The Soul Collector - By Tamela Quijas Page 0,34
turned and he grimaced, pulling his hands from his pockets as he entered. He closed the door behind him, ignoring the multitude of locks decorating the panel.
Lucien's gaze was riveted as she irritably paced her apartment. He watched each step she executed on ridiculously slippered feet, her spine rigid. His frown deepened as his gaze shifted from her rounded curves and traveled over the living room.
Lush colors of cream and red brightened the room, accentuated with large turquoise colored throw pillows. The hues were lively, reflecting the warmth of her nature simmering just below the surface. Prints filled the walls, varying from photographs of her estranged family to movie posters hearkening of a bygone era. Lucien granted Eva a few eccentricities as his wandering regard rested on enlarged pictures of various tabloid covers, all revealing her smiling face.
Her image was everywhere, except on the glowing screen of the desktop computer.
He stilled his flinch, the face on the bright screen one he couldn't fail to recognize. It was the photograph of a brilliantly executed portrait, revealing the image of the one man he hoped obliterated from his past.
Lucien's grimace vanished. His pained gaze lifted to her wan face, made paler by the obvious lack of cosmetics. She appeared frazzled, her shoulder length hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, and dark circles evident beneath her large eyes. His lips tightened into a thin line and he nodded.
Silent, he looked her over. Despite her high flush, her mere essence made him control an unbidden tremor. To his jaded eyes, she was his angel, his fire, sent to grant him salvation.
Eva appeared more entrancing tonight, wearing faded denim jeans and a form-fitting Henley. The fabric clung and accentuated every deliciously rounded curve of her body and Lucien winced. The image on the computer faded from his thoughts, and his mind spiraled into the deepest depths of the proverbial gutter.
Striving for self-control, he focused on the flickering sepia image that stood at a discreet distance. Staring into the wavering features, he recognized the censure in the specter's judgmental frown.
Shamefaced, Lucien did the one thing he had never done in his life to any form, living or dead…he gave Reese an apologetic shrug.
“Evangeline, I understand my being here is difficult for you,” Lucien began.
“Difficult wouldn't be the correct word,” she answered, her voice echoing. “I figured you’d show up sooner or later.”
He smiled weakly. “I imagine your week has been…”
“Let me finish it for you,” she ground out. “Awful. My week has been awful!”
“Ah,” he interjected, knowingly. “I, of all people, understand.” �
She gave an unladylike snort.
“I suppose you could, Lucien,” she supplied, her gaze flicking over his dark attire. She imagined four hundred years would give someone many memories, and more than a few unhealthy nightmares.�Brushing her thoughts aside, she spun about, her slippers squeaking on the wooden floor. The smoky image of her brother was nearby and she was content he remained silent.
“Will you allow me to explain?” �
“I let you into my apartment, didn't I?” She snapped, running her hands over the thighs of her jeans. He couldn't control the direction of his gaze and watched her repeat the action, a strange sensation twisting in his gut. “If I didn't want you in here, trust me, you wouldn't have made it past the stoop.” �
Mildly amused, Lucien bit his lip. He pulled his attention away from her delightful curves, and pushed his gloved hands deeper into his coat pockets. His stomach fluttering, he encouraged her to continue, knowing a tirade simmered violently beneath the surface.
“He,”�she lifted her hand and pointed at the shimmery figure wavering in the far corner. “That thing! Ah, hell, I haven't had a warm apartment in nearly a week. I’m freezing, no matter how much I turn up the heat, or how many sweaters I wear. And,” she almost screeched the words, her fingertips wagging at the lone spirit, “I can't get a moment’s peace! He just won't shut up!” �
Lucien listened tolerantly to her outburst. He detected the trailing lilt of unmistakable laughter filling the room, the eerie sound barely discernible. Eva's hands rose to cover her ears, vainly attempting to block the sound, and her grimace visibly deepened. She flinched and spun about, her attention leaping from one, then to the other. The frustrated expression she wore said far more than any words falling from her luscious lips.
“You make him laugh.” Lucien noticed the deep grimace forming between her arched brows and the downward pull of