A Beauty Dark & Deadly (A Dark & Deadly Series Book 1) (14 page)

“I love s’mores,” he agreed.  “We should make some soon.  You can get chocolate and graham crackers at the store, I have plenty of metal hangers, and we could roast them right here.”  He began to pour a generous amount of the marshmallows into his drink.

Before Emmy could stop herself, she smiled and said, “That sounds nice.”

The fire reflected in Jason’s eyes as he took a sip of his drink.  “It’s a date.”

This time, Emmy didn’t look away from him despite the fact that before, his words would have her murmuring excuses about needing sleep and retreating as fast as she could.  Instead, she let herself stare at him, being blatant about it while doing so.  She didn’t know why she was so relaxed right now when she was only inches from him, when they were actually enjoying themselves together, sitting before a fire and drinking hot chocolate.  The scene was one Emmy would have laughed at if anyone had foretold it.  But now, as she experienced it, she could admit that this wasn’t so bad.  In fact, it almost felt… right.

There was something about Jason, something about the way he looked in the light of the flames.  It was as though the fire stripped him of any disguise he might be wearing until his shell was cast aside and he remained.  His feathered hair framed his face, the locks going every which way.  His eyes were warm again, and she wasn’t sure if the light reflected in them, the drink, or the moment was the cause of it.  And his smile was sincere.  The more she looked at the curve of his lips, the more she found herself mimicking the action.  He really wasn’t so bad looking, she realized.  Not when he looked like this.  Even with that horrid robe and bedhead, he actually looked… beautiful.

Emmy slowly swallowed the gulp of hot chocolate in her mouth in lieu of spitting it all out.

Her mind was turning traitorous on her.  Where had that come from? She couldn’t argue that he was attractive.  In his own way.  She couldn’t deny that.  She’d be lying to herself if she did.

“What?” he asked, a ghost of a caress, one key of a piano.  He tilted his head to the side.  He wasn’t wearing glasses again.  “What is it?  You’re staring at me.”  He said it as though he was amused by her but somehow she could tell that he was worried about her unusual scrutiny.

“Your eyes,” Emmy said as explanation.  “When the light hits them, they look like the sea.”

He was silent for a moment and Emmy took the time to take a long sip of the drink.  Unlike the previous thought in her head, this time, she didn’t flinch at her words.  It wasn’t as though she was paying him a compliment; it was mere fact and nothing more.  She didn’t think she had ever seen varying degrees of blue all wrapped up in one iris, but there it was, in Jason’s eyes.  It was as though she was looking into a kaleidoscope of the color that changed depending on his mood and whatever light he happened to be in.  Right now, his eyes looked nothing short of captivating, like the fireworks at Disneyland.

“Is that a good thing?”  He placed his empty mug on the surface of the coffee table before leaning into the couch, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on hers.

Emmy shrugged, taking another sip.  Her torso was angled so it was facing him, and her legs were tucked underneath her.  “It’s a fact,” she mumbled, unsure if her answer would satisfy him.

He glanced away, at the fire, but a thoughtful smile touched his face.  He placed his arm up on the back of the couch.  From the corner of her eye, Emmy could see his fingers rest near her shoulder, could feel the heat radiating from the digits and onto the bare skin of her neck.  Every once in a while, he would move his index finger and she would hold her breath, both anticipating and worrying
it might accidentally brush her neck.  She wasn’t sure how she would react.  She didn’t want to know how she would react.

“No one’s ever said that to me before,” he said, more to himself than to her. 

Emmy leaned forward, placing her mug – still half-full – next to his before leaning back, shifting her position so her entire body was facing his, her shoulder pushed against the couch, her cheek resting against the scratchy material.  She couldn’t not look at him, not with the flames setting fire to his features, and she didn’t particularly care if he caught her again or not.  She must be tired.

“Do you want to talk about your dream?” Emmy asked.  He looked surprised that she would endeavor to start a conversation but didn’t comment on it.  Instead, he mirrored her positioning on the couch so now he faced her, and instead of resting his head on the couch, he placed his elbow on the back and his palm on his head. “Whenever I had a bad dream, I would tell my grandfather about it.  Speaking about it made me realize just how unreal it was and it was easier for me to go back to sleep.” 

“Not really,” he said.  It was the first time he refused her, and she found a swell of disappointment fill her stomach like cough syrup on her tongue.  “Just being with you right now, talking about anything else, helps.”

Emmy flushed at the words, her eyes darting to the fire to escape his.  The words were too intimate, too
…
somethin
g
.  The look on his face was too sincere, his voice too soft, his dimples too charming.  It wasn’t fair.  He wasn’t supposed to make her feel this way, as though she wanted to know more about him, more about who he was, as though she wanted to take care of him and make him hot chocolate and have him make a fire every time he had a bad dream.  She was supposed to be afraid of him and he was supposed to be cold and reserved and drop hints at how he really did get away with murder and if she didn’t watch it, she’d become a victim too and no one would ever know.  The feelings she should be having for him were slowly slipping from her grasp, like the sand in an hourglass, and she wasn’t sure how to get them back.

She wasn’t sure if she wanted to.

They were silent for some time.  Emmy couldn’t be sure the length of time they spent sitting on the couch together, the embers finally starting to dim in the fireplace, staring at everything but each other, but eventually, her eyes began to close and she couldn’t stop sleep from overtaking her if she tried.

