Tentatively, heart just about beating out of her chest, she complied.
Barista and coffee seemingly forgotten, Luc stepped closer and pressed his palm to hers. A mild current passed between them. The sensation was warm but not unpleasant.
“Incredible,” he murmured.
2
To say Luc was surprised that Nadia could suffer his touch was to put it mildly. Downright shocked senseless would be the better way to describe his reaction. Not a single living person had been able to withstand the fiery hell brushing his skin brought.
Until now.
When she had placed her hand on his exposed wrist and not drawn back in agony, he forgot all about teaching the lazy barista a lesson. Forgot everything and everyone but the doe-eyed stranger in front of him.
If she were human, he’d eat his Italian leather loafers.
The wavy white-blonde hair and violet-blue irises had teased his brain when first encountering her. On a woman, the coloring had thrown him, but recognition eventually kicked in. If his guess was correct, then Nadia was special indeed.
It also made her extremely dangerous.
He suspected he now knew why she’d been tricked into coming here: the other side intended to capture or eliminate her.
“Who are your people, Nadia?” His voice was somewhat gruff. Perhaps because it bothered him to think of her harmed, though why it should was a mystery. One person was as good as another after all these years. They were born, most survived an average life span, then died. Luc stopped forming attachments long ago.
Nadia stared at their hands a second longer, and when she lifted those devastating eyes to his, Luc’s chest tightened.
“I don’t know,” she stated plainly.
Luc scanned her thoughts.
She was telling the truth as she believed it.
“You’re an orphan?”
“Yes. No. Maybe.”
Interesting.
He knew of her connection, but she did not. Still, he delved deeper. “Did your parents die when you were young, or were you put up for adoption?”
Confusion chased across her features. “I don’t know. I feel compelled to say they died when I was young, but I have no memory of anyone telling me they had.”
Compelled. Interesting word.
“You grew up in foster care?” he asked.
“Yes. I have a vague sense of a dark-haired woman raising me until I was about twelve, but that’s it. I can’t seem to remember her name or who she was to me.” She shrugged dismissively. “I bounced around until I was about fifteen, then moved in with my best friend’s family until I went to college.”
Her explanation made no sense. Humans tend to recall their childhood after age three. She certainly should’ve known the woman’s name if she’d lived with her until the age of twelve.
“Were you in an accident, Nadia? One that altered your memory, perhaps?”
“None I can recall.”
Luc suppressed a frustrated sigh. She’d told the truth as she knew it and didn’t seem bothered by her lack of knowledge, which was peculiar in itself. But she’d sparked his curiosity, and he intended to discover the answers.
“It appears your potential employer never arrived for your interview.” He released her hand. “What do you do for a living? Do you remember that much, at least?”
Instead of being upset by his sarcasm, she laughed. The sound was light and airy, piquing his interest in her all the more. He appreciated her ability to find humor in the situation.
