Precious Gems - Sierra Hill Page 0,5
is at his side. I notice the clench of his jaw, tight and menacing. A jaw that looks like it’s been etched from marble and formed by an artist’s hand. A nose sculpted and regal, not overly long or crooked, but with enough character to know it’s not perfectly untouched.
He continues to scan over the crowd, listening to the person next to him, until his gaze reaches mine. It locks in on me like a dark, sinister tractor beam, pinning me down and sucking me in.
I can’t tell the color of his eyes from this distance, but I know they’re dark and piercing. They hold dark secrets that may never see the light of day. Those eyes aren’t the eyes of a man who asks questions. They get their answers and what they need through control.
It gives me both a shiver of thrill and fissure of fear.
The connection is palpable, his gaze penetrating me. Like a sharp object slicing through my skin and boring into the very depths of my soul. His stare is so intense that it burrows under the layers of my skin until it hits the very core deep inside me, splits me open, and bubbles up to the surface.
My blood boils thick like hot lava, rushing to the very tips of my fingers and flesh. The way he stares at me has me wanting to relinquish control of everything - my thoughts, my body and my soul – and give it all to him without protest.
His gaze hasn’t altered, but I finally break the connection when I’m startled by the soft, distinctly female voice next to me.
“May I help you, miss?”
There’s a strong foreign accent filtering through her English. Maybe French or Dutch, I can’t tell which, but I know I’ve never heard anything quite as elegant.
As I twist around, I find a beautiful and exquisite hostess wearing a short, tight black lace dress, at least four-inch heels and her long white-blonde hair intricately braided around the crown of her head.
I feel incredibly inadequate and frumpy next to this woman in my grey cargo pants, white off-the-shoulder sweater, and Chucks.
I can barely even hear myself speak over the music. “Oh, yes. I’m not sure if I’m in the right place or not…”
My throat is scratchy, and I cough. “But I was told to um, meet Jersey. Or, I mean, I’m Jersey. Or, shit…”
The woman, who can’t be more than a few years older than me, lifts her brows in amusement, looking perplexed, but smiles softly and presses a few buttons on her tablet she holds in her hand.
“Jersey?” she repeats with a quirk of her head, and I nod.
She taps in the code name and then says, “One moment, s’il vous plait.”
Ah, French.
It makes everything sound so much more pleasing and unearths a sadness in me that I didn’t continue my foreign language studies in high school. It’s such a beautiful and elegant language, but due to my other “studies” that my father had me doing after school, I never got to spend time learning it, only a few basic terms.
The woman taps an earpiece in her ear, a blinking blue light I hadn’t noticed before, and she speaks. “Oui. I have a guest here who says she’s here for someone named Jersey. Or,” she flicks a glance at me. “Is Jersey. She doesn’t know.”
There’s a pause and she nods her head. “Yes, but…”
It’s apparent she’s been cut off by whoever is on the other end, and she opens and closes her mouth, saying nothing.
“Mm-hmm. Oui. D’accord. Oui. Merci, monsieur.”
She ends the conversation and the blue light disappears as she turns her head and smiles.
“One moment, miss. Someone will be down momentarily. May I take your bag?”
I scrunch my nose and give a quick jerk of my shoulder away from her, gripping the strap tight in my hands. “No,” I snap, ridiculously flustered. “That’s okay. I’ve got it.”
A group of young people – mostly women in short dresses and high heels – walk through the doors and the hostess turns her attention to them as I slink back into the shrouded darkness of the wall. Hiding in the shadows, not at all inconspicuous, wondering what the hell comes next.
Not more than five minutes pass, and a large black man in a sleek royal blue suit that clings to his enormous bulk approaches, stopping just shy of a foot in front of me. Towering over me like a Redwood in a forest of pine needles. Because of