James as an aide is outlandish.
Dray’s shrug is slight. “Then what do you think of him as someone on the payroll.”
He throws back the scotch before setting aside the tumbler. It leaves him free to smoke the cigarette, to give it his full attention. But as he smokes it, his full attention is on me.
I slump against the window and look at him.
And I’m struck by it.
His appeal.
The soft light that glistens on his pale, pink mouth, the line of illumination down his perfect nose, the starkness of his cold eyes against the warmth of tousled sawdust hair.
But it’s so much more than that.
That is the beauty Teddy wears.
With Dray, under the dancing light that reaches us in the alcove, the beauty is statuesque, it’s a marble sculpture lovingly crafted by hand, it’s a lump in my throat as I stare at a painter’s muse whose essence can never be captured.
It’s suffocating.
The casual beauty of itall.
The cold winds breezing in through the window, the murmur of the grand parlour whispering with the crackling of fires, the secrets shadows of the alcove, the blanket around my shoulders, and Dray’s stare lifted from under his lashes—
The way it feels like it should be this, and only this, like we never should have been enemies.
It was meant to be this way before he derailed it all, poisoned it all, and left us rotten.
I know myself well enough, even the ugly parts, to know that if Dray never turned on me, he and I would be here now, comfortable in each other’s company, talking as friends, definitely engaged, probably lovers.
This familiarity between us wouldn’t feel so empty in my gut.
I hate that it comes naturally to us in a hidden alcove, dusted with faint lights from scattered lamps, and I forget anyone else exists.
Dray watches my sorrow work, my mind churn. It lures him to me, his steps soft and silent on the rug as he advances.
The light of the lamps fades from his face, stealing away the highlights of his cheekbones, until he’s in the shadows with me, and all that gleams is the sharp blue of his eyes.
Without tearing his gaze from me, he reaches the cigarette out the window and flicks the ash.
Silvery vapours ribbon from his lips, and it’s minty, a faint menthol fragrance.
Tension thickens my throat and I turn my cheek to him.
I throw back the last of the scotch before slipping off the windowsill.
My body drags down his—but I steel myself against the flurry of sensations, and scoot aside, until I’m free of the window, ofhim.
“James is powerful,” I say and set down the glass. “And useful. But he hates crowds, doesn’t like to be around people, and he’s always nervous.”
Dray turns to sit on the ledge, the cigarette half burned down, his eyes on me.
“It would be kinder to leave him to someone like Landon. You can already sense—you don’t need more than that.”
Dray’s smile is slow to form, but it does until his teeth are revealed. “Figured that out, then.”
My mind splits.
