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“Raw, huh?” I asked.
Then he turned to me and I forgot how to breathe. It was his eyes. I’ve never seen eyes like his before. The color of the sun shining through a jar of honey, with hues of rich caramel melting into bright gold and tiny specks of brown. But beneath all that glow was something else. Something that smoldered darkly deep under the surface, like pebbles you can almost make out at the bottom of a clear stream. So painfully beautiful, you want to reach in and hold one; however, you can’t be sure if what you’re really seeing is a stone or something dangerous lurking in the water, waiting for that unwitting victim.
When he focused that honey gaze on mine, I felt it slice through me like a razor-thin blade and embed itself in my mind. I’ll never forget those eyes. The way they raked down to my feet and up to linger on my lips.
It was all a blur of motion, where I could only register what he was doing, my own body completely forgotten.
He licked his lips before he smiled. His right brow rose when he asked a question. The Adam’s apple in his throat rose and fell with every word spoken in that deep burr of a voice.
I wanted to lick him there, just over that bulge. I wanted to lick him everywhere. I wanted to stare into his eyes for hours, diving into those twin pools and discovering exactly what that entrancing thing was that was looking back at me.
Was it a wounded soul? A mischievous one? Or was it something so dangerous, I should never find out?
When my gaze snapped back to his, I suddenly became aware of my forgotten body. Heat rushed like lava from my chest, traveling lightning fast over every inch of my skin. Too fast to stop myself from blushing. From grinning like a fool.
That’s when I realized it had been a mistake of epic proportions to approach him. But it was too late. My father, who misses nothing, had already seen the display.
Now I’m here at his door. He’s summoned me to remind me of the dangers of falling in love, no doubt. A lecture I’ve heard on so many occasions, I can recite it.
“Never fall in love, Emily. It will cost you more than you can afford. You’ll only get hurt.”
I sigh and turn the knob.
Dad is sitting behind his glass desk, bent far back in his chair, his elbows on the armrests, fingers steepled beneath his chin. He’s scowling, his blond brows nearly touching from the intensity of it.
“Shut the door,” he says.
I do as I’m told. “Can we make this quick? There are guests downstairs.”
“Is it the guests you want to get back to? Or that pretty boy?”
Chewing my lower lip to keep myself from laughing, I clear my throat and count to five. “The guests.”
“What were you discussing with him?”
“Um…” I go to my desk, which is a smaller replica of his, sitting near the right wall of the room, and lean against it.
It takes a lot of effort not to cross my arms in front of my chest in a defensive manner. Because the truth is that I don’t like it when my father does this. I’m twenty-two, for crying out loud!
“Emily Jane Shaw.” His use of my full name demands my response.
Every nerve in my body tenses as a nasty retort forms on my tongue. But the moment I look up at him, at the man who’s always been my constant, even when he was broken, any resentment at his overbearingness evaporates.
“I was telling him about Bejü when you walked up,” I say, then add a little lie to throw him off. “He wants to meet her.”
The hard lines of his face ease, but not fully. He’s too smart for that. “You liked him.”
Lifting a shoulder in a shrug, I say, “I think he’s attractive, that’s all.”
“You liked him more than that. I’ve never seen you so…”
“So what?”
“Em, you know how I feel about you and dating. As long as you can keep it casual, only physical—”
“Ugh, Dad!” I cringe.
“If it’s just sex,” he continues, “I don’t fucking care. But you can’t sleep with a guy you looked at the way you did that one.” He points to the door.
