They
say clothes make the man. I can honestly
say that, in this case, the man makes the clothes.
Alec
is dressed in a tuxedo. It’s nothing
special, but he effortlessly turns the plain black suit and white shirt into
something more, something dashing and debonair.
Something dangerous. Very, very
dangerous.
“If
you’re going to look at me that way, I might need to warn you about me,” he
says, taking a step toward me.
Instinctively, I retreat. One
side of his mouth quirks into a wry grin.
“Or maybe you already know.”
“I—I
don’t know what you mean,” I manage to squeeze out quietly over the pounding of
my heart.
“I’m
not the warm and fuzzy type, Samantha.
It’s not my intention to make you feel love. I don’t have that kind of emotion in me. But there are other things I can give you,
other things I can make you
feel. Really feel.” His eyes are hooded as he looks down at
me. He takes one more step forward. This time, I don’t back up. “Excitement,” he says, reaching up to wind
one long, red curl around his finger.
When his eyes meet mine, I feel like he’s doing the same thing to
me—winding me around his finger.
“Anticipation. Desire. Warmth.
I can make you feel very, very warm.”
As
though his words alone can evoke the sensation, I feel hot blood rush to the
surface of my skin and pool in the lowest part of my belly.
“You
might even feel a little fear,” he continues softly. “But even that can be intoxicating in its own
way.”
I’m
mesmerized by his words, caught off guard by his honesty. I’m surprised and I’m a little afraid. But I’m also all in. I feel it in my bones,
just like I feel that there will be some part of me that will live to regret
it.
“But
not tonight,” he says, moving away from me, giving me room to breathe as if he
knew I had none. But even with more
space between us, I’m still breathless.
I have a feeling I will always be this way in his presence. The question is: How long can I survive
without air? “Tonight is your one free
pass. Just know that the next time you
look at me this way, I’ll feel compelled to do something about it.” Alec walks to the door and opens it, sweeping
his arm out in front of him, asking me casually, as if he didn’t just drop that
little bomb on me, “Shall we, Samantha?”
That
question is full of so much more than just the request to follow him to the
door or to the fundraiser. He’s inviting me into his world, into the place he
described. A place of excitement and
anticipation, both of which I can already feel.
And fear. And I can feel a little bit of that already, too.
I
know I should hesitate longer over my response.
But I don’t. Instead, on numb
legs and with butterflies in my stomach, I walk toward him.
I
stop in front of him. My eyes drift up
to lock on his.
I
say nothing. But I don’t really have
to. I suppose my action speaks
volumes. And Alec understands it. I know this when he leans forward just enough
to whisper in my ear, “I hope that’s still your answer tomorrow.”
I
don’t respond. I know he doesn’t expect
it. I simply let him lead me from the
room. Lead me on. Despite the risk, I can’t not go with him. I can’t not see, not feel, not try.
Mason bends the woman over his arm,
his hand gliding up the glistening space between her breasts. His long fingers splay across the width of
her neck, the tips coming to rest along her jawline. Her chest rises and falls with her excitement
as he nudges her head to one side, exposing her throbbing artery.
And then, as I watch through the
small part in the curtains, he bares his sharp, deadly teeth.
Like
Daire, I see the fangs. I sense the danger.
It’s
just that neither makes a difference.
