“Yes! And now I’m dealing with an epic fucking headache. I think it’s her voice. It must be on a weird frequency that interacts with my neurons or some shit. I don’t know.”
”Mm-hmm.” He throws his pen on top of the desk and crosses his arms. “So, you’re not attracted to her in any way? You don’t find her pretty or—”
“No. She’s a woman like a million others,” I grind out, while images of her at the nightclub flood my mind.
The way the simple knitted dress she wore hugged her body as if it were painted on. Those big amber eyes of hers, framed by dark lashes. I enjoyed every glimpse of them as she squinted at me, obviously trying to figure out who I was. Her silky, sandy-colored locks, as they framed her face, fell down her back, not bound in her usual braid. My fingers itched to feel their softness as I spent what felt like an eternity staring at her from across the crowded bar. Staring at her tempting mouth. Those lightly tinted, slightly parted lips. Mere glimpses of them were more intoxicating than the scotch I was drinking. Maybe that was the reason I caved. Kissed her. Shoved my fingers into those glorious waves to mess them up.
I’ve been trying to wipe that kiss from my memory for weeks.
“Nothing about her tempts me in any way,” I insist. “Besides, the baser instincts—like lust—are beneath me.”
“Alright. So what is this girl to you then? A meaningless thing, like an elastic band that you can snap whenever you need?”
“Precisely.”
“Then her going out with another man won’t be a problem for you?”
I don’t even realize that I’ve crossed the room and pulled Barty out of his chair. One moment, I’m pacing like a caged wolf; the next, I’ve got my shrink pinned to a wall with his loafers dangling a foot off the floor.
“No!” I growl into his shocked face. “I wouldn’t have an issue with that.” The words leave my mouth as a low, guttural rumble. The heady warning of an unhinged animal. It doesn’t sound like my voice at all. “Any other questions?”
“Nope,” he grunts. “No more questions today.”
“Good.”
I lower him to the floor and storm out of his office.
Club Annex, Location Unknown
“…Evelyn’s birthday, but I couldn’t go because my mom wasn’t feeling well.” I adjust my blindfold, tightening the knot; it somehow got loose. “So, the girls and I met up with Evelyn’sboyfriend, Saul, and some of his friends a couple of weeks ago. It was an okay night until…um…I had a bit too much to drink.”
At the mention of that night, memories assail me, and I shudder. I can’t believe I got so wasted that the next morning I didn’t know if I actually kissed someone or only dreamed about it. I swore I’d never touch alcohol again. But that hasn’t stopped me from reliving the scorching kiss every single night in my dreams.
Under other circumstances, I would welcome hot dreams. But not this one. Not aboutthiskiss. Because the man I dreamed of kissing was Adriano Ruffo.
Thank goodness I haven’t run into Mr. Ruffo in the past two weeks. Had I seen him, I’m not sure what I would have done. He must still be in New York on business. It can’t be long before he returns, though. That thought sends more shivers down my spine as I imagine our next face-to-face encounter.
I stretch out my hand, slowly feeling for the edge of the coffee table and the crystal glass I set down earlier. Once my fingers wrap around the stem, I cautiously bring the drink to my lips. The refreshing balance of citrusy flavor and sweetness hits my taste buds. My lips pull into a pleased smile.
“I love lemonade. It’s my favorite.”
As usual, my guest doesn’t make so much as a peep.
I gulp down the rest of the lemonade and carefully return the now-empty glass to the tabletop.
This is the first time my silent guest has offered me the same beverage twice in a row. The initial occasion occurred almost a month ago. He’s been mysteriously absent for the last two Saturdays. But before that, I like to think we were playing a little game. Each week since I told him I don’t like wine, hehas presented me with something different. Chocolate liqueur during his second visit. At that time, I commented that it was nice, but that I preferred it in cakes rather than to drink it. Champagne on the third (probably noticed me making a face after I took a sip). He switched to a couple of different juices after that until he offered me lemonade at our last meetup. How did he know he found the correct answer? I don’t think I gave him any clues.
I switch to describing the lunch menu I came up with for the Spadas last week, then segue to recounting bits and pieces of what happened at my other jobs.
“…at the park when he found a discarded tennis ball.” I slide my fingers under the cuff of my right sleeve to rub over the large scab on my skin. “I mean, he’s a dog. Of course he’d want it. But his owner doesn’t allow him to chew on just anything. So, I tried snatching the ball away, and well…Hugo kind of bit me.”
The air suddenly vibrates with a sharp intake of breath.
Not mine.
Across from me.
I freeze. After all this time, I’ve come to expect nothing but absolute silence from my guest. Other than an occasional rustle of his clothes, or the gurgling noise when he pours me a drink.Hehas never made a single sound. Was it real? Or did I imagine it?
