, the first few buttons of his pristine white shirt unfastened, giving her a view of his thick neck and wide throat, obliging her to restrain herself from pulling him down to her level so that she could feel his pulse jump beneath her lips. A pale blue pocket square was his only accoutrement, besides the gleaming watch face at his wrist, and she touched it lightly, using the excuse of smoothing the lapels of his jacket to run her palms down his broad chest.
“You look very nice in clothes, that’s a relief. A bit of a dandy, I see.”
His laugh was a slow cascade of amber honey as he took her hand, and Lurielle felt her smile beam as he brushed his lips to her knuckles before leading her to the waiting hostess.
“My granddaddy didn’t break his back in the mines for years for me tonotbe a sharp-dressed gentleman. I hope you appreciate how much I’m willing to sacrifice my pantsless time to see you, Bluebell. We can order steak for dessert, right?”
♥♥♥
He was deep in concentration, looking over the bar with his back to the windows. Silva huffed on the sidewalk in frustration, shifting from foot to foot. She’d been standing there in the shadows for close to ten minutes waiting for him to turn and raise his head, but Tate was thoroughly engrossed in his task, the tablet he clutched illuminating his chin as he moved from bottle to bottle.
The restaurant they’d chosen that evening had been across the intersection from the bistro, and she had caught sight of his wide, sharp smile through the small eatery’s large windows as soon as their hostess had led them to a table on the flagstone terrace, making certain to take the chair facing the street. Every time she caught sight of him moving around the bistro’s mercury glass-backed bar, Silva felt her heart flutter in anticipation.
At one point, sometime after the stuffed figs she’d ordered for dinner had arrived, she watched him lean over the bar, chatting up the cluster of female patrons sitting before him. Even from across the street, Silva could clearly see his slightly too-wide smile, could almost hear his musical laughter and lilting voice. She wondered if they were elves, before deciding that it didn’t matter; wondered if they were pretty, if he was telling them at that moment that he’d be at the little pub on the corner after his shift.
“Silva? Something wrong with the figs?”
Ris’s voice snapped her from her thoughts, and she’d realized her fork was hanging in the air, mid-way between the plate and her mouth.
She’d tried to pay attention to the conversation with her friends, to ignore the sight of the handsome half-orc across the street, but it had been hard. She’d never been the jealous type before, and certainly didn’t have any standing to act in such a way, but she found the small flame of possessiveness which had flared to life within difficult to extinguish.
She hadn’t expected to feel the way she had when he left her the previous night. She supposed it had been the way he’d kissed her, once their dalliance in the bar’s backroom was complete. Despite being no stranger to flings and ill-advised one-night stands, Silva couldn’t remember any of those partners ever having kissed her as gently as Tate had, cradling her face and smoothing the pads of his thumbs over her temples, tracing her long ears and angle of her jaw. She’d been breathless when he pulled her to her feet at last, his fingers lacing with her smaller ones when they left the little room. Abruptly, the sound of the other bar patrons had come bleeding back, loud and raucous, the underwater sensation vanished.
She’d demurred that he didn’t need to walk her back to the resort, but clung to his arm when he insisted, relishing the opportunity to press herself to his side. “I’ve never liked the dark,” she admitted sheepishly after hesitating when he led her up a pitch-black footpath, the moon providing scant illumination through the thick trees.
“Don’t worry, dove. There’s nothing in the dark that’s scarier than me. You’ll not be molested on my watch.”
The resort had been brightly lit, uplighting illuminating the white-painted frontage and clusters of spotlights in the lawn, creating a bright halo effect around the building. Silva had slowed as they approached, and Tate stopped before the bright lights began, leaving them in shadow.
“I don’t know what our plans are for tomorrow, but we don’t leave until Sunday,” she’d blurted when they arrived at the edge of the wide, circular drive. “Maybe...maybe I’ll be free?”
