He showers first, and then he shaves.
A black rough-to-the-touch towel always sits low around his hips, hugging his muscular rear, failing to hide the perfect lines of his muscular legs.
The tattoos on his body highlight ancient hieroglyphic inscriptions, and he also smells divine.
His favorite male cologne is always shipped from an expensive boutique in Paris, the same place where I’ll be ordering my favorite perfume next.
Money is not an issue for him, although the blend of money and dark power might be.
A man like him is not what I’ve missed.
In fact, there haven’t been any other kinds of men in our house.
Since I can remember, and despite how they looked, men couldn’t be trusted.
He can’t be trusted either, but unlike the others, he can give a woman the kind of pain and pleasure she will repeatedly ask for.
He begins to tilt his stare up, and my eyes are about to collide with his, so I quickly shift my focus the other way and pay attention to the freshly dug grave.
With every passing moment, my heart works itself into a frenzy, the heat of his stare leaving pockets of charred skin on my face.
I’m so delusional to think that he’s watching me right now when normally I wouldn’t catch his gaze on me if my hair were on fire.
Swallowing in secret, I close my eyes and tilt my head down, so no one can see my pained expression.
Not even him.
My chest gives me away, though, moving up and down too quickly, pushing my breasts against the low-cut neckline, making the heat inside my body grow at a worrying pace.
Please let this be finished soon.
Someone in the family touches my elbow, and I grunt in response, refusing to turn my eyes to them, and interact or speak.
“You can go,” the woman says. “Frank will take you home.”
I whip my eyes to Sylvia.
“I don’t want him to take me home.”
My grandmother shoots me a stern look.
“Don’t be difficult, Leilani. There’s nothing here for you to do. We’ll all be home in an hour. You go now. And please change.”
Her eyes almost slip to my cleavage.
She stifles her impulse to give me another caustic look and also a piece of her mind.
I spent a lot of time picking out this outfit last night.
I knew I’d make a splash and also attract the wrong kind of attention.
I knew I’d be berated by someone in my family, but I thought it was all worth it, since I dressed for him, not them, and for sure not my deceased mother.
She’d be enraged and foaming at the mouth if she saw the skintight dress I wear under my tailored coat, the scoop necklines perfectly matching, highlighting the top of my chest, my waist, and slightly curved hips.
My dress hits below the knee, covering my legs entirely, but my best ammunition isn’t there, although they sure can drive a man crazy.
My dress can’t hide my face, my lips, or my eyes.
