he reaches me in two graceful strides. He extends his hand for mine. I reach out, expecting a handshake until he lifts my fingers to his lips, forcing my stare up and into his.
At once, I gasp—but not from any kind of pleasure. His eyes are coal gray, if assigning a color to them is even possible. The orbs are dark and intense, like perhaps they’re not just irises and scleras and corneas but two mysterious tunnels that lead someplace deeper. They match his slick black hair and the stylish scruff on his jaw. It’s the kind of five o’clock shadow that’s completely intentional, not a result of being overworked and short on time.
“Enchanted,” he murmurs as he drags his lips off my skin.
I can tell from the heat of him and every molecule of energy radiating between us that he’s one of us.
The second his grasp loosens, I pull back. “Nice to meet you,” I offer tightly, grateful for the chance to be free of his forward touch and merciless stare.
My mother’s eyes are wide. Her mouth seems frozen in a perpetual smile that small children reserve for theme park experiences.
“I am so thrilled you’re here, Kara. I was going to have you join us for dinner later this week to talk about Arden’s work.”
“His work?”
She laughs and touches his shoulder like they’re old friends. “Yes, he works with antiquities. I promised myself that we’d get serious about our collections this year.”
“Collections?”
She laughs again, but it’s more strained this time. “Our collections, dear. Heirlooms and…” She flits her hand rapidly as she searches for the right words.
“Art and artifacts of special significance,” Arden supplies smoothly. “The market for relics is stronger than ever and very competitive. I can help navigate those waters and ensure quality acquisitions.”
“Oh. Great.” I respond like I don’t have a pulse anymore, which might just be the case. Seriously, kill me now. If the Valaris need anything less, it’s another room of overpriced things that will make my mother feel superior to everyone else around her.
“And you must help, Kara,” she says. “I don’t know a thing about it, and I don’t have nearly enough time to wrap my head around it properly.”
I frown. “And I would?”
She meets my exasperated look with one of her own. “For all the time you’ve spent with your nose in dusty old books, now’s the time to make some use of it.”
Even if Arden wasn’t standing witness to our exchange, I’m not sure I would argue with her. I can tell that my mother has already decided to involve me in this new project of hers, whether I like it or not.
Kill. Me. Now.
Few of my broodings bear repeating more.
“Come, let’s have some wine, and Arden can tell you more.”
The steady look in Arden’s eyes tells me he has no qualms about Veronica’s plan to extend the evening’s festivities. Unfortunately, I’m nowhere ready to participate in them.
“I’d love to, but I have an early class in the morning,” I say quickly. “It was a pleasure to meet you, but I really should be heading home.”
My mother pouts a little, her annoyance plain. “Fine. We’ll figure out dinner this week. Yes?” She lifts a hopeful smile to Arden.
“Dinner would be perfect,” he says, finally tearing his gaze from me to placate my mother.
“Fabulous. I’ll send you Kara’s information. I can’t wait to start.”
Chapter Sixteen
Maximus
On a last-minute whim a few years back, I decided to try running the LA Marathon. I ended up carrying another guy for the last five miles, since he’d promised his girlfriend he’d see her at the finish line despite the lung disease kicking his ass. His name was Montague. He insisted I call him Monty. And the grin on his face never vanished, despite how he’d hardly been able to breathe.
Right now, I feel like changing my name to Monty.
Because somehow I’ve made it through the last hour talking about the pitfalls of primitivity, lust, and unbridled appetites without giving in to a single one of mine. And without casting so much as a glance toward the woman who’s still searing me with her simple presence.
I can do this. Already have done it. Mostly.
Only three minutes left…
Screw it.
“I say no more to you, answer no more.”
As soon as I’m done reciting the line from Canto VI, I close my leather-bound book with a one-handed whomp. “That seems like a serendipitous place to stop for the day, yes?”
I’m answered with a collective groan of relief from across