me what the fuck that was about?”
“Not particularly,” she murmured, then gave me the first real smile I’d seen on her face, and it slammed into me like a fucking truck. “Thank you though. For that, the lock, and the smoke…” She reached for the door, and I stood there like some moron as she vanished back inside.
Fuck me.
My phone buzzed, and I glanced down at the screen as I raked a hand through my hair, the crisp scent of burnt tobacco lingering in my nose along with a far sweeter scent tangled with the muskier scent of sweat. I didn’t know what she used, but I was never going to forget it.
I had to focus. Work before pleasure.
But I’d be seeing her again, real soon.
That was a promise.
Chapter 2
Emersyn
The knock at the door alerted me to my driver’s arrival. My shoulders slumped, and I tilted my head back as I took a deep breath, held it for four seconds, and then released it. Shaking off the discomfort and unease, I schooled my features to reveal nothing. I double-checked my reflection, particularly after waking so sore this morning. It had taken everything I had to even roll out of the bed. A hot bath and Epsom salts had helped, but I stank of liniment.
I’d rubbed it on every inch of me. It hadn’t helped as much as I hoped. Tonight was our very last show. We’d be leaving the next day. A second knock jerked me out of the reverie. Dammit. So much for composing myself. Blowing out a breath more exasperated with myself than the driver, who insisted on picking me up at my room and dropping me off here each evening no matter how late I ran at the theatre, I strode for the door and checked before I opened it.
It was Kestrel, my driver. Dark hair curled over his forehead, framing a pair of perfectly bright blue-green eyes. The square shape of his jaw could have given him too blocky a look, but he had a full and generous mouth and a perfectly tapered nose. The symmetry of his face was just…
What the hell was I doing? He had just lifted his hand to knock, a frown rippling across his brow, and the lift of his arm betrayed the gun he had on in an under the shoulder holster.
Fuck.
I jerked the door open, half-worried about letting him in, but that was ridiculous. He’d been here every night for the last four nights since he’d started driving me. And not once had he been inappropriate. Just because I noticed the gun didn’t mean he didn’t have it all along.
Hand still raised to knock, Kestrel gave me a careful once over and then shot his glance past me to the room. “You good in here, Sparrow?”
Leaning against the door, I searched for a plausible answer beyond I was exhausted and wished I didn’t have to leave tomorrow among other things… Before the words could even begin to form, the scent of hot French fries and meat hit me like a sucker punch, and I swore I drooled.
A grin curved his lips as he lowered his hand and raised the bag of takeout. “Hungry?”
“I should absolutely tell you no,” I informed him as I reached for the bag, almost unable to help myself. He must have had a burger and fries in the car the night I’d finished our opening performance. Bone aching weariness and sore from head to toe, I’d almost given in to the urge to cry for the food. All I could smell was the meat and the French fries and the salt… Those people who say salt doesn’t have a real scent have never been on a low sodium diet and monitored every single calorie that passed their lips.
It had been years since I’d been allowed to cry. As it was, only the fact I hadn’t been alone staved off the desire then and now. I swallowed as he pressed the bag into my hand. “Your secret is safe with me.” He glanced at his watch, then lifted his chin. “You have time to eat. I came early. I’ll wait out here for you.”
Just like that, he withdrew a step, and I gripped the bag a little tighter. “That’s ridiculous, Kestrel, just come on in.”
“You sure?” What might’ve come across as condescending from someone else seemed almost genuine from him. “I don’t mind waiting. There’s a guy down the hall that keeps shooting looks this way,