The Rush (The Siren Series) - By Rachel Higginson Page 0,34

the collar of his crisp white oxford. My nerves calmed some at the sight of his perfection and the feeling of how he commanded every room he stood in, how he stood out from the rest of humanity like a god sent from Olympus. That kind of outwardly perfection was inherently flawed on the inside.

He had to be.

Or I would never survive.

My hand instinctively flew to my ribs and where the scrawled words I had picked so carefully were etched into my skin. His eyes bore into mine from across the room, the intensity of his entire aura stealing my breath, hazing my vision.

“I’m ready,” I announced. I met his gaze and defied logic by holding it.

“I see that,” he murmured, stepping towards me. He took the room in four confident strides and was only two inches in front of me before I could even regret the bravado I tried to pull off. “You’re lovely tonight.” His voice floated around my ears with a deep, rich sound, one that demanded melting and fawning. But I couldn’t give in, not even a little bit. His voice was dangerous.

“Thank you,” I replied because that was what I was taught to say.

“Your mother is waiting,” he whispered regretfully. What he was regretting I didn’t even want to speculate, so I took the arm he had offered me and let him lead me out the door and down the elevator.

His sleek Jaguar C-X75 was waiting for us in front of the building. He opened the door for me and helped me slide onto the luxurious leather seat. I hadn’t bothered with a coat and I had forgotten my purse, so I fiddled with my cellphone idly while I waited for Nix to climb into the driver’s seat.

Nix put the car into drive and eased out of the circular driveway in front of our building. We headed north, away from downtown and toward Dundee, a quaint section of Omaha with expensive bistros that served unique, but world class food. It wasn’t that long of a drive, and silence filled the space between us. Nix was intense while he drove. Nix was always intense and never tolerated idle conversation unless he absolutely needed to. I was intimidated and anxious, so silence was fine with me.

My phone buzzed in my lap, but I ignored it. If Exie or Sloane were texting about Nix or really anything right now, I didn’t want him to get curious. I was more afraid that it was Chase though. We exchanged numbers yesterday and I didn’t want to have to explain too much about him to Nix. There would be too many questions, too much investigation and if Nix asked me to do anything in regards to the relationship I would have to say yes. And I wasn’t ready for that.

Nix found a parking spot directly in front of the restaurant, which I thought was lucky, but probably normal for someone like him. The very best of life just fell into his lap, he was used to it, expected it even. I stayed put in the car while he climbed out and walked around to open the door for me. Years of training had taught me how to behave properly; I was a prisoner to manners and tradition.

And the curse.

Just like Nix was.

My mother was already seated at a table inside the dimly lit French restaurant. She stood when we walked in the door, greeting us each with a gentle hug and a kiss on both cheeks. Her eyes flitted over me from head to toe and I forced myself not to cringe from her scrutiny. She was of course, above reproach in stylishly cut, high waisted black tailored pants and a soft pink silk shirt. She looked more like a movie star than a mother. That was always my thought about her. She was stunning, completely elegant, poised and absolutely untouchable and distant.

Eventually the beauty would fade, she would develop wrinkles, and her hair would thin and gray and her body would begin to sag. It happened to every woman, we were without exception. But my mother would never lose her allure; men would always be drawn to her.

And to me. No matter how I detested this outward beauty, men would always worship it.

“How’s Honor?” Nix asked first while we settled behind our menus, and they sipped their wine.

My mother paused for too long. She made a show of drinking her wine and looking around the restaurant impatiently for our waiter.