“You,” he whispered. “It was you—”
But his pronouncement was interrupted by her lurching away, until a horrifying rip snicked through the air. “Fuck. I’m stuck.” She glared at him before yanking at her shoulder seam, the scruffy wool fibers tangled with a gold button on the cuff of his coat.
“You most certainly are,” he murmured, pleased by the rather fortuitous turn of events. After all, while he hadn’t searched for her these past fewmonths—business and heiress-hunting and danger and the like—he’d thought of her, his mystery woman. More often than he should, given how much was riding on the success of his current endeavors. “Or more, I’d say you caught me.”
Again. His pulse began to thrum with a pleasure not unlike the sensation of penning a new deal or obtaining a new ally. Or better, making his brother truly proud.
“I certainly wasn’t bloody well trying to,” she grumbled, still not meeting his gaze, her gloved fingers slipping on the fabric of his sleeve. “I have enough tsuris without your type mucking things up further.”
“My type?” He cocked his head, appraising her as she gave nervous glances from side to side, even while her lips curled into a rather surly scowl. Odd, as she’d barely flinched that night on the streets with the two toughs.
Dark eyes narrowed as she finally met his gaze. In the light of day, she was even more arresting than he remembered. Bold, firm features and the plump, expressive lips with a wry, sardonic set that made his pulse beat just a touch faster.
Pausing in her work to get free of him, she stuck out her chin. “The type that tries too hard.”
Sol had to laugh. Though not loudly enough to call attention to the woman’s predicament. He wasn’t cruel, but she certainly didn’t pull her punches. Yes, sir, she was all excitement and challenge. Damned if he wasn’t drawn to her, despite all his better, nobler inclinations.
“Fair. Though at least I’m clever enough to know it,” he said as she returned to the tangle with her rather long, gloveless fingers. “Besides, it still yields success,” he couldn’t help adding.
“On schmucks,” she retorted without stopping her work.
“Which, fortunately for me, is what most people are.” He gazed at the top of her worn bonnet, devoid of the feathers and bows that would’ve set off her dark brown hair so nicely. Likely she couldn’t afford them, but if he was lucky, perhaps she was an heiress in hiding? “And really, why would anyone with half a brain be content at the bottom of the heap anyway?”
“Perhaps because they’ve realized that the ‘heap’ is not the center of the universe. Perhaps because—oh, for fuck’s sake.” She muttered the words as her frenzied fingers tugged the fraying strands around his button.
A nicer man would assist her, but he wasn’t that nice. Certainly not that selfless. And he didn’t want to let her go. At least not yet. Not when her body was so deliciously close.
“A fair point. Though if you have no desire for the esteem of the community, why are you here?” He leaned forward, studying her in the afternoon sun, which spilled through the tall arched windows, bathing her in light. She was around his height, making it so easy to stare into her face, even as she focused on her rather frantic work, unwinding the threads. He swallowed a little as her hand pressed against his chest, heating him even through the fabric of his garments.
Focus, Sol, focus.He cleared his throat. “It isn’t as if your presence is required. You could be at home with your feet up instead of rubbing elbows with all of us.”
After all, even with his limited study, he knew that, unlike men, women had no obligation to attend Sabbath prayers and make the quorum. And she didn’t seem like the sort who enjoyed gossip or preening. And tohis inexplicable delight, pretty as she was, she didn’t appear costumed for a husband hunt. He seemed to be the only one in attendance aware of her charms.
Not pausing her hands, she lifted her chin to him. “Trust me, rubbing against you was never my intent,” she told him, her tone dry.
“Pity,” he murmured, just as, to his great disappointment, she managed to free herself, leaving all their garments intact.
“Oh no. I’m not for you, sir. Not if you want to be welcomed by the fancy set.” Shaking her head, she took a step back, the ghost of a sardonic smile twisting her full lips. “Good luck on your climb, though, I hope you make it to the top and the view is everything you’re seeking.”
And before he could respond, his dratted so-called friend came rushing up them. “Sol—” Aaron started, boots clattering over the floor, nearly bowling down a group of scholars surrounding one of the rabbis.
“You’ve returned,” he muttered dryly as the other man caught his breath. Sol turned around, ready to introduce him to the woman and—nothing.
The space behind him was empty.
“What—” he started, whipping his head around, searching the halls for any sign of her and her cloak. But… nothing. He craned his neck, scanning over and over, but to no avail. “Where did she—”
“She’s gone.” The normally jovial man’s mouth was set in a firm line. “Thank goodness.”
Sol paused his search and squinted at his friend. “What do you—”
Aaron slid his arm around Sol’s shoulder and guided him toward the exit. “You don’t want to be seen withher,” he whispered as he pushed Sol forward with an aggressiveness he’d not seen in the man. Well, at least not unless he was provoked and his wife was involved.
“Who is she?” he asked as he glanced over his shoulder one last time. “I mean, I didn’t even get her name. How do you—”
“Trust me. You’ll thank me later,” Aaron said through gritted teeth and a sharp prod to Sol’s back.
“But—” Sol tried again as Aaron shoved him out into the street, slamming the door shut behind them, his questions still unanswered as she’d vanished once more.
