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Why was she not running in fear? Why was she not screaming? She looked at him and just kept talking. Didn’t she know who he was? Couldn’t she see it? Didn’t she know her life was in danger just by being in his presence? He kept his breath in check, slowly, in and out. Forced himself to keep calm, though he felt his heart rate spiking.
“I’m Sophie, I’m new in town.”
“Hmm,” he grunted as his eyes flicked up and down her. You don’t say, he thought in response, and felt a twitch in his eyebrow. A twitch in his cock. Fucking hell.
“This is my ice cream parlor. Or it will be, once I get it open.” She looked up at him, her hair a wet mess on her head, face all wet and pale, but her pride beamed through. She smiled warmly. “It’s going to be vegan ice cream… the sign arrives tomorrow, I’m so excited! Once that is up it will feel more real, I think.”
Her eyes flicked over him. He almost couldn’t breathe. She’d looked at his leather vest that he wore over a leather jacket, squinting in the low light.
She nodded to it. “Is that your name, Phantom?”
He looked down, as if he’d forgotten he was wearing it. As if he’d forgotten he was wearing clothes at all. He merely stared back at her. The MC had named him Phantom. He didn’t have a name, he’d showed up without anything, without the voice in his heart to speak anything. They thought he was a ghost, so they named him Phantom. And it had stuck. He had a real name, but he didn’t care to utter it. He didn’t care if he never heard it again.
Sophie seemed surprised he didn’t speak. But she waited. She waited for him to reply. She just patiently blinked through the rain. Phantom felt that moment drilled into his soul. And he found that something stirred. Something flickered there after all. Within him. A little stuttering thing. But it stirred.
“I’ve made extra on my first flavor, just a first go of it. I was meant to be painting the woodwork but it’s so boring… so I thought I’d try out my new ice cream maker. It’s great but I’ve made way too much of it…”
Phantom looked down, at his hands, at his body. When he looked up she was closer. Much closer. She’d stepped forward, she was inches from him. He could see her eyelashes clumping together in the rain. He could see freckles on her skin, he could see her breath catch in her throat. Her scent filled his nostrils. Floral perfume, tropical shampoo. Soft female scents. Peach, fresh cotton. The wet rain. Her pure blood. Her untainted skin. His cock hurt.
“Do you want to come in and try some? Do you want a taste?” she asked him. Innocence poured off her.
The rain came down relentlessly, the only noise above his hammering heart. His mouth fell open and he looked down at her, basically laid bare in front of him. Could she not see what he was? An awkward, hulking, ugly monster? A fucked up killer. He watched her. Her breath. Her pulse in her throat. Her life, all fluttering, fragile, around her. It would take nothing for him to kill her, he suddenly thought. He could close his hands around her throat with ease. He wanted to just reach out… he wanted to hear her shriek and shudder, he wanted to get rough with her. She just stood there, goddamnit, like a fucking lamb in the slaughterhouse, completely unaware it was about to meet its demise. He could bring his knife up and… she wasn’t running scared. Why not?
Facing this beautiful little sugar fairy, he wanted her. More than he hated himself, he wanted her.
I want to taste you, Sugar Princess, but I’m a fucking demon from hell and I’m scared I won’t stop devouring you until there is nothing left.
He gulped. What the fuck was he doing? He had to get out of there before he did something he would regret. Something he wouldn’t be able to undo. He had to put distance between them. He staggered backwards a few steps. He couldn’t say anything, his throat was locked up. What could he have possibly said to her?
He turned and, without a backwards glance, slunk down the alley. He had a sinking feeling that whatever had happened in that alley between them, in the rain there, was already something he couldn’t undo. But no sugar plum fairy with fucking homemade vegan ice cream could possibly take the taste of blood away, could she?
She saw him, watching her again. He was sat across the street, and she was cleaning off the mist from inside the shop windows. He wasn’t watching her subtly. He was staring, often and blatantly. And hungrily.
It was impolite. It was unnerving. She loved it. She preened under his attention. He was just a man, looking at something that had caught his eye. Someone. Her. And she liked it.
