Bone deep satiety and fatigue drag me down to rest my head in the crook of his neck, feeling a little dizzy from multiple orgasms at one hundred degrees on the heels of hundred-proof bourbon. I sneak my arm behind him and wrap my hand in the braids cascading down his back, curling my other hand under my chin.
I just need to close my eyes for a moment, I think as I try, but fail, to hold back a jaw-splitting yawn.
* * *
A sudden andshocking change in temperature startles me awake as Luke lifts me bridal style out of the hot tub. I sleepily worry he will slip, trying to carry me, but his arms feel like iron bands encircling me, and he carries me like I weigh nothing. He returns to the conversation area and holds me on his lap.
I blink open tired eyes to watch the firelight dance over his face. He drapes me in a thick, plush towel, leaving himself exposed to the air without so much as a goosebump.
He gazes out over the night skyline, looking almost lost without his wicked and sinful smile. No crinkles around laughing eyes. No playful words spill from his lips. As he stares into the night, unblinking, he appears ancient.
Unable to stand this look on his face anymore, I reach up and tentatively lay my hand on his cheek.
He drops his forehead to mine and inhales deeply. When he pulls back, his familiar, devastating smile is back on his face, but now it reminds me of a mask. What is he hiding?
“Stand up,” he softly commands.
I get to my feet between his legs. I grip his face gently between my hands and bend down to kiss the crown of his head, disappointed he no longer smells like fuel and fire, back to his usually spicy cinnamon by itself. He rests his hands on my hips, neither of us moving for a minute until he clears his throat.
“Let me dry you.” He takes the towel and gently slides it over the front of my body. “Turn,” he says, and I do, facing the fire, offering him my back.
I feel him tracing a fingertip in an intricate pattern over my back and peer over my shoulder at him. “What was that?”
It almost felt like he was drawing an image on my skin. But instead of answering, he drags the towel down my back, erasing the feel of his touch. He stands and wraps me in the large towel, then walks away.
I whip my head around but only catch the sight of his fine ass moving away from me and stepping back into his black leather pants.
He turns and stares at me as he closes and fastens his pants. I did not know watching someone get dressed could be so sexy. The leather pants highlight the deep V of his abs, and the flickering firelight showcases the ridges and valleys of his long, lean form. Fire and shadows suit him.
The light illuminates his hair, making the red seem to dance and flicker like the flames themselves. It's as if Luke is a creature from another world, crafted from fire. He stalks back toward me, and I shiver in the night air, the towel no match for the breeze.
He stops in front of me and drags the tip of his finger down my forehead and off the tip of my nose before dropping his hand.
“Come in when you’re dressed.”
I watch his sexy ass retreat and debate whether it looks better naked or encased in leather. My fishnets are mostly dry, and despite the big rip in the crotch, I leave them on. I can throw them out at home. Or I might keep them as a souvenir of my magical night at theCirque Maléfique.
I shimmy into my jeans and find my discarded bra and shirt so I can finish dressing. I take out the messy bun Luke had put in my hair and shake it out.
It is helplessly frizzy after the hot tub’s steam, so I pull it all over my shoulder and plait it into a thick, messy braid, securing the end with Luke’s hair tie. I’m happy to keep something from him and am struck by a sudden pang of sadness when I realize I don’t know when, or even if, I’ll see him again.
Sure, he said he would be at the steampunk event, but that isn’t for quite some time yet. Tonight was almost magical. Luke is an enigma of fire and shadow, and I want to dissect his layers and discover what lies at his very core.
I sense there is so much more to him under his mask of calm confidence and charm. I can’t help but speculate what fires forged him and what experiences have tempered him.
I give the cityscape one last glance from this safe distance, retrieve my belt bag from where I had dropped it on the couch, and head back toward the penthouse. No one else is on the balcony now, and I wonder what time it must be. I can feel the day hanging in the brief span between dark and dawn. I shudder as I wonder if this is the witching hour.
I make my way back in the door and note the crowd has markedly thinned to just a few small sporadic clusters of people. I don’t see Luke anywhere, so I go wandering about, looking for him.
It’s an open concept floor plan, but I don’t see his red hair beckoning my attention anywhere. I frown as I head back toward a short hallway with a few doors off it. I hear voices raised behind a closed door and I freeze.
Not wanting to eavesdrop, I begin walking away, but stop because it really sounds like Luke and his ‘maybe sister’ are arguing. I pause for a beat, trying to decide what to do. My answer comes in the form of the door whipping open, and I’m met with the scowling face of the female equivalent of Luke.
“Bathroom?” I say with a shrug, a totally plausible reason for lurking down this hallway.
“Last door on the left,” she replies coolly, narrowing her eyes at me. I think she sees right through my lie.
“Thanks,” I reply, backing down the hallway. She slams the door closed and I turn around to walk the rest of the way forward. I use the immaculate white powder room and head back out to the main area without pausing at the door, not wanting to get busted a second time.
