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“I’m not jealous.”
“Good. Because like I said last time, I prefer brunettes. And besides, I haven’t had a blond or a brunette or redhead or anything for the last decade.”
That stops her and, quite frankly, me too. Why the hell did I just tell her that?
“Right,” she says, her forehead still furrowed in consternation as she studies me.
I touch the line between her eyebrows, rub it. She relaxes her face.
“I like you without the makeup,” I say, brushing her hair behind her ear.
She swipes my hand away. “Are you drunk?”
“Am I drunk because I like you without a pound of makeup on your face?”
“Just in general.”
“No, I don’t drink for the most part.”
“Everyone drinks.”
“Not me.” I pick up a lock of hair. The ends curl around my finger. “I can see you without all that crap on your face. You’re very pretty, Madelena.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Do what?”
“Fake compliment me. I don’t care what you think,” she says defensively, clearly uncomfortable with the attention.
“It’s not fake. You’re pretty. That’s all.” I let her hair slip from the palm of my hand and brush the line of her jaw with the knuckles of two fingers. Holding her gaze, I slide them down over her throat, her collarbone, to the pulse at her neck. “Are you afraid of me?”
She bites her lip, looking uncertain.
I let my hand wander lower to undo the top button of her sweater.
She grabs hold of my hand to stop me. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I want to see you.” She studies me with caution. “Just see.” I’m not sure she believes me. Hell, I’m not sure I do.
She swallows audibly as I move a little closer so she can’t slip past me as I undo another button. She watches me continue, breathing in short, shallow breaths. When I’ve undone the top three, she closes both hands over mine and looks up at me.
“Stop,” she says, and I see how dark her eyes have gone, how the gold has turned into a deep amber around enlarged pupils.
“I want to see you.”
I’m hard. And it’s not just her breathing that’s ragged. She’s beautiful. Maybe not to society’s ridiculous standards but to me. But there’s more. There’s a brokenness inside her. An aloneness. A hurt. And alongside those things, determination. Strength, even. Not enough of it, but it’s there, and if nurtured, it will grow. To a certain extent, she seeks a guiding hand. She’d never admit it, but there’s a part of her that is searching for it.
Maybe that’s what it is, my own selfish need to be that person. I don’t know. Hell, after this day, I don’t know anything, and that’s part of it too. She’s clean. She’s innocent. She’s not part of the ugly world of Avarice. I’ve rescued her from it. Kept her safe from it. For now.
I shake my head. I feel drunk even though I haven’t had a drop. She does that to me, makes everything so much more. All I know for sure is that right now, I want to see her. Touch her. Feel her beneath me. Right now, I need to be close to her.
When I brush off her hands to continue, she allows it and I peel her sweater open to look at her nipples pebbling against the soft pink of her tank top again. I lean closer to her, bend to bring my nose to her neck and breathe her in, picking up the lingering scent of aftershave. My aftershave.
“You smell like me.”
I watch her throat flush red as embarrassment creeps up to her cheeks.
“Don’t worry, Little Kitty. I like it.”