She had jumped out of her skin when she’d seen him in the alleyway last night. A silhouette. In the gloom, in the rain. A man, without a face, hood up. And he’d startled, too, as if he was surprised she’d seen him.
But she’d come closer. Because he had looked at her like no man had ever looked at her. It made her feel vulnerable, and yet powerful all at the same time. And she craved that feeling.
He was good-looking. She’d never seen hair on a man like that. She was jealous. Long, brown hair in natural curls, barely covered by his hood. Surfers would be jealous of his hair, models would be jealous of his hair. She wanted to touch it. Her own hair was poker straight and fine. She was a proud brunette, but more often than not had her hair tied back in a ponytail or bun for work.
You could still see the little boy he had once been in his face, a button nose, pouty lips. His body promised to be a wonderland of hard, male flesh under that black hoodie of his. And that leather vest over the top. He had facial hair, dark brown, like his eyes, too, that held a moodiness, a burning gaze.
Phantom. That’s what the name badge had said on his leather vest. She was pretty sure that wasn’t his real name, why had he chosen, or been named that? She doubted it had anything to do with the famous musical, Phantom of the Opera. Though maybe it was similar, a ghost of a man, unclear if he really existed or was just a figment of the imagination. She might have thought she had imagined him last night, if he hadn’t shown up today. But there he was, in the flesh.
She had babbled away at him, feeling immediate companionship when she had seen him. Finally, a friend, someone to help. She found herself facing the hard reality of owning and running a shop. A business.
Her intrigue about the man outside momentarily gave way to her worrying about the business. Everything seemed like an uphill battle. Getting the shop renovated in the first place, dealing with all the suppliers and contractors, ordering the equipment, lining people up. She’d had to be stronger than she’d ever been before. Aggressive, even. Fight them, negotiate, not be taken advantage of. And it was exhausting.
She could do it, it wasn’t a question of capability, she was just tired and lonely and for once, wanted someone on her side. She wanted to fall into arms like that, or a lap like that, and forget having to play the savvy business owner. She’d thought the ice cream shop would have been fun. So far it had been hard, lonely work. She had needed to unload some of her shop woes, her friends from home had listened sweetly at first but they were out dating, married with kids, or going to college. Busy leading their lives. She wanted to chat to her parents, or her brother, but recently even they had begun feeling distant. They didn’t understand the pressure she was under, they didn’t seem to be taking her business seriously, thinking she was playing make believe. Somehow she thought they expected her to fail. Her parents weren’t particularly ambitious people, they had worked in the same service jobs all their lives, pretty much. They were mild-mannered hippies. And everyone had assumed Sophie would be the same. Oh, she could find trouble alright, she’d always had a love for adventure, but for business? For profits? No, no one thought Sophie would be up for the task. But she was trying her hardest. So when she had seen someone, someone willing to stand and listen, the floodgates had opened. She’d talked him half to death probably. And in the rain. He probably thought she was crazy. But she felt better. Calmer, lighter. She liked to talk, it always helped, she always found it easy.
He’d disappeared as quickly as he’d arrived. But she wanted to find out what he was all about. She wanted to ask so much. She knew she would now spend so many hours wondering about him, the tall, dark, mysterious stranger outside. She had already spent last night daydreaming about him, making up scenarios where they could meet again, chat, get to know each other. She’d try to engineer a situation where he would have no choice but to come into the shop. Then she thought about him when she peeled off her wet clothes, when she sunk into the warm shower, when she got into bed by herself that night. Wearing that black leather jacket, faded black jeans. Big black boots. She innocently let her hands wander as she thought of him, and began to imagine what he would be like to hold, to kiss. What he would be like to taste. What his touch would feel like, how he would look naked. She’d pleasured herself, coming quicker and harder than she’d expected, daydreaming of him. She spent the dark hours of the night fantasizing about him touching her, kissing her, them going to bed together, him over her, moving within her… She tried not to blush.
“Hey, ma’am!” She jumped and turned.
A police officer was peering his head into the open door of the shop. He was older, gray hair and a slight paunch.
“He’s not causing you any trouble, is he?” the police officer said, nodding pointedly to where Phantom stared back.
