Page 9
“Here I am,” I agree, my throat dry.
Kain tracks the tension between us, confusion giving way to understanding, then amusement.
He claps me on the shoulder as he rises from the table. “I’m gonna grab another beer.”
Silence stretches between us as he leaves, neither speaking as we evaluate each other.
The band shifts into another song, and the surrounding conversations rise to meet it. Bodies sway toward the dance floor, a moving curtain of noise and shadow.
When I swallow, the light catches the teardrop at my throat, a single flash of silver in the dark.
Orien’s attention drops to the nape guard at my throat before lifting again, giving nothing away. “Why were you talking to Kain?”
“He’s interesting,” I say, to see how Orien will react.
His eyes chill. “He’s not for you, trouble.”
My lips part on a quick intake of breath. “Are you for me?”
“You know I am,” he says without hesitation. “Don’t pretend otherwise. Coyness doesn’t suit you.”
Heat curls in my hips at the words, a physical response I can’t afford. I take another sip of my whiskey, letting the burn ground me.
“So what now?” I ask when the silence stretches between us again. “Is this where we get to know each other? Let’s start with your name.”
Orien doesn’t answer. Instead, he stands and pulls his chair around the small table to settle beside me rather than across. He moves without haste, a deliberate shift that brings his chair around the small table, and when he sits again, his thigh rests so close to mine the heat of his body radiates through my trousers.
“Now,” he says, his voice pitched loud enough for me to hear over the music, “we can have a real conversation.”
My heart does a double-tap against my ribs, and I take another sip of my drink to give my pulse time to slow before I turn to him. “Is that what this is? A real conversation?”
He rests his arm along the back of my chair, not touching but framing my body, forming a physical barrier that separates us from everyone else in the lounge. “How did you find the Blue Note?”
The question seems casual, but the way his eyes don’t move from mine tells me this is more than idle curiosity.
I run my finger around the rim of my glass, buying time. “A friend mentioned it. Said it had the best music in town.”
“Which friend?”
I purse my lips. “So that’s how we’re doing this? Twenty questions?”
He doesn’t take the bait. “Most people who come here are regulars. You’re not.”
“I’m new in town,” I say, which is true if you count my move into the apartment in Ashford Heights. “Still learning where the good spots are.”
“How often do you come to Ashford Heights?” he asks, leaving enough space between questions to avoid turning the conversation into an interview.
“I don’t,” I reply, offering the truth from a different angle. “I live here now.”
The band shifts to a more upbeat song, the drums setting a steady rhythm that syncs with the pulse in my throat. People at the table next to ours laugh at a joke, voices rising to be heard over the music.
“What do you do with your free time?” Orien leans forward, his pheromones spiking in the air between us. The move brings his face inches from mine, the warmth of his breath caressing my cheek. “Besides go out searching for trouble?”
My breath catches. “I’m a graphic designer. Freelance.”
“What kind of work?” he asks.
“Logos, for the most part. Brand identity packages.” The words come easily. I’ve rehearsed them too many times for them not to.