---

The minute her head hit his shoulder, Jason did everything in his power to keep from jumping in surprise.  He had been looking out the window, wondering if a storm would hit soon.  The angry clouds were certainly heading their way, and he had lived here long enough to distinguish when it would rain, when it would snow, or when the sun would shine better than meteorologists said they would.  Not that he had any other choice, since he didn’t have a television or even a radio beside the one in his car.  After what had happened, he wanted to take a break from civilization, and judging from the way he was treated when he did go in for groceries and other such needs, civilization needed a break from him.

It couldn’t last forever, of course, but he decided to prolong the inevitable by putting an ad in the paper for a live-in maid.  He didn’t think anyone would actually show up.  It was just an excuse to go a couple more weeks without socializing unless it was absolutely necessary.

And then she showed up.  She was his link to the outside world.  His connection to a world he hadn’t wanted to be a part of, and the more time he spent with her, the more he realized that while he wasn’t ready to go into town just yet, he wanted to be a part of her world.  She made the sun shine brighter and his heart accelerate at a rate he wasn’t used to.  He smiled just thinking about her and found himself wondering what she would think of certain topics and how she would look if she wore her hair up.

It wasn’t a shock to know she had her guard up when she was around him.  He couldn’t blame her.  It made the times when he bent them, however slightly, that much more worthwhile.  When she talked to him about herself, especially about her grandfather, he thought she was doing him a grand honor by allowing him to have a small peek into her world, a world he knew he could never be a part of, no matter how badly he wanted to.  She was young, beautiful, and full of life.  He was old, beastly, and couldn’t even leave his home.

He was surprised she had stayed around this long.  He was surprised she hadn’t left.  The thought of her doing so caused his heart to constrict quite painfully.  He had been blessed by her presence and to lose that happiness was something he didn’t want to think about.  Not when she was slowly starting to trust him.

Jason hadn’t meant for her to know he had nightmares, but now, he was glad.  She had made him hot chocolate and was sitting so close to him that when she fell asleep, her head hit his shoulder.  When he refused to answer her question, she didn’t press him like Stacey had.  She let him be silent when he needed to think.   He didn’t want to tell her about the wicked man he was.  It was selfish, but he wanted to keep her for as long as he could, and revealing the content of his nightmare would only push her away.  She was good and pure and everything he wasn’t, and he wanted her to shine down on him, to drench him in even the tiniest rays of her light.  It was too much to hope for, but all that he wanted.  He couldn’t make up for his past, but maybe, just maybe, he could get some form of redemption.

The idea clouded his eyes and caused his body to tense.

Jason couldn’t allow himself to hope for something that would never happen.  It was a waste of his energy when he knew, without a doubt, that someone like her would ever fall for someone like him.  Maybe before, before the tragedy and the scandal.  He had actually cared about his appearance back when he did book tours and went to award banquets and charity events.  Now, he let his hair grow out so it danced below his ears
and fell into his face, as though shielding his eyes from whatever he didn’t want to see.  His nose had been broken in a bar fight back when he was in college and had lots of mates, lots of female prospects, the world at his feet and the dream of being a best-selling novelist in his back pocket.  Now, he had no friends, no female prospects, the world was in his rearview mirror, and his dream had been realized but didn’t shine as bright as it once had, back when he had new eyes.  Back then, he lived in jeans and t-shirts, and when he would go to important benefits or meetings, he had slacks and a collection of button-down shirts.  Now, he only wore his robe, a gift from his ex-wife during their first Christmas spent together as a married couple.  It was old and ratty, with holes and the stench of sweat, blood, tears, and loss within the fabric.  But it was safe, comfortable, and he didn’t feel the need to change it.

He hadn’t written anything in a while.  Well, that wasn’t true.  He wrote, but it wasn’t good and it never made any sense.  A lot of the time, he strung words together to form sentences that sounded right in his mind but, when read aloud, sounded off.  Unnatural.  His agent was patient and then distant and then stopped calling.  Jason knew Bram hadn’t given up on him, but he wasn’t going to waste his time and effort on a recluse like him.  While Jason had savings and didn’t need the money thanks to the royalties his books brought him, he wanted to be able to tell stories again.  Just because the dream had dimmed didn’t mean it had faded.  This was what he wanted to do for the rest of his life, but he couldn’t find the right words.  The right words couldn’t find him.  And he wasn’t ready to go searching for them.  He knew he needed a muse.  Inspiration.  Something to hold onto and breathe life into him, into his work.  But until then, he would continue to pluck away out the keyboard until he wrote something worthy.    

Her warm breath trailed up the column of his throat, causing his eyes to shoot down to her face.  Shadows criss-crossed her features, highlighting the sharpness of cheekbones, the strength of her jaw.  Her nose was small and upturned, the smallest nose he had ever seen, really, but it somehow fit her face.  Her brows were thick but feminine, framing her eyes and adding a delicate curve to her brow.  Her lips were slightly parted and he wanted to trace their outline, if only to see if they were indeed as soft as they appeared.  He reached out, as if to do just that, his index finger extended so close that her breath surrounded it, but he pulled back.  He couldn’t.  What if she woke up?  What if this moment was ruined?   He dropped his hand to his lap and let out a breath.

The fact that she had fallen asleep in his presence was a big deal.  Sleep was when a person was most vulnerable.  It was probably one of the most intimate things a person could do with one another because all defenses were down.  He wouldn’t take this moment for granted.  He knew he should carry her back to her bed and close the door behind him, so when she woke up she’d know she fell asleep but he was chivalrous enough to put her back where she no doubt wanted to be, in the safety the small room provided her.  But he wouldn’t.  He knew he wouldn’t.  There was a good chance he would never have this moment again, and he refused to surrender it.  He would hold onto it for as long as he possibly could, which meant he would not move, would not go back to his own bedroom.  He would stay for as long as he could, for as long as she would have him.